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Sunday, 6 April 2014

Dreams, films and hope (or lack thereof)

I've been neglecting the dream side of this blog for some time now. There's a few dreams I'd like to catch up on.

Two nights ago, I had a dream where she did accept my friend request and I could see pictures of her next to someone else holding a peacock. I also had a dream where I was fishing with the old man and my sister. At first we just pulled a net out of the water from a boat. Then it turned out we were in as swimming pool, a greenish one with kind of dark water. The net we pulled out of the water didn't have a lot of big fish, so I was to release them back into the pool and fish some more. As I got the fish out I found a couple of big fish, but they were apparently not big enough or not good to eat (the point was to eat them) so I was instead to just release them and keep only the tiny ones as bait. I remember using what few tips I've heard to choose a good spot to go fishing.

Last night I had a few dreams. In one, there was a wedding. My sister and I were helping the bride get ready. After sending her off to the venue, we had to get ready. I was wearing a yellow dress with pearls sown into it. Another dream featured me meeting Sir Elton John. Someone introduced me and he remembered me when we met a second time. Yet another dream included SmTn. I met him, Gb and someone else. SmTn was sitting next to me and we talked about him taking up swimming. He showed me his arms and I squeezed his biceps to test how muscular his arms were. It turned into caressing his arms and us getting a bit lovey dovey, which Gb and the other person were not having. I also remember introducing SmTn as a PhD Dr. Wherever you are, SmTn, I imagine you already have your PhD. Congratulations!

In other news, and also on the oh-shit,-I-fucked-up side of things, it turns out I did call a trans girl a man and I'm so sorry. But I don't dare follow through with my initial plan of going to her and saying as much because reaching out to strangers is working out less stellarly than I should like. Remember that tomboyish girl? She's awesome, but I don't need to tell you that again. I think only the nicest things about her. It should have, but it didn't occur to me to think she was a lesbian. It is not of much relevance, except she was invited to share her coming out story in pride last Thursday and her coming out story had her coming out as more than a lesbian: more importantly to me, she talked about struggling with depression. It means a lot to me, it really does. It's not every day and it's not outside of group that I see people openly say "I struggled with depression and had trouble finding a will to live," the fact that it was her and I think so highly of her sort of added to it because I think she's so strong. I couldn't help myself. I wanted to talk to her after the meeting but she left before it was over and we didn't even get to clap after her story. I e-mailed her. Maybe I shouldn't have expected any response. Maybe I outed her to someone else reading her e-mail. Maybe it was wildly inappropriate to send such an e-mail. I considered sending her a facebook message but maybe that would have crossed some line, and  yet maybe the line was crossed by using the university e-mail address. I don't know. I just know that I wanted to tell her I think very highly of her and I thank her for talking about something that is not often talked about that means a lot to me and I fear it may have somehow been condescending or otherwise wrong and not at all what I intended my message to be. I just... shit. I hate that even what I think are nice thoughts and good intentions come out the wrong way.

Unrelated to all this... I've been watching Bollywood films again. A classmate recommended Shahrukh Khan and four of his films. I have watched three out of those four and I think it is fair to say (now that I've watched more than half the recommended amount) that I don't like him or his films. The ones I saw were Chak de! India, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, and Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge. The first is about women in sports and is a sad attempt at feminism through so. much. yelling. And sexism. So #fail. The third is supposed to challenge the not-quite-dead-enough notion of arranged marriages. The second is just a lousy soap opera cut down into three hours of video. I think they all featured over-the-top, ridiculous acting. I daresay they shared more than a few of the main actors. There are more films made in India than anywhere else in the world and, do you intend to tell me they are all made by the same people?

That was not my point bringing them up, though. I'm bringing them up because, except for Chak de! India, I cried a lot during the films. It all comes down to the thought of unrequited love and how hard it hits me. Being one to fall a bit too hard for people, to care too much, if only about a few, I too often empathise with loving too much. And by "too much" I mean "more than you are loved." The idea that I'm so mad about her that the thought of her twinkling eyes or the memory of her singing makes my heart warm while she turns down my facebook friend request (meaning she's either avoiding me or is indifferent to my existence) is already a very large contrast. The idea that I should be so fond of her or, more precisely, the idea of who I think she is, drives me crazy. I can't stop my feelings and I can't help liking her as much as I do, yet I have the soundness of mind to realise it's not reasonable to feel this way about someone I haven't had a single conversation with. And it's always like that, I guess. I'll fall head over heels for someone once every couple of years only to get hurt. What worries me is what I think might be the reason why: I put all my bets on love.

I am quite the textbook definition of hopeless romantic. When every other situation in life seems hopeless, I turn to romance and fantasise about the person I've idealised to what I call perfection in some elaborate fantasy available only to me. Reality, however, has a mind of its own and fails to agree with me, so it follows any attempt I have at romance is sort of doomed from the beginning. Isn't that a tale to tell Hollywood about?

Oh, but Hollywood has sort of redeemed itself. Grand Budapest Hotel was actually quite good. I didn't have a mind for the gore, but most everything else was treated very tastefully and even I could appreciate the artistry that went into making every shot beautiful, every dialogue worth quoting. Well done, Ralph Fiennes. Well done. I'd go on from this to say that I like Wes Anderson's work, but I don't remember liking Moonrise Kingdom and I certainly didn't enjoy The Fantastic Mr. Fox last night, so... Well done, Ralph Fiennes.

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