When Love Happens

Last night I babysat my nephew or should I say kidsat my nephew because he has grown so much!
During the night when everyone came home, I continued to bask in all the goodness that is cable (I do not have a TV at my place) and a movie, Love Happens came on. The movie is about a man who lost his wife in an accident, and through that experience became an up and coming self-help guru on grief, who at the time he is introduced to us is on the verge of success. The irony of the story, as in the irony of life, is that he did not overcome his own grief.

In the end, the title Love Happens was about a romantic relationship, although there was a possible something between he and the main female character (Jennifer Anniston). What I got from the movie, what I needed from the movie is that love –love of self, love from people — happens when you accept the light within yourself and most importantly the darkness: the parts of yourself that are not so beautiful and are often hard to love (the anger,the fear, the resentment). When you accept the darkness as well as the light…love happens.

When Days Don’t Make Sense

There was an episode of the Twilight Zone that I remember watching as teen, where a man, on his way to work, throws a quarter into a newspaper man’s money box and inadvertently hits a penny that stays in a certain position. For the rest of the day this man, without knowledge of what happened earlier in the day, experienced weird and unique interactions with people. I do not remember what those experiences were per se, but I do remember that they were odd — out of this world, even. The man’s experiences did not become “normal” again until he buys something else from the same newspaper man, and flips over the penny that stayed in the exact place with another coin. Why am I telling this story? I have been in an odd state of mind all day, where everythings and everything is a little…off. My emotions, my body felt out of this world. I cannot help but think about that Twilight Zone episode and wonder did I do something that catapulted my day into frenzy? And when, when will I flip that metaphorical penny back to its rightful position?

Separating Real from the Reel

I went to see Alice in Wonderland. It was an impromtu affair: After spending two and a half hours at Borders, I, on my way to Whole Foods to grab some dinner, decided that to see a movie off the whim. The theatre was around the corner from Whole Foods and I decided to see if any movies were about to start. It was 8:17 and Alice in Wonderlland was starting in three minutes! Well, reader, I saw it. It was…okay but it was the perfect movie for someone who is seemingly having a hard time dealing with reality — her reality.

Love Jones

I watched Love Jones tonight, a movie riddled with poems, Jazz and the sensuality of love — black love. I became nostalgic and proceeded to post Sonia Sanchez’s Poem #3 on my Facebook page…while listening to the movie’s soundtrack. And even now as Dionne Ferris’ Hopeless is playing while I write this, I am hopeful.

…And there was no one left to speak for me

“In Germany they first came for the Communists,
and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist.

Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Jew.

Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn’t speak up because I was a Protestant.

Then they came for me —
and by that time no one was left to speak up.”

-Pastor Martin Niemoller

I am watching Hotel Rwanda right now. I had to pause it for a minute and write. In this particular scene, the western soldiers came only to rescue the foreign nationals, mostly whites. Several things stuck out to me: (1)when a black British journalist tried to pass, he was immediately stopped, and had to show his passport before boarding the bus. (2) If the foreign nationals all banded together, and refused to go, what would have happened? I immediately thought of the quote above by Pastor Martin Niemoller, and I thought to myself, “Who am I not speaking for?” “What am I willing to die for?”

It is so easy just to be a spectator, and use words. It is even harder to be a participant, and create change. A Hindu belief, I believe, states that we are reincarnated in so many different forms, that becoming a human being is so rare, that we should cherish LIFE. So, to much is given, much is expected, as they say. There is so much to do:

The Congo

Sudan

India

Somalia

New Orleans

Urban America

Israel/Palestine

Rural America

You

Me …

For the love of Movies…

My high school, Tilden High in Brooklyn, was your typical underfunded, overcrowded urban public school. However, I have say, that school made me love movies. I don’t mean the typical mediocre, run of the mill plot, type movie, but loving the art of making movies, loving the story behind the story. Learning about people like Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin—silent movie gods, was exciting. How back then, the censors were so strict, couples on screen could only kiss for three seconds, tops. Making movies was an art form– the plot, the symbolism.

This weekend I remembered my days in film class. My teacher, whose name I no longer remember, taught me all this. This frail man who drank coffee as if it was water, opened my eyes to the beauty of movies, and I never looked at the screen the same. I became a critic and never allowed for bad acting or a bad plot again.

I have been watching Turner Classic Movies (TCM) all weekend, classics, oooh sweet classics: Citizen Kane, Shop Around The Corner and others. Those movies took me back to that little classroom in an underfunded, overcrowded urban public school and I thank you teacher coffee drinker.