Let The World Change You, And You Can Change The World

Between spending money on music or movies, I always chose music (which explains my 200-strong CD collection, nyeh nyeh). Never much of a movie person, I've never owned a DVD in my life. So when Maryam found that out, she immediately set about to rectify it by getting me a copy of The Motorcycle Diaries for my birthday. I must say at this point, that up until two days ago, only music has ever managed to alter my state of being, significantly John Mayer and Ben Gibbard. But when I watched The Motorcycle Diaries, something in me changed. I don't know whether it was when Ernesto and Alberto were trudging across the desert or when they were helping the leprosy patients, but in that two hours this movie changed my life. In between Argentina and Peru I was already inspired. I have never been politically inclined, and I'm not saying I am now, but to watch how Latin America formed the man that was Che Guevara was awe-inducing. I fell in love with his compassion, his brutal honesty, his bad dancing. I've heard and read so many stories of people finding themselves as they travel across the land on the lam but this particular story was somehow startlingly different from the rest. I saw the grittiness of what he traveled through, the intensely raw displays of humanity that he came across and longed so much to do the same and hop onto an ancient motorcycle and skid my way around South America. My life seems so small next to Ernesto's. I want to wander around the astounding grandeur of Machupicchu, to dance mambo-tango with the beautiful locals, to see the Amazon (not swim across it, I'm not that crazy). Most of all, I guess I just want to live.

I've posted something about this a while back, about how I felt stuck here. Twenty years is way too long for me to be in one place. I've always wished my parents were diplomats of some sort, so we could travel the world, never staying somewhere for more than, say, two years. I think this is the source of my depression, why I hate this life yet am afraid to end it. I'm so sick of this routine I'm forced to live with, this cacophony of non-order. I hate that I know where every road leads to, that I can't be surprised anymore. I long to feel the romance of Paris again and scarf down fish 'n chips in Sydney. I want to hear the Cuba I've only heard through speakers and live as an anonymous artsy beatnik in New York. And of course, I want to stretch out my travels for as long as I possibly can on the South American continent and dance til I drop from exhaustion. I want to be free of any ties, balls and chains and be able to pick up and leave any time I want to, only to discover something equally beautiful and new, or maybe even sometimes more... magnificent and vibrant than the last. There are so many things I haven't learnt in this too-short life and I can't waste it standing still. Watching The Motorcycle Diaries vehemently reaffirmed what I viewed as the only life I felt was worth living. I know that I really am slowly dying here, my life heaving and gasping like Ernesto when he couldn't breath. We have only our shitty lungs in common. I don't have an Alberto Granado of my own to help me up. Nor is my spirit strong enough like Che, not to rebel against political unjustice, but just to rebel against myself.

It wasn't only myself that felt this way. Spookily enough, Maryam said and felt the exact same things that I have just wrote without me even telling her my exact words. Maybe it was because we were at this age, on the edge of uncertainty, and watching this movie just hit home really hard. We instantly felt that something was out there, our calling was waiting to be discovered and we can't reach it because we're victims of circumstance. A lot of people find it hard to understand what it is that we're trying so hard to express, because for the majority of our peers, they're simply content just earning their degrees then earning their money and being comfortable. Life is so much more than just merely existing. I felt this helplessness when I watched Ernesto speak to the old woman or when playing sports with the patients. This young man of 23, barely a shadow of the great man he was about to become, was already silently changing lives. He touched the hearts of so many people without even thinking about it, just because he wanted to make a difference. Almost forty years after his death he managed to leave such an impact on two young Malay girls on the opposite side of the world; imagine how people in Latin America revere him, the ones who were actually affected by his beliefs and what he stood for. I'm not saying that I want to experience hardships or chronic asthma like he did. I simply want to see what life is like outside this bubble of protection that my parents, especially my mother, has built around me. I know they mean well, but sometimes you have to make your own mistakes, to forge your own paths and if it's not too much to ask for, maybe change the lives of people in need for the better. I don't want this... this routine to engulf the rest of my life. I want to come home and be proud of what I did that day, to know that I helped make this world a little easier for a person, a family, a community.

Onto the movie itself: Not to sound moronic, but having the amazingly hot Gael Garcia Bernal play Ernesto Guevara Fuser was a brilliant casting decision. The man is a fabulous actor, so much more intensely talented than so many of his contemporaries. And Rodrigo de la Serna was a perfect choice for Alberto Granado, portraying the humor and compassion so so well. The cinematography was beautiful, and Spanish is now next on my list of things to learn. I want to watch more Latin American cinema because it's just so lovely. Do tell me your suggestions, I will gladly add them to my movie list.

On a parallel note, thank you so much to everyone who wished me well on Friday. Something happened that morning and it wasn't what I expected would happen now, or ever. But I guess if you don't crack sometimes, how will you know what your limits are, right? I want to say that whenever I do finally leave this place for good, if I never see any of you again, know that all of you left a mark on my bruised heart and I will remember every single one of you. Gracias por ser mis amigos.

I won't be blogging as regularly as I used to. I'll try to post here at least once a week (so people like Sa won't worry) and occasionally somewhere else. There are some things I need to take care of, some issues I need to deal with. And this time, I really need to do it on my own and not depend on other people as much as before. But do leave your hellos in the the comment box, and I'll email who I need to. Love.


'Get out of this place/while we still have time' - Jimmy Eat World ('Work')

Twenteen

Earwax: Mando Diao - Down In The Past
Eyeboogers: Chuck Palahniuk - Non-Fiction


Happy birthday to me...

(it's not all it's cracked up to be)

It's Been A While

Just a quick update:

I'm off to Yogyakarta/Jogjakarta in a matter of hours (I'm in the airport lounge, dahlings) and will only be back on Wednesday. So be good, and I'll flood you soon enough.

(Ooh, do I see a putting room? I feel like a game of golf)

My New Favorite Man

You've got to love someone who can answer questions like these this way:


What is your favorite artistic movement?

The way she walked towards me.


For perfect interviews and to fall in love with Toby Amies, click here or here.