Holding Up the Past
- Peter K F Cheung SBS
- Aug 22
- 3 min read
FADE IN
Act 1
INT. LIVING ROOM - 05:45
The soft light of dawn filters through the curtains. PETER stirs awake.
PETER (V.O.): I feel the urge to return to my NT home.
Pausing.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): My NT home is filled with memories.
Pauisng.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): Every time I go back, I want to make it look better.
Pausing.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): But it's always just me who makes the return.
Act 2
INT. PETER'S NT HOME - 14:45
The house is a landscape of memory and accumulation. The surface of a glass dining table is completely buried under a strata of objects. Peter examines the far corner of the ceiling.
PETER (V.O.): The wallpaper there is a disaster. A large section has peeled away, hanging down like a tongue.
In the far corner one unused Sony speaker is atop another. They're from a hifi system, circa 1980.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): What can I do to to fix this?
Peter spots a square print board featuring the words: Tokyo, Japan and Honshu.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): I bought it years ago when I learned that my elder daughter had moved from Fukuoka to Tokyo as she got a job there.
After applying glue to the back edges of the print board, Peter carefully climbs a ladder.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): Let me see if I can attach it to the corner of the ceiling.
However, it detaches easily.
.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): It needs the right support.
Peter heads to the storeroom and discovers two long rattan sticks.
MONTAGE OF THE ORIGIN OF THE STICKS (1990s - 2020s)
A. Estate street. Peter (36) and SHARON (35) cycle. In front of Peter's bike is a rattan baby seat. Their SON (1) giggles.
B. Front garden. Peter (56) checks the same seat, the woven part is worn, but the two long structural sticks are still solid. Peter keeps them.
END MONTAGE
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): I'll position the sticks upright, pressing the ends against the edges of the board and using the top of the speaker for support.
Peter carefully carries the board and the sticks up the ladder to see if they can rest securely on top of the upper speaker.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): Oh, just about 5cm short. To bridge the gap, I need something that can serve as a wedge.
Peter spots a deformed bottle half-full of water.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): I discover it in an old fridge not used for nearly 20 years.
As the bottle jammed perfectly, Peter steps back to admire it.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): It all works together. It's an artistic fix.
Staring at his artistic fix.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): The past isn't a foundation to live upon, but a cornerstone to build from.
Pausing.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): Letting go isn't about forgetting the past; it's about setting down the weight so I can carry its wisdom instead.
Staring at his artistic fix.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): But I cling to what was, afraid that if I let go, the person I was will have existed for nothing.
Pausing.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): I think I'm preserving the past, but often, it's preserving me - keeping my old self from crumbling into dust.
Staring at his artistic fix.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): Holding up the past is a solidary art. Few will see the beauty in the structure; most will only see the load.
Pausing.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): A life well-lived is a functional art, built from the found materials of memory.
Wondering.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): But a life spent holding up the past has no hands free to embrace the present.
Pausing.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): To hold up the past is to let my arms grow tired from carrying a world that no longer exists.
Act 3
INT. PETER'S NT HOME - 21:45
Peter uploads an image of a bizarre assemblage consisting of a printed board, sticks, and a bottle to a draft on his laptop.
PETER (V.O.): I patch the crumbling corners of my present with the beautiful, irreplaceable scraps of my past.
Thinking.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): What others call hoarding, I call curation. What they call junk, I recogize as the support of my soul.
Reflecting.
PETER (V.O.) (Cont'd): I build my sanctuary from what I've saved, and in doing so, I save myself.
FADE OUT
END
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