I just read something I typed on November 18, 2008 - but never published. Wow. It goes like this…

Today I deliberate on the meaning of freedom. Human rights. Basic needs. And the cost of freedom.

I quote from Micheal Moore’s 5 Nov Letter on President-Elect Obama’s win:

“We may, just possibly, also see a time of refreshing openness, enlightenment and creativity. The arts and the artists will not be seen as the enemy. Perhaps art will be explored in order to discover the greater truths. When FDR was ushered in with his landslide in 1932, what followed was Frank Capra and Preston Sturgis, Woody Guthrie and John Steinbeck, Dorothea Lange and Orson Welles. All week long I have been inundated with media asking me, “gee, Mike, what will you do now that Bush is gone?” Are they kidding? What will it be like to work and create in an environment that nurtures and supports film and the arts, science and invention, and the freedom to be whatever you want to be? Watch a thousand flowers bloom! We’ve entered a new era, and if I could sum up our collective first thought of this new era, it is this: Anything Is Possible.”

J.K. Rowling speaks. Listen to eloquence, rhyme and profundity.

It seems, this year’s throwing the ‘tens’ around. At least at me.

A few hours ago, before midnight - I played the song “All Around Me” by Flyleaf for the 100th time. Slightly over a week ago, I tweeted my 1001th tweet. This year also marks the 10th year of leaving secondary school. A significant milestone 2010 will be to to me. And the fascination with these ones and zeros will continue to be.

A friend of mine won/got a bunch of money and apparently was giving it to me, or at least some sizeable portion.

The dream began at the airport while she was ‘fugitive’-like, disguissed and trying to walk out without being caught by a random person trying to steal the money.

Passed the gates and fooled the thief, she passed me a key. Asking mr to look out for a red car. She must have thought it would be nice getting a car with some of the cash. So I ran toward whatever red car was within sight. O this is the airport’s car park adjoining some hotel.

It wasn’t the Kancil. She says look for the car with the number plate 09. It wasn’t the other red sedan. Then behind the screen of bamboo, there VIP cars were parked. I saw a red, well… Ferrari. And it was 09. And she smiled. Wohoo

Got it. Turned it on, and unfortunately remembered nothing about the interior. But remembered banging into a car parked near-by thanks to the ill arranged side mirror. Didn’t have time to adjust the side mirrors see, I was also running away from- em I dunno what.

Conscience kicked in, and I drove a round and parked and tried looking for her or leave a number to call if there was a dent to the back of the car nearby. Sorta seemed superficial though, the reverse-bang into the other car. So that part of the story ended then.

I was in the airport or hotel and my friend had changed into a dress for someone’s wedding. They were waiting and preparing for something. I sat next to a young girl. She asked for help to tie some sort of flower thingy wt a cable tie. Vividly I reached out my hand and woke from the dream.

Dreams so intriguing. I am in constant wonderment what each of the elements that make up the story mean. I may or may not know. All in due time and course.

Spoke to a friend or two about my fascination with Hakagure - The Art of the Samurai. The artistry is oh so… meaningful. The mind wonders about this pursuit of perfection = pursuit of meaning to life.

I am also reminded of Departures - the movie. Meaning of life found, in the ceremonial preparation of the dead - for those that are mourning.

Then some days earlier, I watched Paris, Je T’aime - this film, is about finding love.

Profound, all these films are.

So I stepped into this Neo world, whose skin is mist covering iridescent pearl.
I catch a glimpse of this shimmery thing, the star hanging on this rear-view mirror;
reminiscent of Orion’s constellation just moments earlier;
when the sky was clear and clouds not seen, I stare in admiration as stars do inspire.

Watched Waking Life for the second time, on the second day. Again, I feel so much awe. Life is… now. It is also eternal. It is also momentary. Time, is like an elastic ozone of permissive life - of continuous opportunities to exasperate and extricate an affirmative ‘yes’ to the question of being ‘one’ - with eternity, of finding immortality.

The most profound, verbose, discourse of existential psychology and the memento of dreams; capturing in lucid transcendence - the human attempt to understand and tame it.

The names of the actors are rolling-in but the lights are still dimmed. Usually by now they would have it all turned on, but I really didn’t want them to. So I sat up straight and leaned forward, elbows on the backrest of the seat in front of me, chin on them, and eyes glued to the silver screen - trying to appreciate what I just watched for the last two hours.

“The Time Traveler’s Wife“, it reads. A few seconds after - therein, the credits of movie makers start to appear. Then the lights come on. By now I was seating back trying to truly grasp all that was - the movie.

It is good! It’s not just a love story, I feel. It’s about time, love, and loss. It’s about the need to live the now - for later. And time, being transient, ephemeral and fleeting - is merciless. And we, it’s occupants, are bound. Therefore, we - time-bound-beings, need to make full use of it’s linear ‘dimension-ality’. Our occupation in this very moment, counts for the very essence of existence. Even so, time is also fateful. Things happen for a reason. And one day, I’ll find out why. Also I belief divinity sees time in multi-dimensions, hence having full knowledge of the past, present and future - and IS at it’s helm. So the probing question for self analysis is - am I existing now, if I choose to not to anything now? Anything substantial that is. I suppose there must be some sort of philosophical branch that wrecks-brains about these kinds of questions. The existentialists maybe? We all have a choice nevertheless; to be & live in the now/there. To dasein. I hope I choose to live the now - for the right kinda tomorrow. Choose right, do right and not be needing to wish I could correct my could-have-been-right last nights.

Anyway… Audrey Niffenegger and Robert Schwentke, author and director of the film respectively, deserves kudos. I wish I could write, and tell stories and record them in motion and light and pass them on so vividly and brilliantly as they do. Ahh. Art. I love thee.

So while gathering my thoughts, I recall watching a few other films, nights before and I’m starting to see a striking connection about these films. Today I watched The Time Traveler’s Wife. A couple of days back, I watched Namesake. Several days before that I watched Romeo & Juliet (the Baz Luhrmann adaptation). And then a while back, I remember watching Partition (the one with Kristin Kreuk). Common denominating factor; the protagonist husband, dies. Fortunately, between Romeo & Juliet and Namesake, I watched City of Angels - this time, well, unfortunately - the lady dies. Yet I love all of these movies. It teaches you something about life. I learn from The Time Traveler’s Wife - that, well, maybe you’ll one day get propose to a girl who’ll know how to joke and say ‘no’ just to express freewill but not really mean it. And that’s dandy In Romeo & Juliet, one wishes to have poetry in life - in some sort of nu-Shakespearean kinda way. And not to swear on the moons and the stars, but to ’swear’ on thy self for I art my fair-lady’s imagery of god (heavy paraphrasing here). In Partition, one wishes that the world unites in one-ness and seeks peace, in all matters of culture, religion and what-nots. Let bygones be bygones, and let not a foolish family feud be one that is passed on to generations to come. The latter resounds true for Romeo and Juliet as well. It is sad that where humanity fails, there comes saving grace in the form of a story of heaven finding means to kill discord’s loves with lost. And in City of Angels - one deeply appreciates the palatable texture of eating a pear.

I also like the end titles of The Time Traveler’s Wife. It is by a mnemonically apt person named Scarlet Letters. Such simple fusing of fine music along with a kaleidoscopic bokeh of lights - lovely.

So leave me dear blog-post, to my bewilderment and I bid thee good morrow. For it’s fast approaching dawn and I am intent and making today/tonight/tomorrow count for time-eternal post-haste.

Next thing to read, Odysseus (by Homer) - it’s in the iPhone waiting to be read. The story’s similar to this movie’s love/loss/time theme sorta thingy. But it’ll have to wait, my bookish retreat is in the form of Alice in Wonderland for now.

There’s just something to it. Probably the only The All-American Rejects song I don’t mind playing over and over and over again.