Sunday, August 9, 2009
Why? Well, sitting through (500) Days of Summer is a lot like falling in love. At first, it charms you, excites you, and exhilarates you. Then, just as you have invested yourself completely, it rips your heart out. I’m pretty sure I left the theatre murmuring, “ow!” and clutching my chest. I wanted to laugh, cry, and shake my fist at humanity all at once.
Above all, (500) Days was a scary, startling wake-up call. It made me realize I’ve spent the past three years being a Tom. Just because someone likes the “same bizarre crap” as you, doesn’t mean you are soul mates. Even worse still, you can like someone as much you want, but that doesn’t guarantee that they are going to like you back. Love isn't sports. It isn't academics. It doesn't matter how much toil and work you put into pining after someone. There is a point when you have to get over someone, and move on. Maybe (500) Days of Summer was just the push I needed to finally let go of my perspective Summers.
See it. You won’t be disappointed, not if you’ve been at the wrong end of a relationship.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
I went to the library yesterday afternoon and picked up a few films. I was having a very horrible day, and needed to give my mind some distraction from reality. One of the films was The Secret of Roan Inish and I can say with confidence that, after watching it last night with a cup of raspberry tea, it is one of the most enchanting movies I’ve ever seen. The swelling Irish landscapes, the haunting score, the beautiful costuming, and the folklore, all left me missing something that I didn’t know I’d ever lost. The film was so full of Ireland and the rolling blue sea that my heart could hardly remain inside my chest. It wanted to leap into the screen, and reside with its Gaelic roots permanently.
That night, I dreamt I lived on the Irish coast as a fisherman’s wife. My home was a cozy little seaside cottage with low ceilings, roaring fires, and an endless simmering pot of stew. We survived the tempestuous stormy winter evenings by curling up under quilts and reciting ghost stories in fevered whispers. We always smelled of salt, of brine, of fish. It was a dream that kills your spirit a little when you realize you must awake. I realized that, if I ever find myself in Ireland again, I won’t be coming back.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Yet I have not grown fins. I have not begun breathing while submerged under the murky waters of my bathtub. Mermaid, I am not. But I cannot deny the allure of the ever beckoning salty air. The answer seems so frighteningly simple: I must be some backwards reincarnation of Annabel Lee.
Am I the only one? Are you Annabel Lee too? Do our hearts thump and thud so wildly inside our chest only because our secret souls are searching for our star-crossed other halves? Oh, I’ve often suspected the angels had qualms with me. My consistent ill luck could only be the work of some sinister cosmic intervention.
I am not very brave. If I was, I’d slip out in the quiet of the night and escape to a kingdom by the sea. I’d let the tempestuous storms whip my hair into a million tangles. I’d correspond with the ghosts of sailors and pirates. Watch your mouth in front of the lady, they would all grumble and scold at each other. I’d revel in their company to such an extent that I’d withdraw completely from the living brand of humans altogether. A nautical citadel full of souls drowned and drowning still.
I am an Annabel Lee, and you are an Annabel Lee, and so is every other girl who is equally in love with the sea and the schoolboy she never will meet.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
I’m clinging onto the shards of sanity by refusing to neglect the inner workings of my own private little world. Going on adventures with Daisy and Piper, and mourning for My Tess. Angel’s in his heaven. Eating white chocolate ice cream out of my Chesire Cat mug. It was as white as snow, you know. It had me wishing for December.
Do you know what would be ever-so-lovely? Going to the cinema in a town where not one soul knows my name. I’d smuggle in candy hearts, gooey popcorn balls, and a giant thermos of tea. When you go to the cinema by yourself, you don’t have to be afraid to cry. You can rest your head in your hands and sob the whole way through (which I always do, especially when we went and saw Finding Neverland. I didn’t even stop when we went back to the car, cried the whole way home).
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Summer is swollen ankles and feeling restless. Summer I can live without. Spring, however, I need if I am to be revived from this Winter's coma. I yearn to thaw out, to once again become reborn.