The Diving Bell & the Butterfly

27 04 2008

I watched two French films this weekend.

La Vie En Rose and the title of this post.

Marion
Cotillard totally deserved that Oscar. She was amazing as Edith Piaf.
I’m now thinking of downloading some Piaf albums and give them a
thorough listen (I hope it’s available). Her voice is the "soul of
Paris" after all, and for now that would suffice for an aspiring
Parisian.

But let me talk about Le Scaphandre et le papillon.

I loved it.

It’s tragic. It’s haunting. It’s human spirit-y. All I could ever want in a film.
I especially liked it’s simplicity. The cinematography.

The treatment. The capturing of entrapment. Of lost and regret.
It’s just beautiful.

What
happened to Bauby is something I fear for myself. Who could’ve known
that driving a vintage car into the French country side on a sunny
afternoon–is the perfect timing for having a stroke.

I wouldn’t discuss the plot much, instead I would recommend it. If you have time look for it, buy it, download it. And watch it.

…and for the record.

The physician/doctor Henriette stole my heart. She could whisper the alphabet in French to me anytime.




The World is an Amoeba & I’m a Unicellular Thing

17 04 2008

Things happen, you deal with it. Everything is predetermined but
your not given a heads-up. You plan meticulously but it turns out
uncalled for. You eat, you work, you sleep, you live.

Courses,
detours and U-turns are available. I’m the driver and I can choose not
to obey the stoplight. Senseless, I don’t have any breaks. Irrelevant,
I don’t even know how to drive. Delusional, I don’t have a car. You
steer the wheel and pump up the gas but are you really in control?
You’re on the drivers seat but you travel the asphalt roads. You take
the highways and expressways–aren’t you supposed to take the dirt
path? But what happens then? You think you’re out of the system or the
loop but you’re still driving on Earth. You’re still in a closed system
my friend. Intergalactic travel? Yeah sure, but you’re still in the
same universe. Beyond that? Impossible.

So you try to live the best you can. Show a little decency to others and try to believe in something, anything.

Just
hope you don’t get tired. Time is a luxury after all and the way you
spend it is up to you. Play your part well. When the curtains close you
might even get laid backstage.

***

Mending these truths,
half-truths and myths are difficult for me. That’s why I’ve forced some
sense of order in my life since last month. Trying to stay organized is
helpful, surprisingly it’s a positive distraction. I thought I believed
John Mayer when he told me in high school that there’s no such thing as
a real world. But no. I didn’t ran through the halls of my High School,
I didn’t bust any double doors–we didn’t have any.

So I wake-up
on weekends not leaving the bed till its late afternoon. I’ve read "On
Chesil Beach" that way. Sweating profusely as the fan blow-dries your
face. If that isn’t enough I’ve turned the music loud, a constant
stream of grunge/punk/rock-revival bands that help me through this
quarter-life crisis. So on the bed I read, a little horny from some
passages turned-on by the heat. Slight rarefactions give it a boost,
while every air molecule/atom crashes into each other. Wipe that sweat
off your forehead, lean back and air-guitar that awesome rift.

So
went to the movies with someone. "No Country For Old Men" at G3.
Thought I was going to get stood-up but she came in the nick of time.
Imagine my relief. I’d like to think she had a great time cause I did.
I mean the movie was nice too but it was different being in that cinema
with a living entity other than the usual plethora of women you see.
And as each of Anton Chigurh’s murder scenes played, as I cupped my
hands behind my ears, sank into my seat, and squinted at the screen
there she was staring straight on yelling "fuck" once, I think. And as
the gas tank on that car exploded, I jumped a few centimeters off my
seat and we just laughed about it. I even forgot I was hungry. Though I
think she heard my stomach rumbling. And as the movie ended and as we
tried to hail a cab moments before midnight I was actually a little sad
that the night was over. So she left me "Of Human Bondage" while I held
an umbrella over our heads escorting her to a cab. It was summer and
that night there was rain, and I thought I could like Makati again.

But
she’s hard to figure out. I ask her things and she leaves me hanging. I
even called her at work which was a stupid thing to do. She sounded
offended and it got me mortified. Am I going down the "Mayhew" way?
Cause I’m at a lost. I try to moderate my affections but it isn’t
reciprocated. I’m even starting to think that she only agreed to meet
me out of pity or at first she really wanted to but she got turned-off
after (ahh!). Can you ask point blank? Question is, am I up for the
answer or worst, silence! Or is she just cautious? Got heartbroken in
the past and isn’t up for a hook-up?

A man with much love to give can be frightening.




The Sea

6 04 2008

I’ve complained about the summer heat since I was old enough to remember. Maybe it’s because we don’t have airconditioning. Yes, I think that’s the primary reason. When you’re stuck at home with no real money to spend, no vacation plans–you get the picture.

But the sea reminded me again to think otherwise.

My office had it’s little summer outing last Thurs and Fri at Batangas. To my surprise I came back burnt and refreshed. Yes, for a person who hates the summer heat I found out that a little sunblock was the dead simple compromise. Yes, sunblock gave me summer love.

All throughout the trip there, the scenery, the anticipated and readily tangible, kept me thinking about Banville’s The Sea. I’d like to think that it’s because being out of the city inspires one to anticipate nature. I saw mount Makiling again, a staple of my elementary field trips. But now it was different. The light of the day and the angle that the road gave revealed the mountains distinct profile–a face of a woman lying down. It was almost eerie in a way, somehow the legend of Mariang Makiling, that woman of the forest seemed more believable. I saw the sloping forehead, the sharp peak that forms the nose and the soft mounds that formed the lips.

When my ass felt numb I got a bit restless. It was just like the day I first saw sand and sea. It was at my father’s hometown, Basilan–almost at the very edge of the Philippines (southern tip)–miles away from Manila. The house was near the sand about a couple of minutes drive. We rode on this blue and white Jeep with the top open. We halted on a clearing of coconut trees but the water was blocked by a ridge of sand (or was I just small?)but I could hear the waves, a siren beckoning. I climbed down and ran. My cells recognized the primordial soup. I ran towards the sea.

When we arrived at the place it was already noon. It was a satisfying feeling to see that endless horizon again. And the waves!

I forgot how salty the water was though. Since I couldn’t really swim I stayed near the shore, as far as my toes could reach the sand. The waves were a little strong that afternoon and my nostrils flared once as saltwater came in, scalding my throat. My officemates taught me how to float. It wasn’t really hard since the water’s dense and I had ample body fat. Once I got the hang of it, that’s what I did almost all afternoon. Float. The lines from "The Sea" came to my mind. Especially when the sun was almost gone and I could look at the sky completely I was there, I was there where the sea was "lapping the very basses of the dunes". That suspended feeling, as your ears are submerged and your nose and eyes delicately surface–I said the line again "lapping the very basses of the dunes". The sea was lapping me up.

On the second day, I braved the waters and went Canoeing. It looked fun but my main fear was that the vessel would tip to the side and I would be left at fairly deep water with my life jacket barely keeping me afloat. At first try we toppled to the side (the canoe seats two) confirming my fears but I assured myself again that my companion was a good swimmer, "It’s ok, lighten up."

And oh, that rush I felt when we were pushed forward to the sea I almost shouted, "Let me out!" I really didn’t feel comfortable that the waves could topple us. But when I got the hang of paddling and as I saw the swimmers heads as mere dots it felt good. Being a wayfarer, even for a day was fun.

When I slept that night it was as if my body was still simulating the floating feeling from the water.

And that sunrise! I woke up around 6am and I came out to seat on the benches overlooking the sea. The sun wasn’t out yet and I read Albert’s book till breakfast time. I wish I could spend all my mornings like that.

Summer can be fun after all.