Latest news with #dream
CNA
a day ago
- Entertainment
- CNA
The NUS graduate who passed on a corporate career to join the circus in Macau
The NUS graduate who passed on a corporate career to join the circus in Macau CNA/Ooi Boon Keong Ms Megan Lau, 24, is the only Singaporean amid an international cast in the The House of Dancing Water, a water-based circus show in Macau. Photo: Megan Lau To prepare for the role, Ms Lau spent eight months training in Macau. Photo: Megan Lau Nine times a week, she is suspended like a human chandelier in a shimmering 15kg skirt and a Swarovski-studded headpiece. Photo: Megan Lau Ms Lau said she was 'definitely very scared' at the beginning as she had only performed in one aerial show in Singapore prior to joining the circus. The job is a 'childhood dream', having watched the performance when she was 13 years old. Photo: Megan Lau Ms Lau has a degree in philosophy, politics and economics, having recently graduated from the National University of Singapore (NUS). Photo: Megan Lau "In Singapore we have metrics of success that we usually measure ourselves by, like our careers or what degree we study. But I think sometimes we really need to find a passion that we love.' Next Story
Daily Mail
a day ago
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
I suffered incredibly vivid nightmares and even lashed out violently at my wife while asleep – I had no idea it was an early warning sign for this serious condition
Martin Pickard awoke in a state of terror. He had been dreaming that he was in the back of a London taxi, interviewing DJ Tony Blackburn. The back seat of the cab was littered with McDonald's cartons which, to his horror, began to move. 'The rubbish was covered in spiders,' Martin recalls. 'They were getting bigger and bigger, and when one the size of a wastepaper basket launched itself at my face, I threw open the cab door and jumped out – headfirst into the bedside cabinet.'
CBS News
a day ago
- Business
- CBS News
Resilience in action: A blind baker, a community builder and two unstoppable dancers
CBS News contributor David Begnaud finds the heart in every story. This week marks the conclusion of "Dear David" month, with July dedicated to viewer-submitted stories. A 28-year-old legally blind baker is turning his childhood dream into reality with help from a local restaurant owner who saw talent before disability. Chris Lomax, who lost his sight at age 5 after brain tumor surgery, begins each workday like any dessert chef — gathering ingredients and putting on gloves. The difference is that his recipe cards are in Braille. "When I woke up from the surgery, I opened my eyes and I said, 'Mom, where are you?'" Lomax said. "And I was so in distress because my whole life, she was always the face that was comfort. And so the fact that I couldn't see her was, you know, terrifying." Despite his disability, Lomax maintained a clear vision for his future, telling his first-grade teacher he would open a bakery in Hornell someday. However, that dream dimmed when potential employers focused on his blindness rather than his abilities. "There's laws protecting blind people from being discriminated, but there's not. Cause people can easily say, 'Uh, you just don't fit the position.' Even though they mean you're blind, you can't do this job," Lomax said. Restaurant owner Joe Huang-Racalto changed that trajectory when his establishment needed a baker and Lomax needed an opportunity. "We decided to give him the job and Chris was overwhelmed," Huang-Racalto said. "I said, 'Look, it, we're in this together now. Whatever challenges you have in your life, let us know because we'll try and plow through 'em and remove those obstacles.' He was overwhelmed by that because no one ever did any favors for him." Since Lomax started, Huang-Racalto says the desserts are flying off the shelves. The partnership has evolved into a new business model where Lomax receives 100% of profits from his grab-and-go station within the restaurant. "It costs us literally nothing more to have Chris come in and use the infrastructure of the restaurant to start his own business," Huang-Racalto said. "We're just giving him the foundation to do what he does best and what he does best is baking." For Lomax, the arrangement represents progress toward his ultimate goal. "This opportunity being one step closer is so exciting. The fact that I could own my own bakery one day is just exciting and just a blessing," he said. Jake Bacon may be known locally as "the Salty Scotsman," but the English-born photojournalist has spent more than 30 years making Arizona home while serving his adopted community. Born in Singapore to English parents, Bacon experienced a nomadic childhood that took him around the world. "By the time I was 11, my mom had immigrated from England to Australia and back twice," Bacon said. After settling in Arizona, Bacon became a father and grandfather while documenting life in Flagstaff for the Arizona Daily Sun newspaper. "When you are a photojournalist at the community newspaper, 90% of the people that you see are really happy to see you," Bacon said. "Even at times of triumph or sorrow, um, you form connections really quickly. And I see my career as a journalist as a way to serve my community. But then all my hobbies serve my community too." One such hobby involved tracking down London-style telephone booths through social media and transforming them into literacy projects, a way to plant a piece of his heritage in Flagstaff. "So the tiny library project started, um, because I was missing home," Bacon said. Bacon spent eight months restoring the booths, which now sit outside his home filled with hundreds of donated books. "There are people there day and night," he said. "It's amazing. It brings out the best in people." For Bacon, photography served as just the starting point for deeper community connections. "Often we don't know what we're looking for until it finds us and I was looking for a community to call home," he said. Two Memphis women in their 60s and 70s have discovered that retirement doesn't mean slowing down — it means heating up the dance floor. Dianne Huff, 66, and 73-year-old Roxie Jones make up the Hickory Hill Sizzlers, a dance duo that earned third place at the Delta State Fair last September with their fiery performances. The partnership began when Jones approached Huff with a proposal that would change both their retirements. "I was hesitant on it, and she said, 'If you do the music, I'll do the teaching.' So it was no question then," Huff said. While dancing wasn't part of their original retirement plans, the activity has given both women renewed purpose and joy. "I'm just enjoying life," Jones said. "Whatever age you are, you can just come and have fun. Just enjoy life. That's the most important thing." David Begnaud loves uncovering the heart of every story and will continue to do so, highlighting everyday heroes and proving that there is good news in the news with his exclusive "CBS Mornings" series, "Beg-Knows America." Every Monday, get ready for moments that will make you smile or even shed a tear. Do you have a story about an ordinary person doing something extraordinary for someone else? Email David and his team at DearDavid@
Forbes
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Forbes
Three Former K-Pop Idols Find It's ‘Time To Be Strong'
Sunim, Sarang and Tae-hee find their trip to Jeju Island is not what they expected. Becoming a k-pop trainee is a dream for many aspiring performers. After years of hard work learning to dance, sing and act, trainees might be rewarded with lucrative contracts and a lifetime of celebrity. But it doesn't always work out that way. The protagonists of the Korean film Time To Be Strong have done their turn in the trainee system and it's time to move on. But where are they headed? For now the destination is Jeju, a popular vacation destination off the coast of South Korea. Sunim (Choi Sung-eun), Sarang (Ha Seo-yoon and Tae-hee (Hyun Woo-seok) are marking the end of their failed careers with a trip. They joke that it makes up for a class trip to Jeju that former classmates Sunim and Tae-hee missed. It also serves as a buffer between the dream they've given up and an uncertain future. Director Namgoong Sun wanted to make a film about Korean teens and the conditions they work in. K-pop served as a metaphor. 'K-pop is really big in Korea,' said Sun. 'So many kids want to be an idol and there are so many trainees. I thought that culture had a similarity with how they are growing up in Korea. The Korea that we're living in today is just an extremely competitive society, and I thought it would be interesting to interview these idols that have gone through that intensive system competition.' No members of an existing k-pop group would talk to her so she had to ask around. 'I met people who used to be idols or who were just trainees or who were in these big competitive TV programs,' said Sun. 'I met them and heard about their life for two hours or so. That's how I decided that it would be fun. There would be something if I looked into these people and interviewed them. I got to know a lot more than I expected.' As the leader of her k-pop group Sunim is used to taking care of others. Sun created Sunim, Sarang and Tae-hee from those interviews. Sunim, the responsible leader of the girl group Love and Leeds, is burdened with guilt over the death of another group member. Her turn as a trainee only exacerbated her eating disorder to the point where she can barely eat without throwing up. Sarang has mental health issues to deal with. Tae-hee's band disbanded, leaving him with a mountain of debt. Between them they face every bad thing that could happen to a k-pop trainee. The film suggests that it's not a training system for the weak of heart. 'In my interview sessions, I just really felt for them," said Sun. "I think it's a very different experience seeing a negative piece of news about the industry from a distance when you're seeing it on TV versus actually sitting with a human being and really hearing their stories in person. That's a very different experience. I realized that the experiences they've had are such intensely, almost cruel experiences and the scars that they still have I felt were worth exploring and really expressing because many of these people are unable to actually verbalize what they've gone through. Before they debut, they are desperate to become the chosen ones to participate in these bands. Until they debut, they really have no say in how they feel or what they're going through. Even after they debut, there is this sense of responsibility to their fans as not to worry or concern them. It's a constant battle of not being able to actually express what they feel.' Sunim makes all the arrangements for her friends. She's used to taking charge, 'There are these positions in k-pop groups," said Sun. "While interviewing, I found out that the leaders have a distinct kind of role. They have to look out for the other members. It's a very stressful place to be at because they themselves are going through some inhumane things, but they need to keep the team together and they generally care for the team and lead the team as a group while talking to the company. It's kind of a middle man position.' The Jeju trip quickly hits a few road bumps, but the k-pop exiles meet a fan who helps them put things in perspective. 'Many bands have rules in their band clubs and they all strictly abide by those rules,' said Sun. "But she doesn't know a thing. She just likes these kids and she is kind of socially awkward as well. I thought that was interesting because that's what a human-to-human connection would look like if we didn't have all these rules.' Sun's film was financed by the Human Rights Commission of Korea, an independent commission for protecting, advocating and promoting human rights and it only had what she describes as a tiny budget. The film's talented cameraman, a friend, lived on Jeju, so she asked if his home could be used for a set. 'It was a simple choice at the beginning and it kind of matched well for these kids to go on a trip on their own for the first time.' It's not unusual for k-pop trainees to start training at 13 and some start as young as seven. They may go straight from their parental home into the trainee dorm where every decision is made for them. 'A lot of our interviewees said that they were managed for so long, the first thing they found weird was to travel alone," said Sun. "They didn't know how to buy tickets, how to do planes. In terms of everyday simple things they were just bewildered.' Sun initially wanted to cast people who had actually been idols or trainees and to showcase their untapped skills. 'But obviously once I started interviewing, I thought in order to protect these people, I couldn't actually use them directly in the process of casting. So I changed my approach to cast actors. In my imagination the characters were very good and kind people.' Choi Sung-eun, the first actor to sign on, previously appeared in the film My Name Is Loh Kiwan, the dramas The Sound of Magic, Beyond Evil and Start-Up. Ha Seo-yoon appeared in Family By Choice, Captivating The King and The Worst of Evil. Hyun Woo-seok had roles in The School Nurse Files, Love Alarm and can be seen next year in Wish Your Death. Namkoong Sun has directed a succession of shorts during the last 15 years, including Meat Incident and The End of the World. In 2020 she made her feature debut with Ten Months, which received a special mention in the UNcaged Award Competition of the New York Asian Film Festival. Time To Be Strong also debuted at NYAFF. Sun also directed the film Love Untangled, starring Gong Myung, Shin Eun-soo and Cha Woo-min. It will be released this year on Netflix.
Fast Company
2 days ago
- Fast Company
This AI gadget turns your dreams into mini movies
An intense dream can leave you in sweats and existential wonder. But just moments later, it evaporates from your mind to never be experienced again. The fleeting nature of dreams is why many keep a dream journal by their bedside to jot down the story before it disappears. The design studio Modem imagined another, more modern recording device. Called the Dream Recorder, it's something like a bedside clock radio that uses AI to log your dreams and play them back to you. When you wake up in the morning, you pick up the recorder and dictate what you remember of your dream. That ensuing transcript is sent to an AI video generator in the cloud, which creates a short video of it. What's important to Modem is the ritual, done without an app or phone, is performed with an object dedicated to you—a sort of generated visual diary of dreams. 'The thing that happens in your head isn't going to be magically recreated by this video generator,' says project contributor Mark Hinch. 'But it will hopefully capture the essence of the perhaps bizarre, weird, fragmented ideas of what happened in your head in the story.' The dreams themselves are rendered through an intentionally ethereal aesthetic, at a low fi 240-by-240-pixel resolution that's meant to mirror the way we remember a dream, but also sidestep too much literality when things naturally don't match up. For instance, it blurs faces so that you never see someone who doesn't match up with what you remember. And rather than saving every dream you ever have forever, the Dream Recorder has been designed to flush its memory much like you do—holding onto dreams for a week at most before overwriting them with whatever you dream up next. Instead of selling the device, Modem shares the code on Github, along with all the items you need to buy to build it, ranging from a Raspberry Pi processor to USB microphones and capacitive touch sensors, via Amazon links. The body can be printed via an online service like Shapeways, and it all connects together without soldering. (Dreams cost between about a penny and 14 cents apiece, depending on the AI service you connect to render them.) But the Dream Recorder is admittedly less interesting as another product with features to be scrutinized than it is as a greater idea, and model of experimentation that's been lacking in the race toward AGI or building the next unicorn. With so much of the AI conversation focused on companions, productivity tools, or generative whatever, it's easy to block out the more transcendental possibilities like being able to literally speak to whales. Modem cut through the productization of AI with a new dose of wonder. The Dream Recorder is fascinating not just for what it literally does, but as a rare, tangible beacon for a future that feels just within our grasp. (Dream recording inherently seems feasible within our electrical brain patterns and new AI capabilities—so much so that Samsung filed a patent around a UI to control your dreams.) And much like a good sci-fi novel, it offers us an anchor to discuss and debate what it all means until a world of inventors actually leads us there. 'We hope to inspire the new generation coming of age in the age of intelligence . . . showing them that there's a more mindful alternative to the very distracted world,' says Bas van de Poel, cofounder of Modem. 'Perhaps using the engines of wisdom and mindfulness, and combining them with the logic of computer science, will be sort of like the ultimate dream,' he says.
