Monday, November 29, 2010
two
The thing that sets this library apart from the other branches is its focus on arts and entertainment, which is totally every youth's 'in' thing.It's not the books that attract me (because over here, unlike the other branches, there's only a small section for literature in which only movie tie-ins are stocked, while the rest of the shelves stock some pretty technical books or magazines on dance, art, theatre and music) but the extra facilities it has to offer me: a practice room with a view of the Bay and two pianos (an accoustic and an electric) and three almighty screening rooms -- perfect for someone who wants to watch shows in the quietest living-room setting they never (or rarely ever) had.
Besides, none of the other libraries have diffused lighting and minimalist furniture the way this one has. It gives the library a sort of sleek classiness that can never come with bright flourescent lights and tons of noisy people crowding the aisles.
Tonight the practice room is fully booked, which isn't unusual ever since people started finding out about this open secret ("What? There's a room here where you can sing and play the piano at an incredibly affordable rate of 6 bucks and 10 cents an hour??") so I resort to the other open secret instead and book two hours' worth of screen time.
There is a whole slew of movies here, being a jack-of-all-trades centre but somehow a master of none (I guess this makes more sense because it would appeal to more people than say, an entire collection of the same genre). Good thing I'm past all the teen-censored movies so I get to watch practically anything they have (except those from the Restricted section: frustrating since there are quite a few classic gems listed under that category).
After a few minutes of browsing, I pick Lars and the Real Girl -- comedic-looking cover, cute (and talented) main actor. He sure has come a long way from his badly-scripted Hercules days, this Ryan Gosling. A love story between a weirdo and a plastic doll...this should be light-hearted and fun.
I adjust the lights, slot the disc into the player, dump my bag on one of the two black leather sofas, stretch out in the other one and click on the remote as my senses absorb the soft lighting, quiet environment and comfortable seating.
Boy, was I wrong about this being a slapstick movie. Halfway into the show I was in tears of the heartrending kind, the actors and script being so good and all -- something that will always remain a rare blend, since most of the scriptwriters either write for a small community of idiots (I'd like to think that most of us in the audience are smarter than that) or are idiots themselves.
But I digress.
What started out as a tender introduction to a type of mental illness (namely delusion) expands into a story that is, intrinsically, about love and growing to love others by reaching out of our comfort zone. There are funny moments but they don't take away from the overall tone of the movie, which is a touching one.
The 'bawling point' of the show was when the Real Girl was sitting at the office pantry crying about her recent breakup on the pretext of her 'murdered' teddy bear ('strangled' by one of the co-workers) and Lars (who, until now never reciprocated her feelings for him) comes over and cheers her up by giving her teddy bear mouth-to-mouth and basically just by carrying out a conversation with her.
That scene held a mirror to one of the better moments of real life. I mean, you try and try so hard to win that person's affection, but it doesn't seem to work, and just when you're in the pits and defeated by some other tragedy in your life, the very person you least expected shows up and gives you what you want: his attention.
What kind of love is this, I wondered after I took the bus back to my second home and got into the shower, this undeserving, unbelievable kind? And then it gets me thinking about how this kind of love is supposed to be characteristic of the love that God gives us (although God isn't exactly Lars because He's the one trying to win our affection and not the other way round), and I cry a lot more as I think about the times He's come through for me and how the little moments stand out more than the big ones.
Like how the kindness of a stranger picking up my coat from the floor it dropped on has a bigger impact on me than say, clinching a lucrative account at work despite the terrible pitching for it on my part. Or like how a single, bright pink flower in bloom that was left on the grass the day Trent disowned me trumped getting all As for the toughest finals I've ever sat for (back in polytechnic) any day.
The shower is usually my place for letting my issues for the day bubble to the surface and get washed away together with the bathwater, so I feel no shame in crying here -- in thinking further, in getting closer to the answers to my neverending questions about life's situations. It is here that I can talk in silence (mouthing my words but stopping short of vocalising them) without passers-by looking at me strangely or asking me if I'm feeling all right and it is here that I feel most protected from the grim outside world at large. It helps too that there is something soothing about the rhythm of the water droplets hitting floor and skin, and the sensation of water cascading down onto and around me.
My mind stays a bit more on the subject of this undeserving love, its similarities to grace and where such moments can be found, if they can be found at all (since they tend to arrive unexpectedly due to the near impossibly of being able to orchestrate them, unless of course I was the one extending said love to someone else).
By the time I dry myself, wipe the mist off the mirror and look back at my reflection, I look and feel like a fresher version of myself already. It is with this peace and sense of satisfaction from having accomplished something for the day that I am able to drift off to sleep.
But then I start dreaming about Trent.
11:01 PM By Jessica
