Directed by Terrence Malick, its impactful cinematography has a slow burn that gives you time to reevaluate the complexities surrounding sacrifice of life over one’s beliefs. Amongst tranquil visuals, two wars rage in the woods and greenery—men versus men and man versus self.
“Austrian farmer Franz Jägerstätter faces the threat of execution for refusing to fight for the Nazis during World War II”
“...for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.” - George Eliot
Dir. Yim Soon-rye, the action follows a young woman played by Kim Tae-ri (The Handmaiden, Mr. Sunshine) who, after failing her national qualification exam, comes back to her childhood home away from her life in bustling Seoul. The tranquil visuals are entirely soothing while making you crave for homemade dishes and the essence of simple living—ultimately providing the best soul food.
Based on the manga series Little Forest by Daisuke Igarashi
Herein— a fresh palate off the mainstream and into the foreign screenplay provided in the combination of cast and cinematography that’s so seamless it’s calming. Carry on.
NEVER LOOK AWAY (2018)
Werk Ohne Autor, Ger.
Three glorious hours beginning with a hypnotic first act by Saskia Rosendahl and ending with a third that is just as rich and meditative. Written and directed by Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, the long runtime is ambitious but surprisingly well-developed as it spans some years into the life of protagonist Kurt Barnert. With beautiful score and artworks, it is involving in its entirety.
PORTRAIT OF A LADY ON FIRE (2019)
Portrait de la jeune fille en feu, Fra.
An ode to the female gaze, the story follows a female painter and a mysterious bride-to-be as they gradually navigate their emotions during France 1770. The acting is flawless and the scenery, riveting. Written and directed by Céline Sciamma.
THE HANDMAIDEN (2016)
From the acclaimed director of Oldboy, Park Chan-wook, comes another psychological thriller where a handmaiden schemes to rob an heiress until unexpected desire amidst deceitful circumstances ensued. The film’s cinematography rivals that of Parasite with its aesthetic art direction. The dark-themed plot builds up fluidly from part one to three—each a revelation in their own right. The plot-twists in this heavy set-up is spot on. Meanwhile, the explicitness is thorough. Definitely for mature audiences.
One thing worse than having no say at all is not knowing how to speak my mind. I had all these essays in my head but unable to sort them out, write them down, express it via my actual or virtual self—so they remained as puzzle pieces in a set of a thousand. As the need to express my relentless rain of ideas came in the picture, I wore myself out trying to prove my point. But did I really have to? Prove my point, that is. Where no word was ever truly mine? Where everything witty I say was already published in a bestselling book or spoken by a famous dictator? In this age? In this age? In this age driven by oversaturated screens in the seemingly unbreakable fast-paced society... you jest, right?
“My aim to do becomes my undoing when I let it—so I let it go.”
As 2020 arrives in full force, after a year heavily aided by coffee, eggs, pomodoro, and a cosmopolitan red car, I shut up my sarcastic rants because no matter how cliché the products of my mind are, I should speak my facts. Not to the point of exhaustion, mind you. In the face of strive to thrive, quality rest often eludes me. My aim to do becomes my undoing when I let it—so I let it go.
Here’s to shooting my shots as the decade commences.
An entry long overdue, spontaneously made in the midst of filmmaking while my chums assumed their respective roles in the production team. Dazed all-over, as I like to dub it. Scorching heat greeted me as I stepped out of the comforts of the shade where the aforementioned shoot was. My palms felt burnt, my face too. But call it what you like, I’d do this portrait series in the same afternoon all over again.
Once upon a time, I was only child with a pair of eyes and a pair of lips. I saw things as how they appeared to me yet questioned every task, every possibility, and every explanation on even the most mundane acts. I was a strange girl. For so many years, I thought I figured it all out through my endless queries. I had a wild theory suggesting how I can bypass the mistakes made by others by never keeping my eyes shut from all the circumstances I might encounter someday. I thought I understood what it’s like to shatter, to rebuild, to ignite. Now I know I know nothing at all.
“My pair of eyes had taken definite answers as truth, unknowing that my sight was blurred when I refused to delve deeper.”
My outlook on life was bleak as I attached all of my actions to my emotions and only questioned for self interest. Habitually, I also accepted statements as they are when attempting to challenge them seemed a waste of my time. My pair of eyes had taken definite answers as truth, unknowing that my sight was blurred when I refused to delve deeper. I sought only knowledge that benefit me and unwittingly wasted my blessings. I had taken my life for granted- a life that has no small allowance of freedom to philosophise. If I only wield the right contrivances of my young-adult rambling, that is.
It was during the summer of twenty-eighteen, in a death encounter, that fueled my introspection and contemplation on the meaning of life. Some people thought the pain of death becomes less traumatic when you’re used to it, attending numerous funerals in your too-proper cotton blouse and all. The enervating truth is, you can never get used to it. It can come to you like calm waves lulling you to a slumber due to depression or it can be the shape of surging currents as you fight the internal roar with your own voice. Pain came to me in the form of the former, it was extreme.
“I will not be some puppet of a meaningless routine ever again.”
I unintentionally clung to philosophy to guide me in freeing my emotions as I finally aimed to seek the great perhaps, the great meaning of life and death, the space in between autumn trees and evergreen, the self enlargement, the sense of purpose, the endless possibilities. I refuse to go through my life imprisoned in a shell of asymmetry, I will not be some puppet of a meaningless routine ever again. How did I live a life of just accepting without questioning? Through time, my convictions were tested and I constructed a connection to a more elevated cause.
I’ve always known deep down that I am just a grain of sand on the beach, another speck of dust in the universe, a voice barely a whisper to the clouds. Nonetheless I am a part of a system, therefore I matter. My increasing awareness on the enlargement of the self boosted me to be happy and not so much of an erudite but yes, wise. An amplified version of my self is continuously being established through seeing the bigger picture, through yielding to forces outside my control, and through embracing the beyond. My search for the meaning of life led me to my search for truth. Self-examination made me align my emotions to all of humanity as I welcome myself to being an integral part of the cosmos.
As an excerpt from a favourite book of mine goes, “WE ARE QUOTATION MARKS, INVERTED AND UPSIDE DOWN , CLINGING TO ONE ANOTHER AT THE END OF THIS LIFE SENTENCE. TRAPPED BY LIVES WE DID NOT CHOOSE. IT’S TIME, I THINK, TO BREAK FREE.”
Portrayed in retrograde, a statement blazer draped over a burgundy dress, I am a woman wearing wine. A warrior wearing wine. A wolf wearing wine even- my spirit animal. What follows is a short narrative concerning the theme. Read on.
Unbeknownst to most, it requires me unremitting focus to finish a novel. It's my most relished form of relaxation so it's vexing when a single negligible thought is able break the flow of my concentration. It is inconvenient to someone whose sustenance is consuming passages from books yet when endured is rewarding as I finally lay uninterrupted in my placid reading.
As I settle down, transforming the author's words into my own rendition, I once again undergo a phase. It might appear nonsense to some, unremarkable even. Yet to this curious creature, it's what keeps her new opinions aligned with her former reasonings.
It is described as the moment when an expanse of words is able to effortlessly declare itself substantial to my existence. It thereafter begins the hunt for the past moments in my life that can attest to its value. I can only render it in my head as an image of a rich flow of wine. Don't get me wrong, it is not something I experience often. You see, there are books for different kinds of atmosphere.
As of late, the weather is stormy, discouraging me from creating any kind of gym routine. Thus leaving me to train from home during most of my pre-college break. Learning martial arts without my usual instructors however, proves to be challenging especially during bed weather.
On the days I conquer idleness, I review my basics. Guidance from masters are essential so I began devouring The Art of War by Sun Tzu to jumpstart my self practice. The phase forenamed is present from the moment this ancient strategist's principles took me back to my recent introduction on the seven tenets of Bushidō.
Connecting these Chinese and Japanese words to my past defeats in both physical and mental sparring came after- forcing me to conclude what I clearly lack in mindset. Thereupon succeeding the finale, as I intend to immerse myself in learning the codes in the coming days.
“The world is fast-paced. The self demands pause.”
Waking up, a discordance of thoughts is the morning greet. Ideas and opinions wander the mind in a graceless storm whereas the more preferred drizzle is unconsciously refused on account of social media growing bothersome yet addicting. Coffee is made, mails checked, news feed scanned, breakfast meal skipped. The world is fast-paced. The self demands pause.
It's a tranquil day and the heater is on by a few degrees less than usual. The faintest streaks of raindrops is visible on the windshield, evidence from the night before. To laze and introspect eventually becomes the goal while the distance covered is soon the least of concerns.
Sitting content, inner peace is aroused. Once in transit over the high road, the long stretch of trees comes to view. Serenity falls over and it's nothing short of overwhelming. Flora's domain is beauty unrestrained as the wind, wood, and waters make a eurythmic sight. When nature summons, the mind yields. The drizzle, at last, came.
Observe, a man's viewpoint of the lush woods. A film on the road. Intended to destress. Unhurried for once. Generous serving of placidity just as you need it.
In an attempt to systemize my portraits, they will be shared alongside my prose and poetry. That being said, do note that these are amateur, purely captured for fun, and not to be associated with career modeling.
It is simply something I find enjoyable due to the facts that (1) I am blessed to have photographer chums, (2) I do have quite a variety of clothes, and (3) I got to spend quality time with my mates without spending a cent.
Below, a studio outtake by a duo of buffoons (who follow too many art platforms and are attracted to both the bizarre and the mundane, I daresay) highlighting individuality via creative approach.
Sans makeup look as per usual for added 'flawesome' effect.
“I STAND ON THE SACRIFICES OF A MILLION WOMEN BEFORE ME THINKING WHAT CAN I DO TO MAKE THIS MOUNTAIN TALLER SO THE WOMEN AFTER ME CAN SEE FARTHER” - rupi kaur
Stories have been told. Experiences shared. Indifference proven. Lightning bolt fast, women took over the world through the power of truth.
So much has been said, yet more is left unsaid. The time is now to put it all out there. Everything’s happening, things are changing. Time’s up for ignorance. Lady, remember that we are a force and together, we are strongest. Future is women. Empower.
photography: Patricia Magcalas
subtitles: That Hamilton Woman (1941), My Girl (1991)
This is a silence-breaker entry made during the midst of a real life horror story. An issue died down in the public’s eye, an article long overdue you might say. Are you aware that it’s still an ongoing series?
“HITLER KILLED THREE MILLION JEWS. THERE ARE THREE MILLION DRUG ADDICTS. I’D BE HAPPY TO SLAUGHTER THEM." - Rodrigo Roa Duterte, President of the Philippines
It’s difficult to limit the extent of the “War On Drugs” issue since it ranges from the standpoints of drug addicts, innocent victims, relatives of the people killed, police officers, the president and his current administration, medical practitioners, human rights activists, the Church, and even the residents of the poor areas where bloodied bodies are left at different narrow alleyways in the ongoing drug crackdown.
A country where extra-judicial killings are considered as normal occurrence. A country where dozens of minors become “collateral damage” to a drug war. A country licensing civilians to kill unproven suspects. A country with a crime rate dropping from about 30 percent but with the cost of a murder rate rising to a 50. A country filled with 12 million poor people afraid for their lives. This has become of the Philippines.
“The surrender list sometimes simply becomes a hit list.”
The government’s war on drugs has reached 13,000 on the death toll on early September 2017. These brutal executions often take place on poor neighborhoods and continuously instill fear to the masses especially those in poverty. Other than the cases of the vigilantes, police officers insist that they encourage these dealers and addicts to surrender and reform- saying that instead of surrendering, some pull guns out of their pockets and try to shoot them and that’s when they fight back. ‘Resisted arrest’ is a common phrase used to justify government killings saying that these people were nanlaban.
In a guilty person’s view, surrendering means preserving his or her life. Still, this doesn’t always mean safety to these people. The surrender list sometimes simply becomes a hit list. For instance, Reynaldo Bolos, a father, lost his son soon after both of them already surrendered. He narrated how two pairs of ‘riding in tandem’ killers shot his son to the head while he was resting. “I love my son so much and they killed him,” the bereaved father said. It may even be true that besides the rehabilitation centers of different medical sectors in the Philippines, prisons are safer than being out in the streets for these people.
“Some, with grieving hearts, include their loved ones to those unclaimed bodies in mass burials because they simply do not have the money for it.”
Another parent’s eyes are that of a mother, Maria Deparini, who lost two innocent sons to the drug war only days apart. She begged masked abductors to bring her son back to her, and they did eventually, only not alive. While Aljon's wake is still ongoing, her other son lying-low was also murdered in his friend’s home. What’s worse in these types of situations is, the remaining relatives have trouble paying for the expenses of the wake and burial of their dead. Some, with grieving hearts, include their loved ones to those unclaimed bodies in mass burials because they simply do not have the money for it.
President Rodrigo Duterte, widely known to have closer relations to the common people than the past country leaders, has been seen personally going to the slums where victims were lain, visiting their families and giving them financial aid and support. He even personally joined the fight in Marawi. Albeit these may be true, some still believe that Duterte lacks remorse for the poor since he has been so harsh with his commands on the destruction of illegal drugs, often accompanied by several expletives.
The government has argued that his speeches should not be taken literally. On the other hand, the scale of the killings indicate that some take those speeches literally. These situations only show the weakness of human rights institutions in the country due to an extensively favored leader opposing some of their agendas.
President Duterte’s threats against human rights activists is like painting a target on the backs of courageous people working to protect the rights and upholding the dignity of all Filipinos.
While thousands, including the Catholic Church, demand conclusion to the killings in the current regime, others still support this bloody program, treating these addicts and dealers as hopeless cases. Are they just another statistic, just another body? Does the end justify the means on this case? Here’s to saving humanity.
For a deeper insight, here’s a 2017 Pulitzer Prize winning article on this issue
