There is a reason why I can’t watch too many movies at a time, which explains why I am so painfully mistimed when I talk about movies and books. Like, every time I open my mouth and mention a movie, people will look at me with the look in their face, as if asking; where exactly are you from?
It is because I tend to get myself caught up in the movie, sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks. God knows how many movies I’ve made my lifetime Bible.
So we watched a Russian film on Thursday, at the Chauvel Cinema located in the old but rather cozy Paddington Town Hall. Sitting at the balcony waiting for the movie to start with my classmates, I had a moment of reflection; I could’ve been anywhere for all I want and it doesn’t matter. There can be no moment out of place, because already we’re a mismatched ensemble.
The movie was titled “Letters from a Dead Man”, those who knows me well would say it’s a peculiar choice. But again, I was in there for the experience. Listening to my friend talking about post-apocalyptic movies she had watched, and another classmate who had read books written by the same Russian author which the movie was adapted from, it was my turn to say; where do you guys come from?
All in all, it was a day spent in good companies. I decided if not in the age of Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronte, I should be reborn at least 5 or 10 years earlier because there are the company I enjoy the most. But perhaps if I were, I would befriend people 5 or 10 years older all the same. Perhaps it’s simply me and my ancient soul, who despite these restless and rebellious soul and mind, is still in every way traditional and obstinate.
Like I told my friend, “I’m the Jane Austen/Little Women type.”
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