~ Oh my, Atonement is positively gut-wrenching. My heart is broken, I tell you. And taken. By James McAvoy, who has swept me off my feet as "the young man who crossed the surrey in his best suit, swaggering with the promise of life" and lost it all - his bright bright future and his one true love at the throw of the dice, or rather the lying words of a naive young girl. Those electric blue eyes. That preppy short hair. The very upright-ness of Bobby Turner, his character - in his determination, as he wrote in his letter, to "live without shame", his lilting French, the way he walks with his back so straight, so upright. Swoon.
~ I seem to be drawing multiple parallelisms between the movie and Ken Follet's Fall of Giants, which I am currently chest-deep into. They make me reflect on the same things. How war changes everything. The fruitlessness of it all and the despairs - families and lovers torn apart, heartbreaking letters to and from the front lines, and of course, the terrible death of innocents. And the how their characters conduct themselves - on the surface, quintessentially British eloquence and conservatism, almost bordering on shyness. But you have to take a second look - into their (often blue and piercing) eyes, read into the bow of the head, the hand placed on another's. All contradictory to the searing passion behind closed doors (or in Atonement's case, it was cracked open). In my head, one of the book's protagonists (ahh a German, ironically) is Mr. McAvoy, tortured good looks and all.
~ Listening to Matchbox 20, especially this song on the iPhone. I think of my two brothers. Despite me being five and eight years older than them, we somehow have to come the same conclusions on a few very important things in life. For example, that Matchbox 20 is THE best band ever. That mankind has yet to produce a movie as awesome as The Lord of The Rings. All three of us have read the book, more than once. Oh, and the music. Sure, my brothers shake their heads at my fondness for haunting, wintry, almost new-ageish music with lyrics that don't make much sense (Cases in point: these numbers) and they're almost embarassed about my fondness for Taylor Swift. Dom's taste also runs questionable at times (erm, "Barbra Streisand" by DuckSauce, anyone?). But one day we just broke out Bright Lights together, trying our very best to twang the lines "Baby, Baby, Baby..........Maybe, maybe, maybe..." the way Rob Thomas does (and, I suspect, not being very successful) so you can understand why listening to this makes me all smiley inside.
~ My adorable tea sub that I ordered when in London. Works like a charm, looks like it belongs in a cartoon. Yesterday was a particularly stressful day at work. Couple that with the insomnia I had been experiencing the past two nights, and by yesterday evening my head felt like it was about to explode, among other symptoms. Before I went to bed I filled my submarine with green tea leaves (from Thailand) and brewed the tea using my new super cute glass. I breathed in the grassy scent and let the hot steam rise to my face. I took deep breaths. I sipped my brew, lightly sweetened with honey. I smiled at the sight of the fat yellow sub, and of course as the sight of my fat yellow (orange) cat bounding around the bed. And I really could feel myself feeling better.
I know, I seem to be living and dreaming anywhere else but here or in the moment. These are all I have now.
No comments:
Post a Comment