Last night I cried quietly over the phone as many things came to my mind. I was crying out of joy. I was crying for the person I was and who I became and the tortuous road that lay in between. I believed that there’s only so much joy another person can bring to you and then you’re left to make do for the remaining part yourself. I was wrong.
A very safely nurtured dream came true a few days back. I saw my words being approached by complete strangers and being respected and praised immensely. I realized that the very nature of my writing that day – different from what it usually is – was still my writing and it made it to the Freshly Pressed page of WordPress. For people like me, this means everything and yet it stings just a tiny bit.
What followed in the coming few days was overwhelming, exhausting and so incredibly amazing; I guess there’s no way to entirely explain what I felt in words. Especially not in words. My views climbed and soared. My followers and like counts peaked. My phone was blown up with the incessant notifications and still goes off suddenly on a vibrating trip. But that’s not even the important part.
I received the kind of love writers can only dream about. More people than I can count told me how my writing reached to them. Some offered solace, some gave me their compassion, others promised to read, while the rest simply and honestly said thank you. There were few who said that I got into their minds and wrote their story. Which has to be what shocked me the most. I hurt all over wondering about these people I don’t know but their pain that I know all too well. It restored in me the faith that we’re never truly alone in the way we feel and think. Our experiences might be our own but there are people out there who have crossed those bridges at some point, faced the same demons and come out stronger. It’s a very big revelation to absorb when you spend most of your time cooped up in your worries and your tiny little life comprising of three or four important people. It’s an even harder blow to take when you have never been able to share your humiliating stories for fear of thinking it made you look bad.
One more reason I feel like I have to write this is because in retrospect if I had known this was the blog that was going to make the mark I would not have written some parts of it so harshly. The part about my mother. No, I wouldn’t challenge my integrity and change the facts. But I would’ve selectively imprinted on my readers a somewhat milder version of the pain I felt. The part about my mother. What part is it exactly? The part where I say how she hurt me? The part where I tell you that she only did what she thought was right? Or the part where I don’t talk about her?
Isn’t all of it in some indescribable way all her? Am I not, in the most inescapable reason simply because of her. Tied to her.
People wrote to me and said they couldn’t fathom what kind of mother does that to her child. They expressed their anger and confusion and tried to mimic my sense of betrayal, if only to form a kind of kinship with me, maybe to make me feel better, by virtue of their humanity. But I read those comments, I read the ones that said, “What kind of mother…” and I lost my cool. I couldn’t control the rage I felt on the inside at hearing someone else question my mother. I’m sorry but that is an inherent right that only I can wield.
Last night, I cried because I heard the most beautiful words spoken and they were all for me. There are elegies of love and then there are confessions. There is poetry and wit, letters of love and actions of compassion and infinite mediums of explaining what a person makes you feel and what you feel for them. The rainbows, the sunlight, the kisses sent via snail mail, the memories of the places you’ve seen together, the songs that are always about your lover. Does anything ever not speak directly to you when you’re in love? The unwavering respect that someone can give you for what you do is the most enchanting kind of confession there is. I cried because for the first time in my life, I didn’t have to wonder what it was like to feel complete. I was, in that moment, by all means…infinite.
So I’ve come to understand many things with this whole writing and going viral business. I read on a blog somewhere that you can be really good at what you do but writing is lately like high school and that it’s about who can shout the loudest. Not about who can write the best. I did that shouting into the Internet void and hoping to hit a gold mine thing. I did hit a few good shots and got published in lesser known places but it was not enough for me. I can’t self promote unless it’s absolutely essential. So I waited patiently for WordPress to come through for me, knowing that the odds were way too many. I think this happened to me at such a promising and beautiful time in my life and that instead of it being the sole reason for my joy – as I had initially hoped – it only adds to the pre-existing happiness in my life.
I believe that posts like this, are not going to be too frequent here. They take something out of me and I can only put so much of my life up on public display. I am afraid that one day I will have exhausted all of my personal experiences and that will be the end of it. I was bothered before because hardly anyone was reading my blog, now I’m on the opposite side and I’m still troubled. I patiently spoke to everyone who left their precious comments on my blog because you only get to bask in the sun so much and also because while it’s shining you mustn’t forget to make hay. I said to them that readers like them make everything possible. And it’s true.
Last night, I cried because this is my life now and it’s absolutely beautiful.
So it’s finally February and I’m feeling like myself again. It is a feel good month and I’m glad I fumbled through January, somehow. A lot of sappy love songs are on my playlist and there’s nothing better than hearing a slightly different version of a song I adored on the piano now with a violinist.
Warning: Contains obvious Spoilers.
After waiting for an unimaginably long time, I finally got to watch Drake Doremus’ new masterpiece. My heart is torn apart. And that barely scrapes the tip of the iceberg.
Firstly, I’m unsure if this movie can only be termed as a family drama or a romance gone awry or an unconventional love story which was supposed to beat the odds. You can say it was a delightful combination of them all. Remember when they said Breathe In was the darker cousin of Like Crazy (the Drake Doremus movie that won at The Sundance Film Festival), well that really sums up everything. Breathe In is a whole different world from Like Crazy but one that you’ll soon grow to inhabit and familiarize yourself with as the movie progresses. If you’re obsessive like me and have watched Like Crazy that many times as I have, I suppose nothing can surpass the sheer untraditional beauty and brilliance that movie depicted. But here I am, watching Breathe In over and over and trying to tell myself that it’s okay, maybe something better than Like Crazy has come along. Maybe, it’s time to love this movie, as I did Like Crazy. Can I, in my heart find place for both of them? After all they’re both deeply tragic in their own ways and just my nature of torturous love.
Let’s get you in on the plot first. Felicity Jones plays Sophie, an 18 year old exchange student from UK who moves in with the Reynolds family in the outskirts of Manhattan. What follows next is an emotional upheaval when Sophie delicately crosses lines and comes close to destroying Megan Reynolds’ (Amy Ryan) marriage and household by drawing Keith (Guy Pearce), her husband into a romance unimaginable on so many levels. Although, the lead pair Keith and Sophie put up stellar performances, Mackenzie Davis who plays Lauren, Keith’s 18 year old daughter, rightly plays the true victim to all the turn of events.
Right from the start where this perfectly happy family is getting a photoshoot done in their front lawn, somehow trying to smile for the camera, to the end where they’re doing it again, Breathe In will give you so much to think about what went on in between. The narrative is interspersed with few dialogues and allows the audience to grasp the interactions and relationships by their own will. The steady camera work and natural lighting, the dreamy poise and repeated flashes of their house, the piano, the window where you can see the rain fall, the swings in their lawn will get imprinted on your mind.
What holds this movie together is the stupendous acting skills of Guy Pearce and Felicity Jones even though they don’t have that many dialogues. Why and how they fall in love with each other can be debated at length and there still won’t be a conclusion that would be acceptable to all. Almost all the aspects have been slightly touched in the movie in some scene or the other about what it was that created this attraction between a married man and a teenager. You can say that it was Sophie’s esoteric demeanor that caused Keith to look at her differently. Or his crave for the youthfulness in life, maybe her fierce spontaneity and belief that you should choose to do something and not just do it because you can. Or even that she was a piano prodigy which was beyond anything Keith had seen. His interest in her could’ve also been sparked for sexual reasons like how his friend cheekily points out, but even that will not hold true if you consider that their physical relationship never went beyond a kiss. It was more about how Sophie appeased the part of him that his wife, his daughter actually couldn’t ever acknowledge. How she wanted to make him feel free while his family only held him down. His job as a music teacher, he felt was never something he was carved out for, about which his wife constantly jibed at him. Not knowing that her lack of interest in that area of his life, his music, was ultimately what was ruining everything. I still can’t get over how she asks him one night about Sophie’s music abilities and he lies so easily.
Sophie is a mature and calm girl who knows how she would like to live her life. She isn’t easily swayed which we realize when she goes out with Aaron, a classmate only trying to get her to sleep with him after a drunken night at a club in New York. Sophie knows that Aaron was Lauren’s first and would never try to hurt Lauren like that. However, if you look at this ironically, she is romancing Lauren’s dad and as if that wouldn’t affect Lauren at all. So you see, Sophie and Keith’s relationship was unjustifiable from the start. That they were doomed from the very start never failed to stop them from realizing how much comfort and reassurance they gained from each other’s company. It only pushed them to an affair and a middle of the night decision to elope. Like Sophie termed it, just get in the car and drive and let’s see where it takes us. While all that is extremely alluring and romantically adventurous and you would absolutely love the thrill when they finally escaped from their lives and responsibilities, the movie turns into a nightmare right in the last fifteen minutes. You feel your heartbeat race, hoping against hope that somehow, maybe for some reason the decisions made by each character could be reversed, altered or abandoned altogether. But alas, a family drama it is and it’s absolutely predictable (and not much Spoiler material) that something major happens to give Keith a snap back to reality and the role he’s expected to play in his family. The crescendo music montage in those last few minutes is unforgettable. If that doesn’t feel like your heart being ripped out from your chest, I don’t know what else does.
Breathe In is a compelling and raw movie showing us the vulnerabilities and intricate lives of all three members in the family. Just like how you felt you, the audience was the eavesdropper in Like Crazy, in Breathe In, Felicity Jones is somehow the eavesdropper in this family’s personal matters. On many accounts, she can be termed as the insidious villain and also the grim truth everyone had their eyes shut against. She can be accused of being ungrateful for bringing the warm welcome she received reduced to insecurities and ultimately hate. Or you can pretend to be one of the people in that affair and see how beautiful life can actually be when you’re with the right person, no matter how old they are or what is right by societal norms. When you find a love that shakes the very core of your existence, nothing else can matter much. When you think on those grounds, you can barely term those instances as “cheating” and mind you there is nothing that I could despise more than the act of betraying your partner with the cheap act of cheating on them. Then again, the movie is a plethora of melancholy emotions and untold feelings, lingering gazes and beautifully raw depictions of unrequited love. When there’s so much going on, all you can do is close your eyes and breathe in.
P.S: The music score by Dustin O’Halloran continues to enthrall and give a deep rendition to a fairly simple storyline. Had it not been for that, Breathe In could never be what it is to me now. Though I’m a Felicity Jones fangirl, Guy Pearce clearly was a great match and his brilliant acting continues to please.
You can read my review of Like Crazy, here.
Sometimes I take someone’s life, pretend it’s my own and write about it. We all love roleplay, let’s admit it.
So I smiled meekly and said, come. Come and take this life of mine and intrude on my most private thoughts. This life of skipped meals and routine moments. You can take it all and still not have it entirely. I will never understand how that works. It’s still my life and mine to give to you. I’m telling you explicitly. Here, do me a favour. My life. Handle with care.
Here is my day, please don’t be it’s ruination. Find yourself in my thoughts. We all need to be alone. Alone and together. Find a beautiful symmetry and try to abscond it. Hurts, doesn’t it?
Here is the heart you dug your teeth into. I don’t have to part with that. It was yours before we met. So we didn’t have enough time. So we couldn’t resolve those bereft moments. So we said too much and there’s no making sense now.
Here is the part where we will never be good enough. We could resort to accusations, among other things. Here is the spite and the exaggerated rage we never tire of. All the emotional masochism we revel in. A house of cards simply balancing on Love. Hate. And more Love.
I eagerly await Lexer’s mixes of good tracks. This one, too, doesn’t disappoint. Melodious, house music with amazing vocals by Rebecca Ferguson. Leave on repeat, all day.
What a splendid book. The perfect blend of photography and the obscure meaning behind words and pictures. This passage particularly stood out for me.
On this day, you read something that moved you and made you realise there were no more fears to fear. No tears to cry. No head to hang in shame. That every time you thought you’d offended someone, it was all just in your head and really, they love you with all their heart and nothing will ever change that. That everyone and everything lives on inside you. That that doesn’t make any of it any less real.
That soft touches will change you and stay with you longer than hard ones.
That being alone means you’re free. That old lovers miss you and new lovers want you and the one you’re with is the one you’re meant to be with. That the tingles running down your arms are angel feathers and they whisper in your ear, constantly, if you choose to hear them. That everything you want to happen, will happen, if you decide you want it enough. That every time you think a sad thought, you can think a happy one instead.
That you control that completely.
That the people who make you laugh are more beautiful than beautiful people. That you laugh more than you cry. That crying is good for you. That the people you hate wish you would stop and you do too.
That your friends are reflections of the best parts of you. That you are more than the sum total of the things you know and how you react to them. That dancing is sometimes more important than listening to the music.
That the most embarrassing, awkward moments of your life are only remembered by you and no one else. That no one judges you when you walk into a room and all they really want to know, is if you’re judging them. That what you make and what you do with your time is more important than you’ll ever fathom and should be treated as such. That the difference between a job and art is passion. That neither defines who you are. That talking to strangers is how you make friends.
That bad days end but a smile can go around the world. That life contradicts itself, constantly. That that’s why it’s worth living.
That the difference between pain and love is time. That love is only as real as you want it to be. That if you feel good, you look good but it doesn’t always work the other way around.
That the sun will rise each day and it’s up to you each day if you match it. That nothing matters up until this point. That what you decide now, in this moment, will change the future. Forever. That rain is beautiful.
And so are you.
– I Wrote This For You by Iain S. Thomas (The Day You Read This, Page 486)
“I NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND SOMETHING. I WROTE THIS FOR YOU. I WROTE THIS FOR YOU AND ONLY YOU. EVERYONE ELSE WHO READS IT, DOESN’T GET IT. THEY MAY THINK THEY GET IT, BUT THEY DON’T. THIS IS THE SIGN YOU’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR. YOU WERE MEANT TO READ THESE WORDS.”
Everyone can do with more of Siken in their life. There’s no one who even comes close to Siken’s style of poetry. Yes, you are my favourite, and your words are everything to me. This one is for me and my Person.
I Had A Dream About You
All the cows were falling out of the sky and landing in the mud.
You were drinking sangria and I was throwing oranges at you,
but it didn’t matter.
I said my arms are very long and your head’s on fire.
I said kiss me here and here and here
And you did.
Then you wanted pasta,
so we trampled out into the tomatoes and rolled around to make the sauce.
You were very beautiful.
We were in the Safeway parking lot. I couldn’t find my cigarettes.
You said Hurry up! but I was worried there would be a holdup
And we would be stuck in a hostage situation, hiding behind
the frozen meats, with nothing to smoke for hours.
You said Don’t be silly,
so I followed you into the store.
We were thumping the melons when I heard somebody say Nobody move!
I leaned over and whispered in your ear I told you so.
There was a show on the television about buried treasure.
You were trying to convince me that we should buy shovels
and go out into the yard
and I was trying to convince you that I was a vampire.
On the way to the hardware store I kept biting your arm
and you said if I really was a vampire I would be biting your neck,
so I started biting your neck
and you said Cut it out!
and you bought me an ice cream, and then we saw the UFO.
These are the dreams we should be having. I shouldn’t have to
clean them up like this.
You were lying in the middle of the empty highway.
The sky was red and the sand was red and you were wearing a brown coat.
There were flecks of foam in the corners of your mouth.
The birds were watching you.
Your eyes were closed and you were listening to the road and I could
hear your breathing, I could hear your heart beating.
I carried you to the car and drove you home but you
weren’t making any sense
I took a shower and tried to catch my breath.
You were lying on top of the bedspread
in boxer shorts, watching cartoons and laughing but not making any sound.
Your skin looked blue in the television light.
Your teeth looked yellow.
Still wet, I lay down next to you. Your arms, your legs, your naked chest,
your ribs delineated like a junkyard dogs.
There’s nowhere to go, I thought. There’s nowhere to go.
You were sitting in a bathtub at the hospital and you were crying.
You said it hurt.
I mean the buildings that were not the hospital.
I shouldn’t have mentioned the hospital.
I don’t think I can take this much longer.
In the dream I don’t tell anyone, you put your head in my lap.
Let’s say you’re driving down the road with your eyes closed
but my eyes are also closed.
You’re by the side of the road.
You’re by the side of the road and you’re doing all the talking
while I stare at my shoes.
They’re nice shoes, brown and comfortable, and I like your voice.
In the dream I don’t tell anyone, I’m afraid to wake you up.
In these dreams it’s always you:
The boy in the sweatshirt,
The boy on the bridge, the boy who always keeps me
from jumping off the bridge.
Oh, the things we invent when we are scared
and want to be rescued.
Your jeep. Your teeth. The coffee that you bought me.
The sandwich cut in half on the plate.
I woke up and ate ice cream in the dark,
hunched over on the wooden chair in the kitchen,
listening to the rain.
I borrowed your shoes and didn’t put them away.
You were crying and eating rice.
The surface of the water was still and bright.
Your feet were burning so I put my hands on them, but my hands
were burning too.
You had a bottle of pills but I wouldn’t let you swallow them.
You said Will you love me even more when Im dead?
And I said No, and I threw the pills on the sand.
Look at them, you said. They look like emeralds.
I put you in a cage with the ocelots. I was trying to fatten you up
with sausages and bacon.
Somehow you escaped and climbed up the branches of a pear tree.
I chopped it down but there was nobody in it.
I went to the riverbed to wait for you to show up.
You didn’t show up.
I kept waiting.
I will admit I was a little hesitant to write this. But I honestly don’t know if that’s justified because I’m only trying to share a rather luscious and beautifully disturbing book with you. Read this if you may and don’t forget to judge me all you want.
“Go ahead, darling. Slip me on. Laugh. Live. Love—while you can. Eat, drink, and be merry. What do you think I do? I’m death, and I laugh and make merry too. I dance with skeletons and make goblets out of skulls—to drink from the cranium, you should know, is very fine. When your brains are gone, what nobler substitute could there be than wine?”
Sometimes I wonder if Goodreads has a way of reading my mind, if it does than this is exactly what I needed to read on iBooks to get a hang of reading books in the electronic form. Now that I’ve devoured the book, I think my greatest desire is to purchase this small and crisp, elegant in all black covers book called Necrophilia Variations by Supervert. Supervert, being a nom-de-plume.
It’s only fair to admit this right at the start that I am not into necrophilia. I’m blunt and I won’t beat around the bush or probably try to convince you that dead bodies freak me out. I am afraid of dying, (uh oh, so is every necrophile, right?) but in no form am I one to want to please myself with the dead. However, I will not deny my intense interest in the things people indulge in and the reasons behind it. I only picked up Fifty Shades of Grey because I knew it had masochism and other forms of sexual asphyxiation. I stopped reading it 70 pages through because that’s all there was in the book and I couldn’t stand it any more. It felt as though there was something more than the descriptions-the gory, obscene descriptions that I needed to know but no one was writing about them.
Stumbling onto Necrophilia Variations was the best thing that could happen to my urge to know what goes on in a person’s mind when they steer away from the conventional. I also think people who are too quick to judge something by its title, are ubiquitous. There’s no escaping the scrunching of the eyebrows and the twitching of the nose when you mention that you’ve been reading such a book. I’m lucky I know a friend who doesn’t fit in that category and enjoyed the book exactly how I did. We even ended up having the same favourite stories, which goes to show, I’m dark and twisted but I’m not alone.
The book starts with a sublime, slightly disturbing story but don’t be quick to get ticked off by it. If you came to it expecting a gory cadaver fest let’s have erotic sex with fresh dead bodies dug out of the cemetery and things that could help satisfy your dark urges, then you’ve come to the wrong place. Necrophilia Variations is not about death. It is everything in and around it. It delves into the why’s and not so much the how’s. It has black humour, sarcasm, loneliness, despair, tragedy, isolation, everything. Of course, if you simply cannot stand all the ugly talk that is somewhat necessary to the plot of every short story in this book, I’m actually sorry for you and you should know you’re missing out…a lot.
“I am death and when I love you, it’s forever. And why shouldn’t you love me back? I know that sometimes you fantasize about me, lay in bed at night wondering how and when I will come and what I will look like when I do. Am I a knight in shining armor? A fiery dog of hell? Do I look like a vampire? A skeleton, a ghost?”
Every story is gripping and the first person narratives does wonders to the story. You can feel yourself in the mind of the person, struggling, trying, failing. You realize that maybe sometimes people have wars in their mind and that what you see on the outside is all but a mere façade. Maybe we need to fit in so hard that we don’t want to show this grotesque side of our imagination. I remember shivering when I read “Death and The Dilettante” , and that’s the story that had me hooked. Would you find a story of a proud and beautiful woman wanting to make love to her boyfriend in a coffin fascinating? Wouldn’t that repulse you? It would and it should. But not in Necrophilia Variations. There is so much going on in that short story, you’d wish it’d never end. Sometimes even morbidity when done right can make something hideous feel enticing. But like my Person rightly said, “Reality eventually kicks in.”
Other stories that will definitely stand out are “Diary of A Sick Fuck”, “Postmorterm”, “Fragment of A Love Letter” and my personal favourite “Confessions of A Skull Mask”. It actually sent cold sweat down my neck and you wouldn’t know what I mean by that until you read it. Maybe you should check out this reading, it has an excerpt of it and some other things which shocked me and had me take down the share from my Facebook.
Supervert has enthralled me so much that I’m already reading Perversity Think Tank. If you made it to the end of this post, you probably like what you found out about the book and are curious. Feed that curiosity. Go download the free PDF because well, it’s free. Embrace this book, but I also genuinely understand if you won’t. Half the pleasure of necrophilia is not having to cuddle afterward.
This is the first time someone asked me to watch a movie and to write a review on it. It’s quite overwhelming and I took my time with this. I hope I’ve got it right.
First and foremost, this movie is everything that you are NOT expecting it to be. The Tree of Life is a Terrance Malick movie. Period. Anyone who is familiar with his style of direction will not be so taken aback, but I belonged to the not-so-familiar category. I was sent reeling 30 minutes into the movie. I’m hyperventilating now. I need to take a deep breath and try to prepare you what you’re in for.
Here it goes.
For persons who thought that this movie starring Brad Pitt, Sean Penn, Jessica Chastain, Hunter McCracken is a routine indie or worse an action-packed drama film. It is not. Do not expect to understand this movie in its entirety, moreso in just one watch. Do not expect to find answers here in this blog, either. I cannot provide them.
The movie starts with a narrative, “There are two ways through life, the way of nature and the way of grace.” Little do you realize how much those words are going to resonate in all the scenes that are to follow. Malick uses intense nature happenings, titillating celestial occurrences combined with the evolution of life, even dinosaurs (right!). The 20 minute music montage at the start, it is pure brilliance. There are no dialogues or commentary just the representation of life through nature and Mother Earth. The imagery is all too powerful to encompass in one watch. My friend and I, both, admitted to have paused the movie several times just to get a grasp of the intensity of the cinematography. There is one scene that keeps repeating over and over in between clips and it could seem like a divine light manifesting as we move further into the movie. It would be fair to say that the music montage chosen is very, very haunting. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so eerie while watching waterfalls and organic molecules, the sun and volcanic eruptions.
If you get past the first 30 minutes of the movie, you’re in for something very beautiful. The movie transcends beyond nature into finer details of an American family and their lives in 1956. The lack of conversation and dialogues is not felt at all. This, the director has made sure with very emotive performances from every actor, especially from the child artists. The film moves back and forth from the eldest son’s point of view. The eldest of three sons who is now caged in a corporate world and battling with the issues from his past. There is also the mention of a tragedy at the very start of the movie. The worst of them all. Death.
The characters of the parents are portrayed as complete opposites. I daresay, I think the opening statement signifies that. The mother, gentle, naïve, always looking out for her kids, beautiful and calm and not over-bearing in the least. That, is the way of ‘grace’. Whereas, the father, played brilliantly by Brad Pitt, epitomizes the way of nature. Lauding, overbearing, he provides but never fails to collect his dues. He wants returned what he has provided, on his very terms.
What I liked most about this out-of-the-way movie, was the way they depicted the three boys growing up. There are some very powerful scenes, one of which I had to re-watch again just now because it felt like deja-vu.
The Tree of Life will only leave you with a myriad of questions. Some of which, you’ll need a very deep analysis to even grasp at all. We are all continuously evolving. Life, is all about evolving. From birth, to adolescence, to adulthood and death. It is amazing and so refreshing that all of human evolution can be roughly narrated in a matter of 2 hours. Watch this movie without any kind of expectations. Feel yourself take to a higher order, maybe. Question everything. Don’t criticize. It’s of no use. Every person who tries to breakdown what this movie is about will have a wildly different interpretation. This, is mine.
I don’t think Lana Del Rey has been this famous before. I heard this song in the Baz Luhrman directed ‘The Great Gatsby’ and I must admit this is the song that struck out the most. Extremely powerful, haunting, painful yet overwhelming. I haven’t seen the official video and I have no desire to because the scene in the movie when it played was brilliant enough.
Purple doesn’t seek too much attention.
You’re safely between the colour and my words. I think of your favourite cherry ice cream and then I think of all the distance there is.
Purple will stand there across the dance floor and wait till someone spots it, glowing in silent exuberance.
I spot a point on a map and I calculate time variances. I make celestial references and I like looking through the glass.
Purple will swear proudly that it doesn’t pride in it’s elegance.
You say that one can get away with anything if they’re actually good enough.I have sworn to desire you with all my might but I’ve also sworn to be equally patient. Purple is for the wrestle that ensues between the two. It’s knowing what’s there and knowing full well what it can still be.
Purple is a colour just beneath your skin and outside your bones.
Purple will always manifest it’s sheen when required but purple will also be for the ones who choose to shy away from things they desire.
Purple is the place I keep you in.
I watch water ripples and wonder if it can match the curve of your smile. Nothing is impossible. I also sense the sun shine with all it’s might and listen to every sound around me, knowing full well that I need to absorb this so I can narrate it to you.
Purple is for the hearts that you couldn’t keep from breaking.
There is everything and there is also nothing. But what’s in-between counts too. You make me live these in-betweens.
Purple is me and what if I told you, you’re the Purple in me.
If you like electro house music and Greg Laswell’s enchanting voice, then this song is yours. Also, I must find out more about Morgan Page. Seems like I’ve found a new DJ to stalk.
2013 is working wonders for my music needs.
“Yeah, I might be addicted
To how you always get the best of me.”
I wish I knew more about this band because I have almost all the songs from their album About A Feeling. With some of their music, I guess it’s intended to not make the lyrics audible. That confounds me. So does this video. I like things which confound me.
It was sunlight, just doing its everyday duty. It was passing through. I was there in its way and it didn’t bend. I wonder if I broke the cross-stitch pattern it was creating on the wooden floor. I picked up a book and looked at it longingly. I think I do that a lot, just holding someone’s world in my hand and appreciating the time and effort put into those pages to raise right from scratch something everyone could love. It’s been long since I was moved so deeply and that afternoon felt like a standstill. My world had slowed down and it was just me and some thousand books and I have never felt safer.
It is odd when material things give you such strong emotions. Remaining unattached has never done any good. When certain people occupy a good-sized apartment in your brain and there’s nothing else you can even think about, that is knowing the sunlight has already broken down the walls which by the way were always made up of Jell-o and not bricks and stones.
I was right there, under the sunlight and all I could think about was the image I was creating from a third person’s point of view. A girl standing motionless next to the window pane with a book in her hand and the sun in her eyes and the sunlight slanting on her hair. Here’s the thing: I was there and I was acutely aware of it. I doubt before that moment if I’ve ever loved my existence so much.
“I am very interested and fascinated how everyone loves each other, but no one really likes each other.” – Stephen Chbosky
(I have been procrastinating way too much lately. This review should’ve been written by me long ago. But then again, it’s never too late for anything. Or so I like to believe.)
For people who claim that movies based on novels never match up to the magic written words can create, here is a fair exception. Perks Of Being A Wallflower is an absolute breakthrough. It is as profound, deeply moving and eccentric as the book. I say this with as much conviction as I can. Having read and watched, I would not be able to separate one from the other. I think the primary reason for this is the author of the book Stephen Chbosky is also the director of this wonderful coming-of-age high-school teenage drama.
The movie’s star cast is so fitting. You have Logan Lerman (Charlie) playing an anxious, emotional, lonely and unsure boy with a troubled past and a history of mental illness. There is Emma Watson (Sam) who plays a strong-headed, self-opinionated, affectionate, smart and sassy senior. Ezra Miller (Patrick) stars alongside Emma Watson as her step-brother and all-time companion.
Already, I can feel my pulse quickening. That is the effect this movie had on me. The actors have brilliantly portrayed their characters, so much so that one hour through this movie you feel like you’ve known these people forever. Emma Watson has left Hogwarts and transcended into college, Logan Lerman has no traces of Percy Jackson and what should I say about Ezra Miller… No words that I use will be good enough to compliment his acting abilities. Who would’ve thought he would make such a brilliant Patrick after playing a sociopath in ‘We Need to Talk About Kevin’.
Perks Of Being A Wallflower is a retro, American high-school indie movie set in the 1990s. Although this is not stated per se in the movie, from the nostalgic, dreamy, soft rock music that the three teenagers base their lives around, any person with functioning hearing ability can figure that out. Much of my 2013 playlist are songs from this movie.
That was a suitable background and now I will delve further. This movie, as the title goes, is about the pros of being a Wallflower. A Wallflower is someone who silently observes and does not like being the centre of attraction or in this case the centre of anything. They could easily pass as a mere painting on the wall without anyone ever bothering to look twice. And I’m sure; we have all been Wallflowers at some point in our lives.
The Wallflower here is Charlie. A young freshman about to start his first year at high school. We get to know more about Charlie from the letters he pens to an anonymous friend. Charlie is an aspiring writer, full of potential, loved dearly by his parents and sister (Nina Dobrev). In any teenager’s life, friends are very important. As adults, many of us will refute that. I am 19 and I already do.
Charlie, having just resurfaced from a tragic instance in his past sets out to make a brand new start to his high school year. Enter Patrick and Sam, and everything suddenly transforms for Charlie. Charlie goes through the highs of having crushes and trying drugs to the extreme lows of watching the person you love, love someone they don’t deserve. It is with Sam that Charlie starts listening to ‘different’ music and explores the facets of unrequited love; it is with Patrick that Charlie learns that it’s about being yourself no matter what anyone labels you as, even if that means only being ‘below average’. It is with Mary Elizabeth that Charlie learns about relationships and sex. It is with Professor Billy that Charlie expands his writing potential. It is with his sister he learns about what it is like to be abused by the one you love, but deep down he already knew that. With his aunt, who is no more; he has constant haunting visions of who she was and what she did to him. But ultimately it is with himself that he realizes what and who he needs to grow as a person and become who he ought to be.
Halfway through the movie, when everyone including the audience is deeply entangled in the plot, I had a sudden pang of fear that Perks would lose its essence, the beautiful build-up would just crash and burn like most clichéd American high-school crushes. But fortunately, it didn’t. There are scenes which are so awfully relatable you will wonder if you just heard the strings in your heart snap.
The ‘90s party sequences, the mesmerizing drives through the Tunnel, Secret Santa, The Living Room Routine, Sam and Charlie’s study sessions, The Rocky Horror Show, Patrick’s nuisances in shop class, and Sam’s laughter are what stays with you till the end of this daze.
Perks Of Being A Wallflower is a movie very close to my heart. This might not have seemed like a review and more of an exemplary praise from someone who is oblivious to noticing any kind of flaws. But that’s what you do to something or someone so close to you, you don’t point out their shortcomings. You embrace them. You fondle them and put them to rest. Perks was very well received from the critics and masses but there were some who claimed it was not convincing. What those people need to do is let down their guard for a mere few hours and watch the movie all over again. I’m sure that would help.
For others who haven’t watched it at least 10 times, here is something to lure you.
Watch this movie and swear that in that moment, we were infinite.
How much of our lives are spent in forgiving the ugly? The ugly in me and the ugly in you. What is it that leads us to relentless hurting and unselfish forgiving? People have a lot of patience when they are not asked to wait. Every passing second, we are waiting. Waiting on something beautiful and wondrous to happen and to leave us forever changed. Very phenomenal, of course.
Everyone wants magic and chocolate fudge. All the time. But I want more. And I am awkward about my expectations. But I will forgive myself for that, too.
It’s almost 2am. This year is ending. A lot of breakthroughs but many more standstills.
Average will never satisfy me. Yet all I yearn for at the moment is ordinary, stable and dependable.
This is my introduction. I’m hoping someone out there likes it. I’m trying to be attractive here. Or in this case, horrible. I must remind you, my expectations are awry.
I travel and thoughts are thought. I sleep and dreams are dreamt. Then someone asks me, “What is it that you want with life?” So I mutter incoherently and I’m trying to smile, and they’re trying to smile.
2. I have just finished watching this movie for the 4th time.
3. I wish there was some way I could watch this movie again for the 1st time.
4. I am an emotional sap and sucker for movies which show love in its rawest form.
5. I am also realistic enough to know that there are two types of movies in the romance genre:
i) The movies that leave you dumbfounded at the enormity of how much two people can love each other and somehow always beat the odds in about 127 minutes screen time.
ii) Then the other type of movies which leave you gripping on to your heart and make you mash your teeth together and feel that unrequited love is probably the only love that exists in the real world. Period.
Like Crazy is ‘the other type of movie’.
I stumbled on to this movie in 2012. A year for me which marks a lot of unrequited emotions, long hauling stretches without any semblance of normal, perplexing situations, weird and wonderful people. While watching this movie I could somehow put all of this away. Far away. In some corner of my mind where nothing matters. For an over-thinker that is truly something.
Like Crazy is a 2011 American romantic drama film, shot with an inexpensive DSLR camera. Its budget did not exceed $250,000. The film won the 2011 Sundance Film Festival ‘Grand Jury Prize’. Already I am drifting away to what is not really important.
So anyway, this is the story of Anna and Jacob. This is the story of most young adults. People in love. People in long-distance love. It is the kind of movie which brings up things you have faced in your life or will most definitely in the future. Now that is something every other movie tries to portray. But what sets this film apart is the honesty in this couple which shines outright and blinds you to tears. Felicity Jones plays Anna, a British college student in Los Angeles who falls for an American, Jacob, played by Anton Yelchin. When the term ends for the summer, so does Anna’s student visa. They are well aware that the sensible thing would be for her to go home, and wait just a few months while she gets the cash to come back with the proper documentation. But a few months is a long time when you’re in your early 20s, so Anna and Jacob defy the visa law and with it follows a glorious summer of love and sex. It is a decision that affects the rest of both their lives.
It also leads you to wonder, what would have happened had she not broken the visa limit. But I will get to that later. Not right now, later.
Right from when Anna pours out her feelings to Jacob in a letter filled with the things you can only feel for someone you are crazily crushing on to appearing dignified, by using e.e. cummings and a post-script giving disclaimer that she isn’t a psychopathic nutcase. Anna’s parents bring comic relief and class to scenes that would otherwise be painful. The soundtrack to most scenes where no dialogue is required will leave you enthralled. These are moments that stay with you long after that phase of Anna and Jacob’s life has passed.
The rush of emotions felt by the two will sweep over you and leave you feeling absolutely frustrated and used up in a bittersweet way. The movie made me feel that you can never love someone enough. There’s always some part of you which is waiting to fall more in love with this person; oh and never, NEVER to underestimate this ‘part’.
When Anna is detained and unable to return to Jacob due to her visa issue, it brings an unwanted distance in a lovely 20-something fairy-tale romance. Here is when the movie gets so real, good God! When both of them, get involved in their careers, the missed calls due to time variations, the ache of not knowing what your other half is doing, all this growing like an elephant in the room.
With this starts the on-off relationship. Jacob once mentions that he just doesn’t feel like he is part of Anna’s life but he feels like he’s on vacation. Here is where Anna lets out the cat (or should I say elephant?) out of the bag. She suggests that they should try seeing other people when they are away. Although that upsets Jacob, deep down he knows he has considered it too.
Their relationship circle widens now. They are tangled more than ever in people they don’t love, but cannot leave. This movie is not about finding ‘The One’. If it was, this wouldn’t have happened. It also signifies that after falling in love for the first time, no matter how good or bad it was, you are never the same with anyone. So one night in the respite and lulls of physical and emotional temptations, Anna calls up Jacob and asks him to marry her.
For someone who doesn’t believe in love, that would be absolutely absurd considering they were both involved with other people. But then again, refer to point #4 stated ‘well in advance’.
The movie transcends further into how Anna and Jacob are still the same even after marriage. Here is when I thought about those tiny gifts they had exchanged over their first summer of love. For some reason I even noticed the very subtle changes in their appearances, behaviours, the phones they used. I thought about how much uncertainty they had laid in front of them back in that summer. And yet they got married. Shouldn’t the movie end now? At least that’s what is rationally supposed to happen.
But no, the movie extends further (I was so glad it did!). The movie does not end. It is this part of the movie I absolutely loved. It is not easy to please hopeless romantics and the skeptic pessimists. We will never be able to figure out what happens when Anna steps out of the shower. But we are free to dream about it. To wonder that life is a never-ending love story and all you got to do is live it out.
When you watch this film, you may feel like you’re eavesdropping rather than watching a movie. And I mean that in the best possible sense. Not every director can bring out such performances in actors whose unfamiliar faces we aren’t already in love with. Why was I not surprised when I found out that this movie was filmed without a script?
Only then can such untraditional beauty and rawness be achieved:
“I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it. But I didn’t, not really. Only the smudgeness of it; the pink-slippered, all-containered, semi-precious eagerness of it. I didn’t realize it would sometimes be more than whole, that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea. Because it’s the halves that halve you in half. I didn’t know, don’t know, about the in-between bits; the gory bits of you, and the gory bits of me.”