Wednesday, November 30, 2005
I wonder
I wonder where storytellers get their inspirations from. Do they dig deep into the recesses of their minds and creatively fabricate an imaginary world where alls well ends well just from scratch, or have they had past experiences that they fall back on (and obviously take it to the next level)?
I am more inclined to prefer the former, and it places me in awe and disappointment at the same time. It takes sheer genius to put together a captivating story that we could only dream off from scratch. I mean, to visualise an entire story with plots and subplots and subsubplots is no easy feat. Take for example, one of my favourite movies, Before Sunset (and of course its prequel Before Sunrise). Its a simple movie entirely based on the conversations of 2 strangers who chanced on each other in a train in Europe, who then proceed to fall in love, and then part, and then coincidentally meet in Paris 9 freaking years later. Its absolutely beautiful. How perfect could that ever get? The whole idea of meeting your soulmate, losing your soulmate and then finally reuniting 9 years down the road is as romantic as it can get. But the thing is, could this possibly ever happen in reality. What are the chances of bumping into your soulmate on a backpacking trip through Europe? And not once too, but twice! In an even more basic context, what are the chances of even bumping into your soulmate?
The truth is, most of us trudge through our lives without ever meeting our soulmate, and thats what saddens me the most. Thats what draws me to movies and books, because I sometimes feel that the only happiness I could possibly achieve is by living the experiences of these fictional characters. Perhaps the storytellers feel the same way, and therefore live through their stories, because sometimes, its the only way we can get by in this world
I am more inclined to prefer the former, and it places me in awe and disappointment at the same time. It takes sheer genius to put together a captivating story that we could only dream off from scratch. I mean, to visualise an entire story with plots and subplots and subsubplots is no easy feat. Take for example, one of my favourite movies, Before Sunset (and of course its prequel Before Sunrise). Its a simple movie entirely based on the conversations of 2 strangers who chanced on each other in a train in Europe, who then proceed to fall in love, and then part, and then coincidentally meet in Paris 9 freaking years later. Its absolutely beautiful. How perfect could that ever get? The whole idea of meeting your soulmate, losing your soulmate and then finally reuniting 9 years down the road is as romantic as it can get. But the thing is, could this possibly ever happen in reality. What are the chances of bumping into your soulmate on a backpacking trip through Europe? And not once too, but twice! In an even more basic context, what are the chances of even bumping into your soulmate?
The truth is, most of us trudge through our lives without ever meeting our soulmate, and thats what saddens me the most. Thats what draws me to movies and books, because I sometimes feel that the only happiness I could possibly achieve is by living the experiences of these fictional characters. Perhaps the storytellers feel the same way, and therefore live through their stories, because sometimes, its the only way we can get by in this world
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Grudgingly I yield
The root of all my problems are me. Yes, me. I have an inbuilt affliction to yearn for something that is the utter opposite of what I currently have. Basking in the warmth of companionship, I absolutely crave for solitude, but when I am presented with such, I proceed to mope and emo all over the place, desperate for even the slightest bit of human contact.
This is my curse, to be completely dissatisfied with myself and my suroundings regardless of how perfect they may seem to the outside eye. And this is why I lose myself in movies or books, because only there can I find the perfect world, the perfect life, that I so crave for and hopeless dream to have.
And that is when I take pity on myself, this miserable existence on earth. Cursed to only be able to dream but possibly never to achieve. Bound by the conventions that society has deemed fit to shackle us with. I hate that. So many times Ive dreamt of ending it all, and these visualisations of mine scare me so much, because I see every detail of it so clearly. The sliding of the blade along the veins, and me enjoying my last cigarette as I drift off into the darkness. And so many times I find myself weeping because I lack the courage to do anything about it, be it to end it, or to move on.
So here I am, this pool of swamp water. Stagnant and stinking. Yes, this is my life, and Im bound by it.
This is my curse, to be completely dissatisfied with myself and my suroundings regardless of how perfect they may seem to the outside eye. And this is why I lose myself in movies or books, because only there can I find the perfect world, the perfect life, that I so crave for and hopeless dream to have.
And that is when I take pity on myself, this miserable existence on earth. Cursed to only be able to dream but possibly never to achieve. Bound by the conventions that society has deemed fit to shackle us with. I hate that. So many times Ive dreamt of ending it all, and these visualisations of mine scare me so much, because I see every detail of it so clearly. The sliding of the blade along the veins, and me enjoying my last cigarette as I drift off into the darkness. And so many times I find myself weeping because I lack the courage to do anything about it, be it to end it, or to move on.
So here I am, this pool of swamp water. Stagnant and stinking. Yes, this is my life, and Im bound by it.
Monday, November 28, 2005
2B and not 2H
5 months down the yellow brick road and Im further behind from where I started. 1 step in front and 2 behind. Philosophy of my life, I reckon. All I can do now is lick my wounds and snarl at my misfortunes. Everything I touch turns grey with despair, so much so I've already forgotten what intimacy feels like, what its like to open up to someone. How I yearn for that, but forever will I deny myself that. Its just safer this way.
You may not know it, but as I stare upon your face, my wounds bleed again, for I feel Ive fallen deeper into my abyss just be never having met you. Perhaps in heaven we shall meet. And I will introduce you with my grey just as you will dazzle me with your vibrant colors, as we secretly talk about how our lives wouldve been had we just chanced upon each other. However, perhaps it is for the better that our lives run at a parallel, for I could never risk drowning you in all these shades of grey.
Today my heart bleeds once more, for Ive never known at all.
You may not know it, but as I stare upon your face, my wounds bleed again, for I feel Ive fallen deeper into my abyss just be never having met you. Perhaps in heaven we shall meet. And I will introduce you with my grey just as you will dazzle me with your vibrant colors, as we secretly talk about how our lives wouldve been had we just chanced upon each other. However, perhaps it is for the better that our lives run at a parallel, for I could never risk drowning you in all these shades of grey.
Today my heart bleeds once more, for Ive never known at all.
