I watched The Pianist yesterday and found it mind-bogglingly heart-wrenching. Never have I come across a movie that can portray such musical beauty in a time of war and holocaust horror. I had to stop a few times to calm myself down, forget the torture and pain splattered all over the movie and remember what it is I downloaded it for.
The dread I feel when watching the Germans exterminate the Jews in thousands at a time, families, elderly, children, its amazing how it makes me wonder how lucky I am to live in such a poverty-free and peacefully sovereign society. Adrien Brody was fantastic. My kudos goes to him; learning the piano just for a movie is definitely a troublesome task and mainly because of the hellish practicing that has to come with it. The nocturnes/ballades by Chopin made the movie all the more easier for me to relate to how Szpilman feels when he finally plays on the piano after years of war.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
revelation?
When reality slaps you in the face, you suddenly realise how fucked-up this world is. It’s just as well, Murphy’s law. One can’t blame anyone for being pessimistic, or at least a little over-realistic. Bad luck will always befall us on bad days, and in the end, pessimists always have the last laugh.
When you wake up from that good dream and realise it’s a lie…oh how much it stabs, and burns.
I thank and respect every single person who’s given me a little glint of hope, of expectance of better things, of good days with sunny skies and rainbows. It doesn’t hurt to try sometimes and your attempts never fail to work on me; I feel better, I feel a bit more secure, I love what I’m doing and go further with what I have. Happiness turns to passion, passion turns to love.
But the horrible truth is bound to creep back in, and when I come into awareness of that, every memory I have of these pretty polished optimists falls down to the very few bad times we had.
Some people can be so… hypocritic. Your facade is nothing short of perfect, and you’ve managed to strip me off all my dearest strengths and philosophies and plunge me into your hidden darkness, that where the horrifying revelation happens. I just don’t… believe this.
Will it suffice to say I thought I knew you better? I guess not. I probably never did, come to think of it.
Oh well. Fact is, noone cares. Should I embrace that as a joy or an agony?
When you wake up from that good dream and realise it’s a lie…oh how much it stabs, and burns.
I thank and respect every single person who’s given me a little glint of hope, of expectance of better things, of good days with sunny skies and rainbows. It doesn’t hurt to try sometimes and your attempts never fail to work on me; I feel better, I feel a bit more secure, I love what I’m doing and go further with what I have. Happiness turns to passion, passion turns to love.
But the horrible truth is bound to creep back in, and when I come into awareness of that, every memory I have of these pretty polished optimists falls down to the very few bad times we had.
Some people can be so… hypocritic. Your facade is nothing short of perfect, and you’ve managed to strip me off all my dearest strengths and philosophies and plunge me into your hidden darkness, that where the horrifying revelation happens. I just don’t… believe this.
Will it suffice to say I thought I knew you better? I guess not. I probably never did, come to think of it.
Oh well. Fact is, noone cares. Should I embrace that as a joy or an agony?
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Outing
My friends and I had this plan to go on an outing.Something I haven’t done in weeks and am currently craving for,because there are like a dozen latest movies I’ve missed out on.So there I was,all ready and dolled up to go,when suddenly one of my friends calls at the last minute and says all of them have cancelled the thing and they are really sorry.Well.It upsets me rather,but later during the day I told about it to my mother,hoping to feel a bit better,but I didn’t,because there was this awkward silence after I told her about it.This got me thinking very deeply(something I’ve been doing quite often lately).
It’s no use feeling sorry for ourselves and nursing our wounds,even though we think the very essence of our patience is about to give away.Everyone faces their own problems to each one’s extent and limit;no matter how much you think the burden is on your back,everyone else is facing it too,only in different versions and magnitudes.I was about to give up on my friends that day,but some pathetic realization came to me that they didn’t want to miss the outing on purpose.One of them was at home babysitting her sister,one was at the hospital,and the other was at the airport,seeing relatives.And all of them must’ve felt just as bad as I did for ditching the day out with her friends,or at least thinking about the great time they could’ve had if they’d gone out for a movie and shopping rather than being where they were.I wasn’t the only one facing the terrible day alone.They were,and probably a million other people on Earth.So that cheered me up quite a bit.(:
My studying has been terrible.I rarely touch those things they call books,and I dread the thought of writing on paper.I’ve even had nightmares of seeing my Chemistry paper and all the questions I got wrong in it.It’s scary,but not scary enough to the extent of motivating me to open my books and study.No.It just isn’t.So there.
It’s kind of late,but I finally watched Mr. And Mrs. Smith today(yeah screw all of you who’ve watched it millenia before me) and I must admit that Mr.Pitt is extremely delicious.Even with a coconut haircut like that and sort of bruised facial expressions,he still beats all the other babe magnets put together.You could put anyone on the list,young or old;Reeves,Kutcher,Brody,Michael or even Depp.He still tops the list.But then again,the oh-so-harsh realities blanket me under its strong,crushing impact.He’s been married twice with some nerve of separating with Aniston,and every single chick in the world loves him.All pretty things come with poison.
It’s no use feeling sorry for ourselves and nursing our wounds,even though we think the very essence of our patience is about to give away.Everyone faces their own problems to each one’s extent and limit;no matter how much you think the burden is on your back,everyone else is facing it too,only in different versions and magnitudes.I was about to give up on my friends that day,but some pathetic realization came to me that they didn’t want to miss the outing on purpose.One of them was at home babysitting her sister,one was at the hospital,and the other was at the airport,seeing relatives.And all of them must’ve felt just as bad as I did for ditching the day out with her friends,or at least thinking about the great time they could’ve had if they’d gone out for a movie and shopping rather than being where they were.I wasn’t the only one facing the terrible day alone.They were,and probably a million other people on Earth.So that cheered me up quite a bit.(:
My studying has been terrible.I rarely touch those things they call books,and I dread the thought of writing on paper.I’ve even had nightmares of seeing my Chemistry paper and all the questions I got wrong in it.It’s scary,but not scary enough to the extent of motivating me to open my books and study.No.It just isn’t.So there.
It’s kind of late,but I finally watched Mr. And Mrs. Smith today(yeah screw all of you who’ve watched it millenia before me) and I must admit that Mr.Pitt is extremely delicious.Even with a coconut haircut like that and sort of bruised facial expressions,he still beats all the other babe magnets put together.You could put anyone on the list,young or old;Reeves,Kutcher,Brody,Michael or even Depp.He still tops the list.But then again,the oh-so-harsh realities blanket me under its strong,crushing impact.He’s been married twice with some nerve of separating with Aniston,and every single chick in the world loves him.All pretty things come with poison.
The Expatation is to high?
I’m cowering in the darkness with my eyes closed, my hands gripped into fists. I don’t grope them around or look for a hint of light, because I’m not searching for anything in particular. I like it in here and I enjoy my solitude. There could be another hundred people in the darkness right here with me, but as long as we’re in the dark, I don’t hear them, I don’t see them, I will still feel as lonely as ever. And it doesn’t scare me, because I have learnt to become one with nothingness.I have come to overpower my fears in this desolate environment, where noone is around to care or bother, noone wants to know. I know myself, and I am nothing.
My parents keep thinking I’ll get married only when I’m 30, at the current rate I socialise with and treat members of the opposite sex. Oddly enough, I seem to have put up a brilliant facade of utter Estella-ism in front of them, and better yet, I’m somewhat enjoying myself and I keep showing how proud I am of it. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to them; I just happen to have a book-cover judgement on men in general. Their clothing and hygiene, and fashion especially… give me a huge impression about them. Rings on their fingers, especially huge black/silver ones make me gag, single loop earrings attract me, and polo shirts are okay.
Been in strange moods, some involving me downloading small hoards of classical music [i.e. Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, Chopin, Mozart]. Would it sound almost conservative of me to say that classical music makes me feel so calm and relaxed, even a little high?
My parents keep thinking I’ll get married only when I’m 30, at the current rate I socialise with and treat members of the opposite sex. Oddly enough, I seem to have put up a brilliant facade of utter Estella-ism in front of them, and better yet, I’m somewhat enjoying myself and I keep showing how proud I am of it. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to them; I just happen to have a book-cover judgement on men in general. Their clothing and hygiene, and fashion especially… give me a huge impression about them. Rings on their fingers, especially huge black/silver ones make me gag, single loop earrings attract me, and polo shirts are okay.
Been in strange moods, some involving me downloading small hoards of classical music [i.e. Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, Chopin, Mozart]. Would it sound almost conservative of me to say that classical music makes me feel so calm and relaxed, even a little high?
Great Expectations, the movie. Directed by Alfonso Cuaron, starring Ethan Hawke.
This movie came out in 1998, and I’d half expected it to be like Pride and Prejudice, or Becoming Jane, or Ever After. I was wrong, surprisingly. I’m usually emo after watching deep-thinker-type movies like this, but I don’t think I’ve ever been to this extent.
Normally when you see a hunk like Ethan Hawke star in a movie adapted from a Charles Dickens book, you’d shrug and assume the worst, because hey, how better off can it get if you get a guy you’d usually watch in a chick flick. But how I stood corrected! Ethan Hawke did a brilliant job in this movie. I was so enthralled at the end of it, and I cried during the ending. Imagine what it feels like to have the very benefactor of your life-long success die in your own arms. I just sat there and wept and wept, because I did so want him to achieve what he wanted in the end. The story does follow its title through and through. You expect and expect all your life, and yet nothing goes the way you want it to. What’s more heartbreaking is the fall of his social life. Falling in love with Estella has been the first thing he’s done ever since he met her, and yet all his life, she treats him indifferently. I can’t say I know how he feels like, but I suppose I do have an idea which is why I can relate so much to what he feels when he receives word that she’s to be married the very next week.
"But you love her. She’ll only break your heart, it’s a fact. And even though I warn you, even though I guarantee you that the girl will only hurt you terribly………………………..you’ll still pursue her. Ain’t love grand?."
Normally when you see a hunk like Ethan Hawke star in a movie adapted from a Charles Dickens book, you’d shrug and assume the worst, because hey, how better off can it get if you get a guy you’d usually watch in a chick flick. But how I stood corrected! Ethan Hawke did a brilliant job in this movie. I was so enthralled at the end of it, and I cried during the ending. Imagine what it feels like to have the very benefactor of your life-long success die in your own arms. I just sat there and wept and wept, because I did so want him to achieve what he wanted in the end. The story does follow its title through and through. You expect and expect all your life, and yet nothing goes the way you want it to. What’s more heartbreaking is the fall of his social life. Falling in love with Estella has been the first thing he’s done ever since he met her, and yet all his life, she treats him indifferently. I can’t say I know how he feels like, but I suppose I do have an idea which is why I can relate so much to what he feels when he receives word that she’s to be married the very next week.
"But you love her. She’ll only break your heart, it’s a fact. And even though I warn you, even though I guarantee you that the girl will only hurt you terribly………………………..you’ll still pursue her. Ain’t love grand?."
How deeply perplexing Haruki Murakami’s writing can be.
I’m almost done with The Wind-up Bird Chronicle, and as hard as it may seem to understand the literature in his words due to his book being translated from Japanese to English (thanks to Jay Rubin), I’m finding even the translated version as gripping and unputdownable as ever. It basically revolves around a man who is left by his wife for reasons he can’t figure out, and in the process of him thinking his problem through, he climbs down a dry well and lives there in darkness, without food and drink, for a few days. Being in the darkness captures him in such a different way and every memory that he has long forgotten suddenly returns to him in mysteriously vivid detail as if he’s only just experienced them the day before. NO, I am not copying this down from the book, I really do find the plot very moving in some aspects and I do have to admit that the literary value of Murakami’s writing is truly beyond compare.
Have you ever felt that way?
I believe in sixth sense, no matter how superficial the media may make it seem. An extra sensory machine inside of us, stimulated by god-knows-what, and cannot be indicated by eyesight, smell, hearing, taste or touch. It’s as if you know it, without having a clue as to how you did in the first place.
You enter a room filled with, say, 50 people. You’re in search of a girl in the crowd, but everywhere you look, noone pays attention to you and you can’t seem to find him. You look down, close your eyes, maybe, and try to imagine again what she looks like. You picture in your mind, her very image and recall everything you can muster about his appearance. You’re thinking, "Nah, she probably doesn’t even know I exist,"….. so you look up to maybe catch a glimpse of her somewhere, and immediately in the distance, at the very spot you choose to rest your eyes upon in the crowd, there she is.
But alas. She looks up to do exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. She turns his head and stares straight at you. And for a split second, you share a brief moment , a completely unaccounted for, totally unprepared and unanticipated connection that is as if forced upon the two of you to share and hold, for that small fraction of a second. It takes up only so much of your time until you pull off and look away, and perhaps then curse under your breath, thinking, oh dammit.
Emotions churn in your chest in fast and violent moves, as if rain and hot winds had collided in a storm, forming vast hurricanes in that little space of your heart. You feel fear, for she may have interpreted the glance wrongly; regret, because you had chosen that exact moment to catch the glimpse of her and the slightest bit of excitement, because you know, and only you know, that none of the other 48 people in the room had shared what you just did.
Have you ever felt that way?
You enter a room filled with, say, 50 people. You’re in search of a girl in the crowd, but everywhere you look, noone pays attention to you and you can’t seem to find him. You look down, close your eyes, maybe, and try to imagine again what she looks like. You picture in your mind, her very image and recall everything you can muster about his appearance. You’re thinking, "Nah, she probably doesn’t even know I exist,"….. so you look up to maybe catch a glimpse of her somewhere, and immediately in the distance, at the very spot you choose to rest your eyes upon in the crowd, there she is.
But alas. She looks up to do exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. She turns his head and stares straight at you. And for a split second, you share a brief moment , a completely unaccounted for, totally unprepared and unanticipated connection that is as if forced upon the two of you to share and hold, for that small fraction of a second. It takes up only so much of your time until you pull off and look away, and perhaps then curse under your breath, thinking, oh dammit.
Emotions churn in your chest in fast and violent moves, as if rain and hot winds had collided in a storm, forming vast hurricanes in that little space of your heart. You feel fear, for she may have interpreted the glance wrongly; regret, because you had chosen that exact moment to catch the glimpse of her and the slightest bit of excitement, because you know, and only you know, that none of the other 48 people in the room had shared what you just did.
Have you ever felt that way?
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