New York Red Continues.....
I dialed the number, while staring at the TV screen. On IFC, it was starting. The Double Life of Veronique. I decided I was not going to miss it this time.
You voice mail was on. Were you sitting on your couch, listening to the phone ring echoing in your apartment, or was it truly a space of its own, missing your presence.
I don't know which scenario I prefer. But I hang up without leaving a message--I wanted to focus on Veronique. She already started without me. She was singing in the rain.
Two girls born in 1966. Paris and Czech, the puppet player, his face stunningly handsome and sad in the shadow; his hands giving life and instilling sadness or hope to the puppet. The man looking for her, in the crowd, blowing his nose. Not missing her. Finding her.
Photo of that girl in a coat that is not mine. Same face, different life. Together and apart.
I love this movie, the two women, this man, every minute of it, every word, every moment when the music is on and every moment when it is silent. Every still, the images in motion and in rest. I think I love you the same way, every bit of it, in silence and in motion.
I was crying without knowing it, you were making love to me, when she saw that photo, crying and being made love to by this man.
I turned off every light after the movie ended, I turned off the TV. I don't want to hear any other sound, or to see any other image after this, not for a long while.
That is what I do when I am in love, I don't want to move on to other things, or see other things. I want to stay in the mood.
The movie was made in 1991, the year when we were in two far away places, on our own path and not knowing that one day they shall cross, truly cross, not in a way that I appear randomly in a photo that somebody took of you, not in a way that you are just a stranger passing a quick smile to me. All these could have been. How many possibilities have we missed to reach here?
So that is why, on this night, after walking on the happy street of New York on the first truly chilly night and doing my first holiday shopping after working like real immigrant worker for two days, after Veronique and her double life, and your privileged silence, I decided that my life HERE will continue, so does this blog.
You voice mail was on. Were you sitting on your couch, listening to the phone ring echoing in your apartment, or was it truly a space of its own, missing your presence.
I don't know which scenario I prefer. But I hang up without leaving a message--I wanted to focus on Veronique. She already started without me. She was singing in the rain.
Two girls born in 1966. Paris and Czech, the puppet player, his face stunningly handsome and sad in the shadow; his hands giving life and instilling sadness or hope to the puppet. The man looking for her, in the crowd, blowing his nose. Not missing her. Finding her.
Photo of that girl in a coat that is not mine. Same face, different life. Together and apart.
I love this movie, the two women, this man, every minute of it, every word, every moment when the music is on and every moment when it is silent. Every still, the images in motion and in rest. I think I love you the same way, every bit of it, in silence and in motion.
I was crying without knowing it, you were making love to me, when she saw that photo, crying and being made love to by this man.
I turned off every light after the movie ended, I turned off the TV. I don't want to hear any other sound, or to see any other image after this, not for a long while.
That is what I do when I am in love, I don't want to move on to other things, or see other things. I want to stay in the mood.
The movie was made in 1991, the year when we were in two far away places, on our own path and not knowing that one day they shall cross, truly cross, not in a way that I appear randomly in a photo that somebody took of you, not in a way that you are just a stranger passing a quick smile to me. All these could have been. How many possibilities have we missed to reach here?
So that is why, on this night, after walking on the happy street of New York on the first truly chilly night and doing my first holiday shopping after working like real immigrant worker for two days, after Veronique and her double life, and your privileged silence, I decided that my life HERE will continue, so does this blog.
posted by NYE at 10:52 PM
2 Comments:
How many possibilities will we pass before we reach here again, or ever again.
Winter is a cruel mistress like this, especially when we love her when she gives us snow in which to play with our loves, but when our hearts are as empty as a ghost towne, she comes with a vengence.
Life goes on, and so do we, always. It isn't what we always want,but it is what we got, isn't it?
I guess what I was trying to say in my post is that we complicate our lives with things that are just that-complicated. Sure, I want a "Big New York love" but as I live in a small town, I will take a woman's dramatic gesture over a clam bed in our grundens than need the gesture in Central Park, or at the Plaza in a coat and tails.Or for that matter, I want to see something for what it really is, and want it simply for the fact that it was made for me. It doesn't have to be perfect, just perfect for me.
I hope that makes sense. And by the way, this was a fantastic post-I am glad that you are back.
It makes sense. It doesn't have to be perfect, just perfect for me. It can not be better said than this. Ultimately we all are only searching for that specific one or specific few (to some people) that meant for us in its own imperfect, sometime painful way.
Thanks for the comment. It makes my day. Happy holiday!
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