I had a few wonderfully un-sad days. Days where I lolly-gagged about the house, reading mystery after mystery. Days where I went to see move after movie: Tristan and Isolde, Last Holiday, Khabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham. Days where I shopped for new clothing.
This morning I woke up after vividly strange dreams involving my girlfriends, television, changing foliage, columns and driving. Probably a mix of Tristan and Isolde x2.
I’veseen the movie twice this week–both times were good except the second time I came away sad. Now the love story is tragic in its own right, but what I felt afterwards this time was more than the average movie sadness that I get after watching something of that nature. This time I felt a sadness from somethings else. And that the intensity of my life didn’t always match that of the two main characters. Granted, I don’t live in mediveal Ireland/Britain; don’t have a role as either a healer or a warrior and am not bethrothed to duty; BUT I did get the longing for something more in my life. In this case, the most obvious would be the something more of love. But even then the love part didn’t thrill me as much as the passionate adventure of living.
These days the most passion I have centers on which dollar movie or mystery series to read or watch.
This movie is skilled in presenting the fragility of humanity. Tristan racked with guilt–torn by his love for Isolde–the Irish princess who loved him into understanding love or his duty/love for Marc–the king who saved his young life after a brutal Irish surprise attack. Isolde–torn by her undying love for a man she must have but can not and Marc–the king who adores her but to whom she can only give a fond kindness. Mark–a stalwart leader whose entire life has been spent in the creation of a united Briton and in the molding of a young boy upon whom these hopes are set–unable to give this same love to his own flesh and blood. Melot–the neglected son of Marc, doomed to live in the shadow of another.
Each of the protagonist is carefully scripted to be more than “a character”. I could not help but like them all for they all try their best to live in the world around them, yet with each word or deed, they are mired deeper in pain and sorrow. Perhaps that is the greatest tragedy.
And now I am left to look at my own life. To feel out the emptiness of me. To resign myself to the seemingly never-ending toil of academic demands.
The lump is back.