A story of love, childlike, that seems not to realise its futility nor its fragility. Love of two and the desire of another not to be left behind. The story of two who fight to live the moments spared to them, and the effort of the other to put things right.
It be a story of love that ends in loss, prevented of the happy ending one as I, would await. A story that leaves one wondering WHY!?
Why fall in love to feel so hurt and separated? Why be damned as one be, and be damned again knowing that you cannot be with the one you love, (despite being ready to do anything so that it be a possibility)? Why are we at times so incapable of love though we wish to be in love!
Why do we separate those in love, merely because we wish to be part of something, not to be that lonely creature left out and crying in the cold? Or the heat whichever it be.
Watching the movie of three humans who were destined to be “donors” and have a life that be curtailed to the duration of donation of organs was depressing, dragging me down and damaging to my very few brain cells that be bestowed with emotional capacity. Not merely because of the grotesque nature of creating humans for accessing their organs, nor the manner they are discarded when their use be fulfilled. ( though it needs be noted that they are depressing as well) It be mainly due to the disappointing manner the story ends with no hope for those two creatures or humans, who be treated like slaughter house sheep. It tortures one to watch these two lovers, separated once, be united to witness their hopes being shattered. Again!
Is it not evil to give people hope and then shatter their dreams?
Would it not be better to leave them with no hope, so that their broken souls would not be mended for a short while to be broken again?
When one knows not of aspiring for something, one lives better the despicable state. The happiness one knows not would not be the unhappiness when it is felt and experienced, and then deprived.
Would not life be better if one did not feel those momentous, short lived, random, and stolen seconds of fleeting euphoria to be woken up to a reality of bitterness, sadness and nostalgia?
Would not life be happier if you were not in love with something or someone that you could never attain?
Or should I say would life be a better place if one never fell in love, never looked for that ideal partner and just lived for the moment, with whom one shared a fleeting second of desire and not the comprehension nor comfort from within?
Would life be simple if one never dreamt, never knew what happiness was or what sense of satisfaction was?
Life is suddenly more depressing than it was in the morning.
I turn to Rathindra, for answers as to why love stories of present never end in happiness. His “profound” response being “when did love stories have happy endings? Romeo and Juliet to .. Jane and Mark Wilde, they always end bad! A great love story ends in tragedy!” I swore silently that the day he does write a “love story” to buy the whole stock myself and make them “perished goods”. In my thoughts it would prevent more depression for those souls who still believe in happy endings. Second resolution reached to commit homicide the second he quotes “Chucking the Dragon” again for an explanation or anything else!
Anyway, thank you Kazuo Ishiguro for depressing me! Let me turn to “The Budda of Suburbia” with hopes of better thoughts.