a reviewing 52

I am beginning to believe that we are entirely in control of our lives. What life provides, I'll embrace. And really, why shouldn't I? It's an awfully beautiful thing that I have deemed insufferable. However, please do not be fooled. My sudden change in views is not spontaneous.

It is because yesterday I watched two films; Y tu mamá también and The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. I realise I have already gushed to my friends about them repeatedly, but most of that was non-sensical. Armed with some real thoughts about them, I would like to share them with you.

To condense the story of Y tu mamá también into one sentence, it is the story of two boys who begin a road trip acros Mexico with a beautiful woman, with only a beach named Heaven's Mouth in their sight. The film has an occasional narrator, who provides additional information at times when necessary. Y tu mamá también is best described as compelling. When the end of the film rolled around, I wasn't able to move. I sat there, speechless, unable to bring together coherent thought about it. It had an effect on me that very few films do. Usually I watch films for comfort and security, films set in high school are watched far too often by me (hello John Hughes and the wonders of the 80's), but Y tu mamá también confronted me like no other.

I think it is fair to say that I am not entirely sure I understand this film 100% yet. Yes, the plot was consise and beautiful but beyond that, there was discovery, and learning who we truly are - what we respond to, what we are angered by and what we desire. My viewing of the film has come at an appropriate time, now almost finished with my secondary education. Funny, how I never graduated from primary school. Perhaps that is why I feel like a child still. But I digress. I think my opinions of this film may change after a second viewing, but I wish to savour them, like a favourite lolly, and so I am unsure that I will watch it again soon.

While I woke up to Y tu mamá también, The Diving Bell and The Butterfly was viewed in the night. So many beautiful women in a film, but they are no distraction to the plot. It tells the story of Jean-Do Bauby and his life after suffering a stroke, crippling him with Locked-In Syndrome, where one is paralysed except for the eye.

I had very different feelings for this movie, possibly because it was all the more heart-breaking. It's still hard to gather the words about how I feel about it but I'm not at all surprised as to why so many of my friends adore this film. It was powerful, it filled me with hope, and it had strength. Oh god, this all sounds so dreadfully corny. The film was beautiful, I didn't dare blink throughout. (Ironic.) Watching the special features, so much thought went into every detail of it, culminating in one of the most stunning films I've viewed. But the cinematography only has the ability to add to the sentiment and meaning of this film, not draw from it. The film was uplifting, we can all find something from nothing. Kindness is all around, and I myself had a wonderful encounter at the market today. Thank you to the man who gave me a Frank Zappa DVD, it made my day. Alas, but it seems I've missed the mark once more.

I'm afraid I can't pick which of these I love more, because it is unfair to compare. Both are simply beautiful, perhaps for different reasons, but nonetheless, captivating. I encourage you to view both, but perhaps not in one sitting, that could potentially be lethal. My mind hasn't drifted from images of these two films since then and I'm not sure that can be classified as healthy.

I'm sorry. There's been a lot on my mind recently and I'm afraid it might not all make sense. This is insanely lengthy and I hope it hasn't sent you to sleep (but I feel it may have done so.)

a thoughtless 51

I couldn't sleep last night. So I began to write a letter. I kept on writing and writing and writing and I couldn't stop, I still can't stop. The words are spilling over the pages, my sentences are bcoming paragraphs which transform into pages of text; limitless letters that somehow formulate things of meaning. I'm writing things down that I never intended to tell anyone but I am telling you these things because these things need to be heard and they have to be heard by you. But I want to stop. I think I need to stop.

But I won't. Because I want to tell you so much, there are so many gaps that need to be filled. I just don't know how, and this idea, this letter, it's all I have to cling to anymore.

It'll all make sense when you open your letterbox.

a new 50

Having gotten this far through life I want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for pretending it's your fault. It's never been anyone else's fault but mine - my inability to admit to my faults, my refusal to accept that times and people have changed, my misunderstanding of the way we act, and my longing for things to remain the same. It's not fair that I've been blaming others, I'm the one with the flawed personality, the one that needs an attitude adjustment, not anyone else. Everyone else is an angel, I just can't see that.

When everything around seems wrong, it is clear that it is no longer the things surrounding you that have caused it, but you have yourself. You've digged you way down to the core and there is no escaping. And when there is no way to escape, even feeble excuses won't be enough to bring you out. I think the only way out of this possible situation is a cleanse. You can definitely wash yourself out of a sticky situation - always, but it's hard. It requires so much effort of you that it might not even see worth the time. But I don't know what else to do. So I think I'm going to begin with the cleanse.