Babies are born, someone told me during the time i stay away.
The only good thing about long flights is the in-house movies you get to watch. They are all new releases, but very unfortunately, that is not synonymous with 'good movies'. Most are banal, cookie-cutter Hollywood and intelligence-insultingly predictable. The only exception was Freedom Writers. The kinda movie which makes you cry and later smile through your tears. AND it has a happy ending. I cannot appreciate arty farty flicks that has a saddening twist at the end, one that steals your breath and makes you grip the seat asking, "WHY DID HE HAVE TO DIE?", or the most ambiguous and profoundly confusing sort that just tapers off abruptly. The ocean waves lapping gently and the sun sets...who knows what happens in the end?
I like interpretative movies, but, i also like straight-forward endings. I like mysteries only if i know that sense and truth will unravel itself eventually. I like the chase when i know exactly what i'm pursuing. I have a soft spot for people who are unpredictable, people whom i think i can typecast in my mind, but in reality i simply can't figure them out. But the law of diminishing returns applies to human nature, they will become intriguing up to a point where it seems that no amount of knocking can break down their defences. When it happens, i give up as quickly as i embarked on their discovery.
Am i still talking about movies or people? I'm not too sure too. I haven't been myself with words of late. In the sense that i have been myself with me, only in my privacy, leaving notes and post-its on the skin of my conscience. But no...nothing structured. Ever since i left Singapore behind in a rash of salt-blister memories - tender, stinging sweet - and arrived in Vancouver, i have not put pen to paper in a convincing way. But i have been writing in my mind, like clockwork. But I'm not worried. The words will come soon, like they always have. I'm more worried about other things.
The only good thing about long flights is the in-house movies you get to watch. They are all new releases, but very unfortunately, that is not synonymous with 'good movies'. Most are banal, cookie-cutter Hollywood and intelligence-insultingly predictable. The only exception was Freedom Writers. The kinda movie which makes you cry and later smile through your tears. AND it has a happy ending. I cannot appreciate arty farty flicks that has a saddening twist at the end, one that steals your breath and makes you grip the seat asking, "WHY DID HE HAVE TO DIE?", or the most ambiguous and profoundly confusing sort that just tapers off abruptly. The ocean waves lapping gently and the sun sets...who knows what happens in the end?
I like interpretative movies, but, i also like straight-forward endings. I like mysteries only if i know that sense and truth will unravel itself eventually. I like the chase when i know exactly what i'm pursuing. I have a soft spot for people who are unpredictable, people whom i think i can typecast in my mind, but in reality i simply can't figure them out. But the law of diminishing returns applies to human nature, they will become intriguing up to a point where it seems that no amount of knocking can break down their defences. When it happens, i give up as quickly as i embarked on their discovery.
Am i still talking about movies or people? I'm not too sure too. I haven't been myself with words of late. In the sense that i have been myself with me, only in my privacy, leaving notes and post-its on the skin of my conscience. But no...nothing structured. Ever since i left Singapore behind in a rash of salt-blister memories - tender, stinging sweet - and arrived in Vancouver, i have not put pen to paper in a convincing way. But i have been writing in my mind, like clockwork. But I'm not worried. The words will come soon, like they always have. I'm more worried about other things.
Labels: introspection
