Do you ever stop loving someone?

Do you? Or do you love them less? Or perhaps you think you don't love them any more, but the slightest tension or temptation will sweep you off your feet and make you long for a brief embrace to reignite a lost feeling of warmth and security, reminiscent of a moment so carefully tucked away and put to rest in the magical box of I-shall-not-touch-this-ever-again. Despite all your violent attempts to lock these redolent feelings away and the ominous trepidation of a dangerous arousal, you defy all instinct and decide to be the loving person to him/her again, because that's what makes you human. That's what makes you complete. That's what makes you vulnerable again.

It makes hurt seem almost blissful, and love nearly sinful.

When two people, once in love, each decide to share that exclusive emotion with someone else, it is inarguably the nadir of their relationship. Perched precariously on the edge of a precipice, hoping that everything is illusory, they sink into the oblivion of self-denial and mild psychedelia. "Just how long more is it gonna hold up?"; that is the question. All you need is a gentle nudge, a playful jolt, or an insensitive quip to release an avalanche of burgeoning contempt. After all, love and hate have always shared a mere gossamery divide between them. When reality and fantasy once again become distinctly immiscible concepts to be dealt with by a couple, there is little left to hold that divide.

If I haven't been emphasising enough already, it is my greatest pleasure to be studying a film and literature module. It sometimes baffles me, in an amazing way, how I'm intrinsically attracted to the Arts, yet never had the self-efficacy (or aptitude; but that would just be sad because that means I'm insanely delusional) to pursue something along that line. I don't know what it is, but I guess to simplify and put it in the most saturated sense, it is how a freedom of expression - visual, aural or textual - capturing a feeling or emotion from an individual's perspective, invariably means something to someone else when propagated.

A common language, spoken with such grace, that all who shared a moment in it cannot help but unwittingly replace or mend a part of their soul with its beauty.

Taking these lessons widened my horizon and beckoned me to explore the different forms of love that exist, and even question the motives behind some of these expressions of passionate emotions. We pondered over how outer beauty was considered a portrayal of inner beauty, but has been debunked much too often. We questioned whether Beauty could really love Beast if he didn't become a ravishing Prince Charming, or if Kim could really love Edward and his scissorhands. We will explore how a brief encounter transcended to an extramarital affair, and if the heart is really a captive of violent passions. Concluding Beauty and the Beast and introducing the theory that attraction is fundamentally primitive - a search for someone of greater physical quality so as to alleviate the shortcomings in ours and produce a physically appealing offspring - seems to be too warped an idea for me to conceive. But hey, I'm here to open myself to the things I could never fathom, so that I learn something new each time.

So I'm sitting here in the library@esplanade trying to soak in all the artistic qualities of this place (haha so naive), plugged in to Adele's concert performance, and reading something of utterly gross contrast (research stuff; it's really as dreadfully dry as it can get), but still enjoying the comfort I am in and typing this out.

No matter how hard I try to conceal myself or put on a mask of any sort, I am truly, honestly, and unwaveringly, an emotional person who always feels too much, wanders too far in my mind, and full of idiosyncrasies - and always will be, even if I'm only this person to myself. I can't change who I am, and I shouldn't have to. Because one day I hope to love someone with all that passion in my heart, and have someone love me back for that.

I'm Kissing You (Love Theme from "Romeo and Juliet")

Fictions of Love

In these 2 weeks or so, I've watched multiple renditions of the famed Shakespeare tragedy - Romeo and Juliet - since it was a course requirement. I've taken the module "Fictions of Love - Film and Literature", which must be my greatest fortune. I mean, to be able to watch films and read classics, what more could I ask for?

I remember first reading the play 8 years ago in secondary school. At that time it was probably too intense for Sec 2 students to read what seemed like gibberish. I recall that our English teacher would painstakingly explain what each line in the text means, sadly, to a bunch of disinterested youths who wanted nothing except for that dreadful class to end. Of course, I tried to pay attention but in the end, I would always leave the class feeling more confused what "thy" meant, "where art thou" really was, or why Shakespeare would wanna ruin the play for everybody by beginning it with a huge spoiler. It wasn't until my teacher showed us the film that we expressed some insipid interest for the first time in the entire semester, and even then, they spoke in that same weird literature so I guess we weren't that much more enlightened after all.

My point is, I had to re-read the text... to refresh (or reintroduce >.<) what would have been a nebulous memory of the play. I did know Romeo and Juliet died, though, but everybody knows that so it probably counts for nothing. But I'm glad I re-read it, because at my current level, I wield an entirely different perspective of the play. It made sense now, even without those translation notes, and I am surely in a better position than I was 8 years ago to think and talk and write about love.

I watched the 1968 Franco Zeffirelli version first, then the 1996 version by Baz Luhrmann (not in full; I was slightly turned off by the frivolity of this version), and finally the most recent one by Carlo Carlei. All 3 renditions differ greatly in style, captured storyline, and delivery methods. It was good to have the contrast, I must say. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer the one by Zefferelli most, although the other 2 versions do have considerable merits.

It seemed pretty pointless to watch so many versions of the film, especially since I already knew what was going to happen and how it's gonna happen. But it wasn't just that. Every time I watched a different version, I feel the helplessness of the star-crossed couple again, I see the destruction that excessive love (arguably lust) can bring, and I hear them proclaim their undying love for each other once again, in this exclusive world they have created for themselves to shut out all the animosity and hatred that plagued their families. It isn't the same. A love so timeless it transcends centuries to be told again, and then decades, to be reinvented and reinterpreted and presented to the audience in a whole new light. I was moved. All 3 times.

But it wouldn't make sense. I already knew the story. Then why did I feel new emotions every single time I watched it again? And that is the beauty of film. It is a visual text designed to evoke a different set of emotions with the way it is presented. It doesn't matter if I watched it another 10 times (I'm sure there aren't so many versions), because I would feel so diverse at the end of it all.

I didn't expect myself to fall in love with a module so contrasted with those I'm doing full-time. Lately I find myself gravitating towards everything that is unconventional for me, and I distant myself from those that are familiar. I find it harder and harder to concentrate on what would be my curriculum, but instead drifting towards the things our society would never put enough value to. I've begun to distant myself from a lot of things to make time for even more things - things that I care about. I've started to neglect people. It's not that I've stopped caring for people, but I feel that I am invariably cornered into solitary existence, because that's when I feel at ease.

I don't know how dangerously deep I am in this but right now it feels so good.

My mind is a whirlpool containing thoughts that threaten to destroy any convention left in my life.