life isn’t a book, says Kate
Monday, June 26th, 2006slumber calls, i can feel it. but something itches me, perhaps a daemon keeping me awake. i need to write, i decided. just write.
there’s really something with The Lake House that has been bothering me since i’ve seen it on screen. yes, the pervert keanu reeves looked so damn good (and that he kisses well!), but that’s another story…
"life isn’t a book". Kate (Sandra Bullock) said that line, and it has been reverberating inside my head ever since. then i guess she’s right. life was never a book, that though a story may have conflicts, still, there will always be resolutions.
love? love is such an overused word…perceived to be very ideal, but for me, it’s an embodiment if perfect imperfections. yes, perfect imperfections. love was never fair.
good thing Reeves and Bullock ended up together. then their love (i just hate this word) was not wasted after all. but how about my older brother who realized he would never be in love again for the love of his life was already gone? how about my high school classmate who got herself ditched by the guy who realized he is still in love with his ex? how about my freaky friend who’s so damn in love with a kabarkada, only that the girl is already taken? how about my blocmate who could do nothing with her love except express the angst through rantings and blogs? how about my new-found friend who just realized he is in fact in love with his best friend?
and i need to ask…how about me? i’ve been living this whole 19 years believing to the books i’ve read…and relive their fantasies through the characters i create with my writings. the books misled me. worse, they have kept me hanging. and what’s funny is that it took me only an illogical movie — a time travel love story working on emotional, not temporal, logic — to realize what a fool i’ve become. yes, life isn’t a book. i should have that engraved in my mind.
Chuck Palahniuk have proven me right. there’s nothing ideal in this world. we are just romanticizing with our own stupidity…our mere creations and perceptions. Leonardo’s Mona Lisa is just a thousand smears of paint…Michelangelo’s David is just a million hits with a hammer. and we are all a million bits put together the right way.
oh well…i hope my buddies will find the happiness, perhaps the love, they’ve been seeking. Me? My birth was a mistake and i guess i’ll just spend my whole life correcting it.
