"Perhaps Love," a movie best characterized as a Chinese "Moulin Rouge," has a fantastic scene wherein the director sits in a noodle shop nearby the set of the new movie he came into town to produce. The shopkeep, a cheery looking fellow probably from Hunan, asks if the director remembers him. He goes on to explain that the director filmed his first film near here and would come in daily for a bowl of noodle soup. Disheveled and tired, the director mutters that he remembers, but for some reason he used to be hungrier than he is now. The shopkeep smiles and tells him that he would always eat quickly, because he wanted to get back to working on the film as soon as possible--because he wanted the world to know what he was capable of.
Lately I have suffered the same misfortune: I am never hungry enough. I have felt what it means to be truly alone in elementary school. The same year, I came to terms with death. Staggered throughout the rest of my short life thus far were and are existential crises coupled with few precious moments of serenity. The one thing I still fear, the one thing I dread absolutely and completely is the gray sky--routine and indifference. Certainly, schoolwork is important, so is socializing and whatnot, but I miss the days when I had time to breathe--time to think. I sat down today for thirty minutes between classes, by the lake, and began to write, but to my dismay, all I could think of was the gray sky, the routine, day in and day out. It is midterm season, so my block makes some semblance of sense, and Muses disdain summons, but there is a silly fear that I will wake up one day, completely devoid of language, unable to speak, write, or read. I may be going crazy from midterms, in fact it probably is the case, especially when I try to convince myself with the Internet as a mirror. The days are cold. It could be that. Perhaybe.
The movie ends with the director finishing his movie and coming in for a bowl of noodles. He eagerly awaits his meal, telling the shopkeep about his plans for his next movie, a simple love story he always wanted to write even before he became a director. As he speaks, he brings spool after spool of noodle and beef to his mouth, cooling them with quick breaths before happily devouring them.
I've always loved that scene.
