You’re Not Hopeless.

Charlotte & Bob, Lost In Translation

I watched this movie tonight for the second time.  The first time I watched it was when it first came out in 2003, and I just reeeeally didn’t get why people thought it was great.  But tonight when I watched it again, I got it.  Perhaps it’s the six years of life in between that did it, that made me connect with and feel these lonely, misunderstood people, but yes, something was definitely different this time around.

The image above is from my favorite scene (um minus the disc menu options, sigh) where they’re just talking about life and Charlotte says she’s stuck and wonders if things ever get easier.  Bob is telling her about how marriage will always be hard and how he felt like he and his wife both changed when they had kids, etc.  And she’s falling asleep while they’re talking, but she says in her half-awake stupor that her husband thinks she’s so snotty (because she cuts people down if they’re stupid, which is also a habit that I have acquired).  And Bob pauses for a moment, then responds, “You’re not hopeless.”  And then he puts her hand on her foot (pictured above), and they fall asleep.

I loved that they were two misunderstood people, not just due to the language barrier as foreigners in Japan but by their own loved ones, by the people who should have known them best.  Even though they were surrounded by people, they were alone and were acutely aware of that aching emptiness.  They tried to attain some sort of experience where they would be understood, but ultimately, they found that understanding in each other, purely as friends, and the bond that was forged was exactly what they both needed to believe that, despite appearances, all was not lost.  And I felt like that was what the movie was about: Hope.  He, as the older, wiser one, knew that she wasn’t hopeless, and the unwavering belief he had in her gave her reason to hope again for herself.

I think everyone has a void in their hearts, that empty feeling that Bob and Charlotte both felt.  And I think there are a lot of people who try to just fill their void with whoever is around, whoever will give them that attention they crave.  But I think there comes a point when we are brutally honest with ourselves that we realize that some voids never get filled.  Sometimes gaping holes are pierced in our souls, and no matter what we do, they don’t get patched.  We try to replace our burned bridges with new ones in hopes that the old will be forgotten.  But the ashes remain, painful reminders of the things that could have been, but never were.

It’s surprising how long I can convince myself of these things, that things are okay, that wounds have healed, that I have numbed myself and willingly relinquished my right to feel.  But it always comes back!!!  Sometime when I’m driving, or in bed in the middle of the night, or taking a walk on the quad (I know, super emo, sorry), it just HITS me…and I can’t lie to myself anymore.  No matter how hard I try to be un-empty, I can’t.  The void remains.  And it’s pretty heartbreaking, I’m not gonna lie.

All this to say, I think I just need to believe that someone is gently holding my foot and telling me, You’re not hopeless.  On my better days, I hope it’s Jesus who is doing that, who will be my older, wiser Bob to the younger, confused Charlotte, telling me with unwavering support and belief that I’m NOT hopeless.  Even though I’m snotty and cut down stupid people, even though I can’t figure out why I am the way that I am and behave like this irrational irritable idiot, even though I don’t know why I can’t remember things that should not be forgotten, even though I am constantly in this paradoxical state of simultaneous pride and repulsion at myself—there is still hope.  Again: Just gotta believe.

The End.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.

I’m graduating (for the last time) tomorrow morning.  The fruit of one year’s misery will be in my hand in the form of a fake master’s degree (the real one is mailed to you in July).  Sometimes when I distance myself from the situation a little bit more, I can’t really believe that I’ve labored so hard for a piece of paper that signifies a change in status.  Was it really worth it?

…

Yeah, the $10,000 yearly salary increase does make it seem pretty worth it, no lie.

My thoughts are pretty vapid, which is weird considering how much academic work I’ve done this year.  I found solace in a busy schedule and the fact that there was never any time to sit around and think.  So I didn’t.  And now when I try to get myself to, I find that I can’t.  Just empty space in that thing I used to call my beloved mind.  It feels like all the substance has been sucked out of me, and there’s just this strange bitter shell left of who I used to be.  So with all this newfound freedom to spend my time as I choose, I have one main goal: to be deep again.  Lame, I know.

So though it’s the end of one (long) phase of my life, maybe it’s true: something needs to end before I can really start over.  I think I’ve been wanting a restart for the past couple years, and maybe there really is no way to acquire that without just leaving the past behind — in this case, physically.  So I’m leaving the place I’ve chosen to be my home for the past seven (wow) years, and I’m going to  restart.  As much as the possibility of being unemployed next year drives me crazy in my mind and keeps me from falling asleep at night, sometimes you just gotta know what you can’t handle anymore and leave it all behind.

The unfortunate thing about fresh starts is that they’re, well, impossible.  The me in the new place will be the same as the me in the old place, and a change of scenery will not yield a change of heart.  But I hope that it will be at least a step in that direction towards change and that I’ll believe more this time around that forward movement is guaranteed, even when it seems like an impossibility.  Just gotta believe.