Very often, when I’m desperate to write, just to get out of the unfortunate, unforgettable mundane nature of life, I’m unable to write; ironically and so logically due to that very mundane-ness. There is nothing new, nothing that rocks my world.
I like to assuage my feelings of despair and ennui with the thought that everyone’s life at the stage mine is in, is as uneventful, as frightfully complete in its incompleteness, but since I spend too much time thinking about myself, I’m the only one that notices. At that stage of unfeeling boredom, I’m even proud to admit a non-existent personality tick such as thinking too much about myself.
No, this is not to be a blog about the emptiness of my life, and how I wish to share my deep and profound boredom with everyone, contributing to the general boredom of said everyone’s life.
No, this is about those occasional and rare times that you actually have something to say. Something to wonder about, something that stays put in your head and surfaces every time you’re with yourself. And the strange part is, that despite being exceptionally good at realizing sub-conscious thought, about others as well as myself, I confess myself clueless at this situation.
Cutting to the chase- I saw “Secretary” a few days ago. For those who have seen the film, and who are substantially average in most ways, like I confess myself to be, the reason for my trouble should be fairly obvious. I am going through… perhaps not a complete change of attitude, but surprise at the fact that…. I don’t know, actually. Perhaps I’m surprised that there was a rung of liberalism, tempered with consent (trust me, I am strongly opposed to pedophilia), that I had not managed to climb. Perhaps I’m just … in a prolonged state of shock, though I highly doubt that. My best guess is as follows…
Ever so often during my first time watching the movie, and more so during subsequent viewings, I caught myself thinking thoughts such as “Men! Such idiots”, or “She’s gonna be so obvious? Wow, she really has no clue about men” and “He’s such an idiot! He should just tell her he loves her.”
Now, in most films, especially of the romantic comedy variety, there is absolutely nothing new about thoughts such as these. They’re utterly cliché and natural. But in this particular movie, I never finished any of these thoughts. I’d stop in the middle, and get a supposed reality check and think, “What the fuck?! He’s a sadist and she’s a masochist. They’re… something! (as opposed to ‘weird’ or ‘sick’, words my politically correct mind forbid me from using) You can’t expect them to behave like normal people!!”
But the truth was, they were behaving like normal people- at least normal people in films. They were stupid, kind, caring, violent, imaginative, frustrated, confused, and uncertain. There’s nothing more human perhaps than these very emotions. They were like anybody in a relationship. Just a relationship that, if one bothered to peer through bedroom curtains (or in this case, office curtains), is not regular, not (and I hate to use this word) conventional.
My basic … confusion comes from that fact. Sadism or masochism doesn’t turn me on. From my very core, I detest the thought of having a relationship in which I’m hit. I never spared much thought for sadists or masochists, because at a certain level, I never considered them to be normal. I, like most people do I suppose, always imagined that these “urges” were a result of a violent childhood or another of the plethora of psychological terms used these days. Now that I think about it, I cant help but realize that the same reasons are often, too often in fact, unfairly given for homosexual feelings…
Watching something like this really questions stereotypical mindsets. And that, I believe, is what occasioned the confusion. I never thought I had any strong stereotypes left in my mind. Guess I had to be wrong about something.
Strangely, the most profound part of the film, for me at least, was the one after the two get married, living like any other normal couple. Of all the scenes, that one made me … tingly. There was something so… personal, profound, loving, about the kiss they shared, you end up feeling like you’re intruding.
Wikipedia categorizes the film as BDSM. The experience felt more like a romantic comedy, call me a romantic. And I liked it a lot. I find myself more open to the normality, or at least the happiness of two people in a sado-masochistic relationship. Not for me the various facets of such a relationship, but I can accept it better now than I would have after reading any number of books and essays, or listening to any number of speeches. The film didn’t talk about rights, it did not have a single activist or politic, it did not have violence committed against any of the characters (aside from the obvious kind). Yet, it was profound, because for me, it was a new idea.
I remember wondering out loud to someone (perhaps my cousin) why there is no film about homosexual love- not one that involves rights, violence, laws, soap boxes, but just a normal love story between two people who happen to be of the same sex. Whoever it was that I put the question to replied that the world didn’t seem to be ready for it, and it wasn’t the right time.
Perhaps there is no right time. Perhaps what the gay community really needs is a love story. A love story about sado-masochists worked for me, why not one with homosexuals?
I always admired John Lennon, but I’m never sure if I agree with “All You Need Is Love.” What I think as of right now is, that maybe all we need in order to be a little more accepting and embracing, especially of our differences, is in fact a love story. They never actually tell love as it is. They always display an idea of love. Maybe Lennon was right. Maybe All We really Need – is an Idea of Love.