'Something to make you feel loved'

The folks at The Rumpus recently tracked down the text of the priest's monologue from Charlie Kaufman's Synecdoche,  New York, one of my favourite films of recent times. It's incredible stuff: 

Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make. You can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won’t know for twenty years! And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce ...

And they say there’s no fate, but there is, it’s what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead, or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain wasting years for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right, but it never comes. Or it seems to, but it doesn’t really.

So you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along, something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel cherished, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is, I feel so angry! And the truth is, I feel so fucking sad! And the truth is, I’ve felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long, I’ve been pretending I’m okay, just to get along!

I don’t know why. Maybe because ... no one wants to hear about my misery ... because they have their own.

Fuck everybody. Amen.

Hope

Yesterday I watched Cinema Paradiso and enjoyed seeing it again (well, ‘again’ is a bit overstated, as it was maybe 15 years ago that I saw it). But here’s a quick hint – if you’d like to see it, try to get the original edit: the director’s cut, while it provides a new, poignant perspective on the story, is pappy soap opera. But other than that it’s a gorgeous little film about child-like wonder and teenage longing and love and hope.

Take this one scene, where Salvatore has just returned from military service, and takes Alfredo to the seaside and recalls an old story. Standing among a tangle of intertwined anchors, Salvatore tells Alfredo: ‘Now I understand why the soldier left right at the end. One more night and the princess would have been his. But she might not have kept her promise. That would have been too cruel. It would have killed him. This way, at least, for 99 nights, he lived in hope that she’d be his.’

Image: Screenshot, Cinema Paradiso

'When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.'

I attended a funeral yesterday, and it reminded me of an experience I had when I was 17. 

A friend had died overnight in our dorm, and his girlfriend had come screaming down the corridor. My girlfriend and I rushed to see what was going on, and we called the ambulance, comforted her, calmed her, made her eat, helped with this or that necessity, called people, controlled access, helped his friends into the building, answered questions from others in the corridor, calmed, comforted, made her eat … did all of that stuff that one does to be strong for another.

And when night fell, and our friend had gone to sleep, my girlfriend and I crawled into bed together and collapsed into a heap of tears and emotion.

Perhaps strength is a mask sometimes –


Photo: Monash University

Love

Love is something eternal; the aspect may change, but not the essence.

Vincent van Gogh

And perfection, and happiness?

The purpose of life does not include the pursuit of perfection or even the pursuit of happiness. To pursue these as part of the nature of our being is asking for frustration.

So what is in the package marked ‘purpose of life’?

I don’t know. Or at least, I don’t know everything that’s in it. I’ve taken a few things out, unwrapped the packaging, but never been able to look right into the box.

I think if your personal box doesn’t contain love, acceptance and at least some kind of passion, it would somehow be lacking.

And perfection, and happiness? These things are part of life, but they aren’t its purpose. Hope for them, and when they appear (sometimes together, sometimes singly), accept them, enjoy them.