in searching for the film “chicken with plums,” trying to discover its release date, i was reminded of my love for french magical realism… and for marjane satrapi, the writer of the graphic novel “persepolis” (which was turned into an amazing hand drawn animated film-the special features are well worth the watch to see the painstaking process in creating this moving and witty piece of cinema)…and now i must find “poulet aux prunes” which is both a graphic novel and a live action movie with overlays of animation and many moments of the aforementioned magical realism, perhaps akin to “amelie,” one of my favorites.
and in this mad search, a plum dropped on my head. my hair is now a dark, rich fruit of the purple-red persuasion.
all weekend, the sweet juice of artistry has followed me around. descending on me from the trees, the breeze, the films, the music of lhasa and edith piaf, inciting riots of passion.
will i get out of my head? must i leave here to do this? i do not understand how to live the way i desire. where are the ones who say fear out loud and can be eased by another’s admission of such things within themselves? so too, will there be comfort in this place.
what am i to do about the unbreakable doors into rooms where i am seemingly not welcome? can’t they see? we all deserve love because we are. that is all. it is not earned through hard labour. it is not deserved more by the charismatic. it is not specially allocated to those who have more friends or are better looking. it is for everyone. the shy, the awkward, those in despair, for it is they who need it the most. it is for all of us. but we are muddied in our emotional puddles, unable to even identify their simplicity correctly. we are lost, so many of us, from that important side of our humanity. instead, we are making excuses for our carelessness toward one another. i don’t want to hide emotional truth and feeling beneath my ego’s tricks. there are too many head games, dances, and reasons for the “not’s”, but i genuinely approach with naive secret hopes…for meaningful connection.
i must fall in love with myself as well, resolutely! because i have been chronically malnourished. the habitual rituals that drown celebration and joy in the river look like gold, but they are just a flash, a deceptive twinkle in a gold-rush sieved pan.
i will understand it as ebb and flow. and that which sparkles does not need fear being extinguished.