Jenny
Whenever I'm in the midst of writing a new script, I often try to dig into my own memories. Either they are events from my past, or people I've met, or something I've read. It becomes some heightened state of awareness, where I begin remembering things I thought I remember. At the same time too, I wonder whether what I remember had really happened or were they just product of my imagination manifested because of my loneliness. There's always my memory of a person whose existence I gradually starting to question, as no one else seem to remember her at all. No sign of her on Facebook (her name was too common). No memory of her voice as we had never spoken to one another. (I was shy ...?) My last memory of her was my last day as the president of the English Language Club in high school. I was Form 5 and stepping down, my (handpicked) successor was someone from Form 6. (my choice was either a Form 4 junior whose work ethics I questioned, or a Form 6 outsi