Drive

Watched Drive some time back. Amazing. It's my kind of film: sparse, poetic, consistently poignant. It's hard to convey poignancy without being icky. That's where Drive's sparseness really helps. As John Lui of The Straits Times wrote:

You know you are in the presence of a director of great talent when he can show a man and a woman throwing furtive glances at each other in a lift, and in a few seconds, without the use of dialogue or tinkly piano or pensive folk-rock background music, it is clear to the audience that they have fallen madly in love with each other.

It has been said that film is a director's medium and here Drive is proof. Its most affecting scenes, such as the one in the lift, have little or no dialogue. They involve little more than good acting and putting the camera in the right place to catch it.

I prefer sparse ontologies in Philosophy too.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times

Looking at my junior college yearbook never fails to make me laugh. Class photos are split into groups. I was in a photo with 3 other male classmates. We weren't smiling at all, and the contrast between the 4 of us and the other cheerful faces lit for the camera is absolutely delightful.

I was hugely alone those 2 years: I was the only male taking the particular subject combination I took, so I had many breaks all to myself. I would on occasion join 3 of the other male classmates for a meal when our breaks coincided, but they were largely simple, silent affairs. That's partly because we had few things in common, but also because we were quiet people by nature. I have no complaints: I enjoyed the peaceful lazy-afternoon meals we had at the nearby coffeeshops, away from the school where everyone else were.

Most of my relationships during this period were one-to-one. There were no class things, no groups. I built a number of meaningful relationships with individuals, many of them outside my class. And I still remember the times we had our meals outside school. A particular history lecturer would always read from his slides word for word; I remember skipping his lectures to have brunch with a person every week.

Most of these relationships are gone. Some regrettably so, others less so. Why are they gone? As with the uniqueness of each individual the reason for each case is unique. There is but one common factor: everyone has moved on in life. That's inevitable. Junior college gave a pressure for us to be together; more often than not, we were together because it was an alternative to sticking with our classes. We've lost that pressure, and we've either failed to replace it or failed to acknowledge we needed to move on.

In a few years time it would be 10 years since I left junior college. I think, then, that I need to meet a few people.