Dark Water
Dark Water is a movie starring Jennifer Conelly. The first few scenes are devoted to the conflicts she has with her husband. They are filing a divorce. They have a daughter named Cecilia who loves both her parents and is upset at the thought that they have to separate. To escape from continuing the battle with her husband, she and Ceci move to the outskirts of New York City. At first Ceci is upset with the apartment that she and her mother would be living in, but she experiences a sudden change of heart as she finds a pink backpack at the rooftop of the apartment. (she got there by a force that attracted her) She hoped to have it if no one came to claim it. Anyway, this is a horror film, but I was deeply touched at the end. It turns out that a little girl died in the apartment above them because her parents did not take care of her. I think they left her there, and then someone killed her. When the ghost of the little girl sees Conelly, she is driven by the very mother-like concern and love she gave Ceci–something she never got from her own mother. And so the ghost befriends Ceci, but in the end nearly kills her because she wanted Conelly for herself. Conelly pleads with the little ghost to save Ceci’s life and take her own instead. She promises that she will be a mother for the ghost.
So the ghost takes Conelly’s life instead of Ceci’s. Ceci undergoes shock and grief. She was then to be taken care of by her dad.
There was one scene that really brought tears to my eyes. Ceci’s mom let her presence felt in the elevator; that was where Ceci was. She and her dad were going to the car and leaving the apartment for good, but then when her dad got off the elevator, and as Ceci was about to, the doors were shut, trapping Ceci inside. Ceci instantly knew that her mom was there. Her mom whispered, “Whenever you need me, I’m here…” and then she pulled Ceci’s hair into a braid and kissed her.
It was so touching. That ghost of a little girl just wanted a mother…
Was it Boyle or Charles?
Sometimes things don’t need tedious justifications. Friends should just support you, give you space to straighten out the crappy foldings and markings made about by emotional stress, and trust that you know what you’re doing. Because you are the one who knows yourself the best.
Time pressure ruins the beauty of things. It is best to wait for something or someone to come around than to force them to do things. The more pressure you apply, the less willing a person can be. It is like when parents are too strict towards their children that they can barely breathe. They will never learn and be open enough to do what their parents want them to do. They may follow the rules, but only because they need to. Not because they want to. The most important factor is what you feel-how you feel. Because it is your desire to do something that will best distinguish things like freewill and forced entry.
* * *
Maybe that description people associate me with really does define me: They say I’m slow; slow at getting some jokes, slow at understanding a few personal and emotional things. That’s what they say.
You know what’s funny? They keep saying that, and yet now some are pressuring me to accept someone into my life easily-quickly-FASTly. (ugly word though. just stressing.) Like they don’t know I like to take time in considering things.
* * *
I do, of course, comprehend that time is not easy to give. That to let someone wait for nothing guarantees loss of sanity. So maybe if you can’t wait, then move along. It doesn’t matter.
The thing is, I can’t believe some poeple still want to stick around when they know they didn’t get the last thing they waited for.
My Life Cycle: explain this for me.
I’m so tired of explaining myself to everybody. I’m exhausted because every action I make “deserves” an explanation. It’s like, everyone demands an essay from me on why I do the things I do. Every turn I make produces disapproving looks from the world-at-large. When will they cease to question my actions?
Let them fall…
I’ve spent half of my life trapped—trapped inside a body that refuses to show the deepest feelings that are innate in me. I avoid letting others see how I feel for fear of how they will react. But mostly it’s to not show weakness.
The other half of my life let others see my capability of crying—the saddest way of dealing with pain. I choose whether or not to show that weakness. I choose it based on who the people around me are at the time. I’ve shed thousands of tears in school and at home. The only difference is at school I seldom care about showing the weakness. At home, where more tears have streaked my face, I try to hide from the eyes of my family.
Most of the time crying releases my anguish—at least for a while. I will feel better after a session of it. But there have been a few times when one powerful emotion that causes a tear will influence another, and another, and another until I am exhausted—that my eyes will look bloodshot and my face will be a mixture of the hurt being released and a restraint to go on crying.
