162 Bucks

God, this blog's a total mess. Okay. Just to clear things up, Introversion is in no way gonna shut itself down because the owner is too busy to friggin update it. But I'm very much fearing that it might do so that's why amid my lethargy, I am gonna blog. Oh yes. I. Am. Gonna. Blog.

Alright. First things first; Twilight the Movie.

Having read the superficial novel approximately eleven months ago (a far cry to the mob of newbies that the movie bore. I was at National Bookstore the other day, looking for Haruki Murakami's After Dark novel when I came across this group of people dressed in black, looking for different books from the saga. Too bad that the bookstore's out of everything with Edward Cullen in it. Or rather, too good. I'm a bad person - deal with it.), I was sandwiched between two judgments of what the movie will turn out to be; overrated and superficial to the left, excellent on the right. But as vast information about the movie quickly spread like a disease through various media, I was more like leaning to the overrated side. If you know me enough, then you would know why.

And so, my judgment proved to be so right all along - and more.

I watched the movie a week late after it was shown in the country. For one, I don't want to be in a cinema full of infatuated teenagers like my sister who would swoon everytime a part of that vampire looms into a scene. I watch films because of their artistic attributes, not because everybody's so into it and it's hitting box office records like hell. Of course, how would one look into a film as an art if everyone keeps showing their infatuation to a movie's character? Like, what the hell was that? Secondly, I was so busy with so many things on the week that it was shown that's why I relied on my sister, who is still very much drenched in her own smitten vampire fantasies, to make first-hand critiques of the movie (which, upon realizing it, turned out to be one of those dumb decisons I've made). She said it was really good, and kakakilig (kinda like infatuating).

So wrong. So so soo wrong.

In the spirit of a true introvert, I watched the movie alone at the most undesiring moviehouse in the planet - Megamall. I was supposed to watch at Shang Cineplex, but I don't wanna risk my life and precious calories by walking all the way to Megamall after the movie. I have to commute all the way home at that day, and surely enough, there exists no FX terminal in Shang. So yeah. I bought one ticket that cost me 162 bucks, and stopped by the snack bar to buy a large coke drink so I could at least do something when the movie's boring me to pieces. I hurried to the moviehouse and found myself a suitable seat just in case I don't want to finish the movie anymore - right at the back of the aisle. Works everytime.

So yeah, I arrived in that scene where Edward delivers one of those many famous cheesy lines in the book; I'll do whatever it takes to make you safe again. Cringe, baby. Cringing moment at its finest. I don't know why I even bothered to stay in the moviehouse and wait for the film to rewind so I can watch it again from the start. Maybe because I have to give some value for the 162 bucks I paid for this vampire movie about a vampire book I've read several months ago. I went out of the moviehouse at that La Push scene because clearly, I can't stand my distaste anymore.

I didn't like it, and you don't have to hate me for it. After all, it takes real art and substance for a film to please someone like me.

Don't be like my sister and be so utterly contented with movies like this. Raise your standards, even for just a bit. I know we can't all be credible film critics, but all of us can see what is clearly good and bad.

Ugh. Just give me my 162 bucks back.

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I bought Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being yesterday and I swear to God, I can't stop reading. Just seriously can't. I finally found that one book that is more than what it's worth.

I shared my mother one good realization I read in the book:

We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come.

Nice, isn't it? But my mother, being the total person of authority that she thinks she really is, smirked at me and blurted out something like 'Only God knows our past...don't believe in books'.

I've never been so dumbfounded in my whole egotistical life. I wish I knew what the hell she really meant. Reminds me of this post - a lot.

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I've been blushing a lot these days.

Maybe I am really happy, after all.

Thank you, you.

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