When the lights come on...

Last night, I was hanging out with a bunch of girlfriends at the bar. I had originally planned on spending the evening reading a book or maybe watching one of the DVD’s that have been vying for my attention for sometime now. I miss watching films as much as I did in the past. When I was living in New York, I would go to the movies at least two or three times a week, preferring to spend my evenings in a darkened theater, hunched low in the plush, soft, seat, loosing myself in the mesmerizing adventures of someone else. Forgetting my own reality for a moment, living someone elses instead.
An uneasiness stirs my soul, it a mixture of anxiety and excitement that titillates my senses. An unexplainable feeling, both intuitive and strong, I sense a change of pattern to occur in my humdrum universe in a monumental way. I don't how this will happen, but just like the movies, something fantasic and unpredictable will eventually come my way, knocking me out of my senses and culminating into an explosive finale.
I often get the feeling that I have been wasting my life for the last months. Uninspired, afraid, complaisant and apathetic, I have ignored time and again the burst of creative yearning that intoxicates my senses. I ache with the desire to create something extraordinary from the most mundane of things that encompass this life. One of the reasons I have been so incredibly unhappy and unsatisfied is because everywhere I look, I see a story that I can narrate through an image or a verse and time and again, I walk by, turning a blind eye to the magnificence of the ordinary.
One of the reasons why cinema fascinates me so is because often it is the reflection of the simplest moments in life told with great honest and sincerity. To me cinema is the greatest poetry ever created, a harmonious balance of visuals and verses created to shock, please and reflect the world. It is zenith of all art forms, finding its ultimate emancipation in a burst of light and color even in the dreariest place, making me believe in the existence of God. Only he, the mysterious, all powerful, all knowing almighty, has the power to bestow man with such unfathomable genius.
So M, A and I were chatting at the bar, discussing the days gone by, reveling the experiences of our past. We sat there listening to each others tales, our ears taunt from the effort of deciphering each word over the loud clang of the music, momentarily silent, drawing and deducting our own conclusions from each others experiences, extracting information and inspiration that we could possibly utilize to enrich our own lives. How similar our conversations and interactions are to those that we see in the movies! What plays on the screen is a chain on interactions that cluster into a tale. Films make us laugh and cry, they hold the power to influence our existence and sway our ideologies and beliefs. But, at the end of the day, no matter what the message maybe, whether it's blatant propaganda, a bitter sweet reflection or a string of absurdity, what one takes away with him after the curtains rise and the lights come on is personally unique. Much like our own interactions in the real world.