House of Memory

It is partially true when I said on my Letterboxd review that I watched Begin Again because I wanted to listen to "Lost Stars" by Maroon 5. It is partially false, however, to think that I watched it solely because I was still the same teenage girl who was still carrying a torch for Adam Levine. Although, I no longer fancy the band's frontman as I once did, I still have with me that instinct for playing Sunday Morning on Sunday mornings, even without the excuse of "rain is falling".  This song, or perhaps the band itself, reminded me to continue watching Begin Again after it had dawned on me that I hadn’t finished it. In my mind, I had to listen to “Lost Stars” no matter what. From where I left off... Dan walked out of the restaurant after Gretta made a comment about his relationship with his daughter, Violet. She chased him outside, and they had a little set-to, which I thought would escalate into a heated exchange.  However, Gretta realized she had crossed a li

The Best First Impression I think I had more moments of muttering ‘she really looks like Dakota Johnson’ under my breath than taking in what the film was trying to tell me. Again, it was bad of me to hop right off the bat on the Letterboxd discussion after I finished The Worst Person in the World. But I couldn’t help it. It was the only safe place where I could free my thoughts and find reviews from someone I do not know but who knows the film I watched. To my great surprise, The Worst Person in the World is yet another film where I didn’t enjoy it, but people on Letterboxd did. It was rated an elusive 4.1 stars, and the top reviews almost brainwashed me into liking it, only to end up feeling somewhat guilty for not being able to connect with the film as they did. I remember that the first encounter I had with this film was when I was scrolling through Twitter. My thumb was on its usual pace—sliding up on my screen with practiced ease, indulging in quick tweets, retweeting, and quoting

After finishing the film, I was weirdly preoccupied by this thought: Why was it called 'Waves'? In that moment, as I lay flat on my back, with only a flattened cardboard box shielding me from the cemented floor, I found myself overthinking. I knew that the harder I tried to make sense of it , the more crumpled my face became.  Gripping my phone,  my mind wandered elsewhere, yet I tried to snap myself back to my consciousness. Despite the trance, I was still attuned with Colors and Sounds lulling during the film's credit scene.  When the screen flickered to pitch blackness and all sounds faded away, I returned to my initial wonderment: So, why was called 'Waves'? “Waves,” among other A24 films I know, is by far the most emotional and heartrending movie I have watched. With a runtime of over two hours, I initially thought it would only outline the redemption arc of high school senior, Tyler Williams, as he and his family dealt with loss, forgiveness, and love.  Howeve

Julia Roberts as Vivian was the pretty woman. No, stop right there. Let’s revisit my first sentence and emphasize the word “the.” Imagine stamping our feet and gritting our teeth just to ensure we emphasize it. After all, we don’t merely acknowledge her beauty; we worship it with utmost admiration. I’m well aware that Julia Roberts may now be in her golden years. The first and last time I saw her on screen, she wore a blue, flattering blouse, fighting back tears as she stood in Hugh Grant’s bookstore in their romantic-comedy film, “Notting Hill.”  I could almost hear the not-so-distant serenade of their song, “When You Say Nothing At All,” as if it hadn’t been ages since I finished watching the film. Her demeanor—classy and poised—perfectly embodied the calculated allure of a celebrity star. The unlikely encounter she had with Hugh Grant, a charming bookstore owner, created a delightful meet-cute moment. I became obsessed with the film for a week, playing their song nonstop and replayi

I speak on behalf of those who impulsively jumped into “ The Good Girl’s Guide to Murder ” without reading the novel first.  I AM GUILTY AS CHARGED and sheepishly admit that I let the trailer I stumbled upon in my reels take advantage of my boredom, convincing me to watch it because the leads looked cute together. Now, I’ve just finished the six-episode series. It wasn’t what I was expecting. I felt dissatisfied, and I doubt that any potential sequel could compensate for the anticipation it falsely built up due to the hype from the trailers I got from the reelers . Still, I recognize that it was my own impulsiveness that led me to start watching without hesitation. I managed to complete the UK series in less than a week. Although it’s a recent release and not yet available on other platforms, my resourcefulness allowed me to find high-quality copies of the series and download them for offline viewing. After work, I continued watching, not particularly invested, but curious about how th

I didn't get the chance to look up anything about this film that I just recently watched. The old-fashioned poster, adorned with half-body shots of the actors, immediately signaled that it was perhaps an Indian movie. After finishing “Slow,” a Swedish film (I believe), I felt the urge to explore another foreign film—something beyond my usual choices. I went to Reddit and hopped on some old discussions about Asian cinema. Among the recommendations, “The Lunchbox” caught my eye in one of the comment threads. Intrigued, I decided to download it offline, along with other Asian films that piqued my attention based on their title. First, I tried to watch “Barfi,” another Indian film. Regrettably, even after giving it half an hour to grow on me, I still struggled to connect with it. Similarly, my initial experience with “The Lunchbox” left me also feeling disconnected. However, I knew I needed to give it more time, so I paused the film after about 15 minutes. Exhausted from switching betw

It's been a damn long time since I made my last entry here.  Life, that relentless juggernaut, has a way of shoving you into the margins of memory. I’ve tucked you away there,  where at times, without any grand promises of return. Whenever I am nowhere from being miserable, I bury you like one of my deepest secrets that even myself is ashamed to revisit. You might have seen and noticed the pattern, and I confess, I'm more than guilty of only seeking you out during my darkest hours.  Remember those nights when I craved the company of Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath? Their words, like lifelines, pulled me from the abyss. And when I felt like rotting, I'd hit desperately that retweet button on depression-laden tweets, as if sharing collective pain could somehow lighten my own.  But today, I come to you with a different intention. Not to wallow in melancholy, but to share an embarrassing secret: I've been less sad lately. Strange, isn't it?  So here I am, baring my soul