The
latter belongs to a series of publications, the Singapore Youth
Literary Series (Xin Jia Po Zhong Qin Nian Wen Yi Chong Shu), a
project published and funded by the Singapore Literary Association
(Xin Jia Po Wen Yi Ban Hui). The Association had invited 6 talented
local writers to publish their works. Hua Biao is the youngest and
the only writer in the early 20s in the group, an indication that
he is highly regarded.
What started him writing?
Hua
Biao started writing seriously after his Chinese teacher in
Chinese High, Mdm Liu Xiu Mei (Wen Xiu Mei Lao Shi) saw his
potential while grading the class's weekly journals and encouraged
the lad to send his works to the Chinese
dailies. Then only 14, his writing was immediately recognised
and published thereafter.
According
to the candid writer, his initial impetus for writing was "to
impress girls, because I was wooing a girl 1 year my senior, and
had thought she'd think it's cool."
His
mentors include veteran local writer, Mr Liang Wen Fu , who happens
to be Mdm Liu's husband; and Mr Ying Pei An, who was the only full
time writer in Singapore in the earlier days. Yet, Hua Biao has
never fallen back on them in the area they can help him most, as
he drafts, edits, and administer the paperwork for his publications
all by himself.
A chance
encounter with Mr Ying at the bookstore led to an invitation from
the senior, and thus, "The Young Man Who's Like the Wind"
<<Ru Feng De Shao Nian>> was born.
Why write in Chinese?
"Actually
I have no preference in the language medium. I write in English
too, but not everything has to be published, right?" Hua Biao
said jokingly.
For
Hua Biao, writing is a personal reflection of his thoughts, his
feelings, his state of mind at the time of penning, nothing more.
Despite the awards he has received that make him the envy of others,
Hua Biao takes these achievements in his stride. He has no wish
to act high and mighty, having seen the ugliness of writers with
their heads in the clouds.
Hua Biao's take on the local writing scene
"I
would never write for a career."
"How
do you want to define a career? Is it to earn money to support your
wife? To pay the rent? I don't think you can do that in Singapore,
not just by writing alone,
because the writing scene here sucks."
"A
lot of Singaporeans don't dare to write what they think. They have
to write within the so-called constraints. You can't touch on issues
like politics, race, religion. If you take away these three things,
what are you going to write about?"
"I
don't remember my poems on these topics ever being published. When
I was in the army, I wrote a short story based on my general feelings
about conscriptions. Obviously it never got published in Singapore."
"The
closest so-called politically sensitive writing that got recognised
was a play I wrote; it won the Singapore
Dramatist Award."
"There
is a local audience. I may be wrong since I don't have the statistics
to back me up, but I think the local market here is very small.
And the Chinese local market is even smaller, since the youngsters
nowadays have such a weak grasp of Chinese, generally speaking."
"Being
a local writer means you'll have to do it part time."
As
a writer, my only wish is
"to
just find one individual who really understands my work very well."
"It's
a paradoxical thing - of course I'd like people to read my works,
but my satisfaction really comes from people who read my work seriously,
like a couple of my friends."
Epilogue
Let's
be honest, I've always thought of Hua Biao as a cousin who had became
more and more distant as we grew up. His angst, his indifference
to his surroundings and his devil-may-care mannerisms all struck
me as those of an arrogant fool ignorant of the world's ways.
My
mother often commented that Hua Biao and I are alike in many ways
- our insistence on doing things our own ways, the stubbornness
and volcanic temper. I refused to admit the stark similarities.
At
least not until the day I had to interview my own cousin, someone
I spent most of my childhood with; someone I'd barely talked to
in years since we hit teenagehood and had started to develop differing
and strong opinions of our own on many issues.
To
call him up out of the blue, for an interview, turned out to be
less awkward than I'd imagined.
As
we sipped light drinks in his faculty building, the tables turned
and he was the one putting the interviewer at ease, by telling me
that I can edit his answers all I want, no offense taken.
As
he spoke, I sensed that he has mellowed; he was milder, less harsh
with his words, and gentler. A change I had seen in myself as I
entered my 20s.
Does
this happen to everyone when we graduate from teenagers to young
adults?
I don't
know. But it might be something he can tackle in his next book
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