Rashomon

The purpose of this blog entry is not to make a review of this 1950 Akira Kurosawa masterpiece.

The end in view, my lovelies, is the introduction of this film into your consciousness, the possible result of which is you searching the world wide web for a free download of the movie, you finally watching it alone or with another curious movie junkie, you wanting to get to the core of the narrative and, finally, you getting your attention caught by the female lead character's forehead and thinking to yourself, "With all due respect Kurosawa-san, didn't the budget cover for a make-up artist to trim the bushy brows?" 

 

 

 

 

 

 

See what I mean?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Watch it and tell me what you think. (Will somebody tell me who killed this woman's husband? )

Random Message in my Box

  "Sometimes we can't let go of the hurt... ...because it is a constant reminder of one great love story we never expected to come to an end."

I was cleaning out the message folders of my phone this morning and, upon reading this particuar text message from my good buddy Karz, which was sent to me in April last year in the middle of the bar exam conundrum, I felt I just had to post it here. This friend used to make practical, no, offensive, jokes at us, so it came as a surprise to me that he is, after all, all too human to display such poignancy through the medium of a cellphone.

Quite a sensitive yet a welcome gesture, the sending of this message to me, that is, if the purpose was to make me cry myself to sleep. The purgation of emotions had to start somewhere, right? I did cry myself to sleep not only that night but on many other nights when the hurt was just too much to bear.

More than a year after that eventful law school graduation, I can say that I have become stronger. The hurt has tempered, the tragic loss, eased back in memories, and the love story, fondly remembered, all with a view towards self-healing.  Slow and graceful self-healing.

Image: Candle on my study table cum dining hall. My pad. 2008.

What the eff?

Oh. My. Geezus.

I thought this only happens in movies... If you were in my place, what would you do? My Belgian neighbor and his wife are banging next door! They're getting it  on. OMFG. The walls are thin. So far I can only hear their bed beating against the other side of my wall. I don't have earplugs, people! I am so disturbed that I am entitled to moral damages. Cough up the moolah, Big Daddy.

Ok, just needed to get that one out. Or maybe I need to get out. Yes, I'm doing that.