Hormones The Series 3D: ผิดเหรอที่(ตัวละคร)หนูไม่แบน

ได้ยินกระแสที่ใครๆพูดกันถึงเรื่องน้องสไปรท์ในฮอร์โมนเดอะซีรีส์ว่าน้องแรงอย่างนั้น แรดอย่างนี้ ทำให้เราอึดอัดขัดใจเป็นอย่างมากกับความจำเป็นที่จะต้องให้คำจำกัดความ (label) คนคนหนึ่งด้วยคำไม่กี่คำ จะด้วยความอินหรือความคิดมาก(ไป)ของเราก็ตามแต่ ทำให้เรารู้สึกว่าเราต้องออกมาเถียงแทนน้องสไปรท์!

รู้สึกไปเองรึเปล่าไม่รู้ ว่าคำที่ใช้เรียกผู้หญิงว่าแรด ต้องเป็นคำที่ถูกตั้งขึ้นด้วยผู้หญิงกันเองที่มีความรู้สึกไม่เห็นด้วย ไม่ยอมรับ เหยียดหยัน ไม่เข้าใจ รวมไปถึงอิจฉาเล็กๆ ปนอยู่ในคำสั้นๆคำนี้ เราใช้คำสั้นๆสรุปตัวตนคนคนหนึ่งในเวลาที่เราไม่รู้จักเค้าอย่างแท้จริง เพราะเมื่อเรารู้จักใครซักคนหนึ่งแล้ว มันเป็นไม่ได้เลยที่เราจะบอกได้ว่าคนคนนี้เป็นยังไงด้วยคำคำเดียว

ทำไมสไปรท์ถึงถูกเรียกว่าแรด เพราะน้องเค้ามีอะไรกับใครไปทั่ว ซึ่งเป็นสิ่งที่สังคมไม่ยอมรับ ทำไมไม่เห็นมีใครพูดเลยว่า เออ เด็กมันฉลาดนะที่ป้องกันตัวเอง เออ มันน่าสงสารเนอะ ที่โดนแฟนไม่เข้าใจ เออ ทำไมมันไม่มีเพื่อนเลยวะ

แต่จริงๆน้องเค้าก็ไม่แคร์หรอกนะว่าใครจะว่ายังไง ความมั่นใจในตัวเองของเด็กคนนี้เป็นสิ่งที่เราชื่นชม เพราะน้อยคนนัก ในวัยที่การยอมรับจากคนรอบข้างเป็นสิ่งสำคัญเหลือเกิน จะสามารถยืนหยัดเป็นตัวของตัวเองอย่างไม่เกรงใจใคร เพราะเธอเลือกที่จพให้ความสำคัญกับเฉพาะคนที่สำคัญ

เราเจอสไปรท์ในตอนที่เธอยังไม่รู้จักความรัก ยังไม่เข้าใจว่าคุณค่าในตัวผู้ชายแบบไหนที่น่าชื่นชม แฟนนักเลงที่ลุยเค้าไปทั่วจึงเป็นทางเลือกที่ดูเข้าที สไปรท์อาจอยากได้รับการปกป้อง มีคนหวงก็ดี มีคนอื่นต้องการชั้นอีกเหรอ อุ๊ยดีจังเลย อาการโหยหาสิ่งที่ขาดหายไปมันแก้ได้อย่างนี้เองมั้ง

แต่เมื่อสไปรท์ได้พบต่อ ได้พบความสัมพันธ์ที่มีความลึกซึ่งกว่าการครอบครองเป็นเจ้าของ ความรักจึงกลายเป็นเรื่องที่ยากขึ้น ความเชื่อใจ การให้อภัย ความเข้าใจ กลายเป็นสิ่งแปลกประหลาดที่เข้ามาเกี่ยวข้อง และในท้ายที่สุด เธอได้เรียนรู้ถึงความเสียใจ ความสูญเสียที่เธอต้องผ่านมันไปให้ได้

ถึงตรงนี้ที่สไปรท์เติบโตขึ้น และเราเองได้รู้จักเธอมากขึ้น เรายังอยากจะให้คำจำกัดความสั้นๆว่าเธอเป็นเด็กแรดอยู่อีกไหม

Pre-war / Post-war Gatsby

My pre-war version of The Great Gatsby (with Robert Redford) did not quite struck a cord in hi-school. However, watching The Great Gatsby post-war (with Leo De Cap - a few weeks ago) left something brewing inside me.

Hold your horses, novel fans. I am, first and foremost, a movie fan. So I am writing this solely from both of the movies, however, I am beginning to catch up with the (surely far superior version) book.

The RR movie version left me with little impression- fancy parties, a car accident, and oh-so-handsome Robert Redford. I remember the end of the movie, but never quite understood how, to put it in simple term, it was such a big deal. THEN, more than ten years later, I knew what was missing. The War.

For Gatsby, the war took him away from Daisy, the love of his life. But it was also the war that gave him the opportunity to re-invent himself. I admire Gatsby for his devotion, his determination, his obsession. Post-war Gatsby finally succeeds in building himself from nothing to the billionaire with the fancy house. He did everything in his power to make his deepest desire come true. How could you not love Gatsby? Well, ask Daisy and she would tell you. That you stop caring so much about love when it no longer fits your lifestyle. She would tell you that comparing to life with guilt, an inconvenient life, is far worst than life without the one you love.

How could you blame Daisy though? She's a rich girl from a rich family. She never had to take any kind of responsibility a day in her life! To her, Gatsby is an admirer. His complete adoration for her is the only thing that sets him apart from her womanizing husband. Of course, she wants to be with Gatsby. Not because she's been waiting for him and her dreams finally come true. But because he does EVERYTHING for her. He lies, he cheats, he deals drugs. It doesn't matter how he makes it happen as long as it is all for HER.

And what does Gatsby want in return? Just for Daisy to say that she never loves anyone but him. Naive? Yes. Unrealistic? Heck yeah. The thing is pre-war Gatsby finds love. Post-war Gatsby finds faith. And he never lets go.

Until his last breath, Gatsby holds on to the idea that he is loved. Now that's something you don't see everyday. My cynical post-war self wishes very much that I can find that kind of unshakeable place in me that believes in love. And that love would conquer all.

I envy Gatsby for his ability to hope, blindly. But Daisy... she just LIVES blindly. Those are two very different things.

Forget Me Not

It has been a while since I've written anything worth reading. Actually, let me rephrase that... it's been a while since I've written anything. Period.

In attempt to self-analyze, I would say I was trying to avoid acknowledging what I was thinking, how I was feeling. I was escaping reality. As much good it did me, I was encouraged, and inspired by a very good friend that maybe now would be a good time to get back on the horse...

You always hear countless stories of post-war trauma, and very few talking about whats the actual war was like. My take on it is that first of all it is impossible to describe. Secondly, who cares about what happened, really? History is always written by the winner. What matters is how you cope. How you move on. 'Cos that's what everyone can relate to.

So here goes my post-war report. My survival stories. This is how I live, think, feel... after the storm of loss, change and new-found hope. Maybe this is how George Lucas started writing Star Wars .... Hey, just to throw it out there the kind of nerd I am ;)

STAY TUNED.

xo
OMO's Girl

Merry Christmas, Dad.

Dad,

You and mom gave me my first "real" Christmas when I was 16 years old. I woke up in the morning of December 25th 2001 to a brightly lit christmas tree in the living room. my stocking was hanging in front of the fireplace. It was filled with candies, chocolates and little things that made me feel so loved.
Under the tree were gifts, tons and tons of gifts. I was ecstatic and happy. Christmas has been my favourite since then.

I like everything that reminds me of that special day: Christmas carols (even stupid commercial music), sparkly lights and lots and lots of presents. I always wanted to have another christmas just like the one we had years ago.

Last year you offer to fly me back to the US. I wanted to come and have my second "real" Christmas. I regret my practical decision not to come. If I knew that that would have been my last christmas with you.... Oh dad, I really wish I said yes.

So this Christmas is my second "real" christmas. Dad, you would have enjoyed it so much. We all piled up in our cars heading down to Myrtle Beach just like the way you wanted. We had a Christmas tree in the penthouse where Grandmomma, Mr.D, Uncle Frank, Cindy and Rob stayed. We put up Grandmomma's ornaments and fixed the tree up nicely. Mom and I brought so many gifts for the kids we had to make an extra trip unloading them from your car. Sure enough that made the kids very happy. Jerami and Dawn came too. Jerami cooked us delicious dinner and breakfast. Mom made us waffles one morning. You would have gone for a second round!

I gave mom a pair of slippers, 'cos her old pair has a hole in it. She is still wearing it; maybe because you bought them for her. I also adopted a sea turtle for you and mom. Another baby! If you're out there swimming, dad, would you say hi to the one that belong to you and mom?

Mom gave me a set of cookware. They are so amazing and pretty. I guess I have to learn how to cook now. Or maybe I should pick up baking skills. You said my pound cake was one of the best ones you had.

We came back home today. It had snowed real hard while we were away. Bart was so nice; he ran his tractor through our driveway so it wasn't icy when we got back. Everyone is taking good care of us, dad. You don't have to worry. We still miss you though. Mom misses you so much her heart hurts. I miss you a lot too.

We saw a pelican at the beach one day. He was just standing there hanging out with us. Mom thought he could have been you checking out on us. I don't know where you are. I couldn't answer mom when she asked me. You seem to be everywhere though. To mom. To me. To all of us. In the ocean, up in the sky, hiding in the crowd.

I hope you are well wherever you are. Mom's worried about you, but I think you are doing ok. Maybe you'll come by and let us know? I don't know how long it takes for you to get to us. If you are trying to do that, please know that we'll be happy to hear from you whenever.

Merry Christmas, my magnificent one. You are always in my heart. I love you so much.

P.

Heart of glass

One of my all-time favorite books called "The History of Love" by Nicole Krauss talks about the Age of Glass. "During the Age of Glass, everyone believed some part of him or her to be extremely fragile. For some it was a hand, for others a femur, yet others believed it was their noses that were made of glass."

For the past week, I've come to realized that my heart may have made of glass.

A glass that is sitting half way on the edge of a table, with a single motion, it will cause my heart to tip over and shatter in pieces.

I do not believe that it has anything to do with strength, just a lot to do with fear. Do you remember when you were little, and you got to drink from a "real glass" for the first time, instead of a cheap plastic cup? Holding that weighty glass, you feel like a real grown up, and for a second, you realize what comes with the territory. You could drop it and cut your toes. And you do NOT want to drop a glass on your toe, because it hurts like hell.

Fantastica Los Angeles

Sometimes life takes you by surprise. In the darkest of night, there're always stars.
Sometimes I am so drown in my own head that I forget I am living in one of the greatest place in the world. ( I haven't always felt this way about Los Angeles, but here it is, growing on me)

The past few weeks have been the most eventful since I've been here. One night in Pre-production class, we had the great talent, Buddy Bregman, as our guest speaker. I was one for mezmerizing about the good ol' days of glamourous hollywood. That whole class... I was right there with him, having tea with the Beatles in BBC studio, playing piano arranging music for Ella Fitzgerald, rubbing up against Frank Sinatra at a party. It was such a beautiful dream.

The following weekend, I was sitting in the theatre watching Insomnia and The Dark Knight, both directed by Christopher Nolan. The director himself appeared on stage and talked about his new film Inception. I was over the moon. Life threw me a bone, and I happily savour til the last minute of it all.

It is the land of possibility. As I had told myself back in the day, in the yellow bedroom where the plane always flew over my head taking people home, I told myself to keep my eyes open. Feeling sad is a luxury I can't afford right now. When eyes are full of tears, they won't see anything else but tears.

As Charlie Chaplin had written, also Michael Jackson's favourite song, " Smile"

Almost full moon.

Driving home today, I saw a huge full moon and a thought came to mind.

Years ago I saw a japanese animation called "Millennium Actress". I don't remember much of the story, but one thing that has stuck in mind ever since is the dialogue about "the almost full moon". One of the characters said "I like to look up in the sky on the night before the full moon. You know then that tomorrow it's going to be a full moon. After that, the moon will shrink little by little, and it will be gone." ... Not those exact words, but I think back on it every time I look at the moon.

Hope, I think it's what that character was talking about. It's a luxury and a privilege for one to have hope, no matter how big or small. When a question is yet to be answered, there's always a chance of it being yes, as well as a no. Hope. It is such a wonderful thing.

I just finished reading a script today, as part of my final exam to come up with its marketing plan. The story is about a corrupted man meeting a woman whom everything about her screams goodness. Of course, they fall in love, and, of course, he now wants to become a better man for her. Hope is what he finds in her, a possibility of a better way, a better life, of becoming a better man.

There are so many films talking about hope, shedding lights on it from so many different angles. To have it, to hold on to it, to give up on it or even to imagine it.

My mom said to me, just a week ago when I let slip a tiny bit of disspointment over things not working out, she said "don't expect too much out of people (and the world) or you'll get yourself hurt". For years, with those consoling mantra, I thought she was ripping out my soul and trying to convert me into a cynic. But I guess she was right in a way. Expectation ruins things sometimes. And if you look close enough there's a fine line between expecting and hoping. Until I'm smart enough to distinguish those two, I'd settle for being a romantic cynic for now. If there's such a thing in this world.