Fierce and Colorful

Gloomy weather calls for a bright and cheery outfit! But really, don't mind that lame reasoning, this outfit was actually semi-inspired by a Taiwanese drama series called The Fierce Wife. Haha!
So yeah, aside from shoving some Murakami up your browser the last time you went to visit, I'm now going to passionately blab about this new drama series that I (together with our household help) recently got hooked on. Bear with me people! Give it a chance. :))
Although the story of FW (Fierce Wife) may seem targeted for a more mature audience, it actually isn't just mainly about marital problems and the like. This could very well be anyone’s personal story, which makes FW all the more believable and possible to understand for viewers like me. I mean, I may not know much about divorce or marriage, but the sense of betrayal in any relationship can be easily understood by almost anyone. So here goes the story. Ever since the couple got married, Kristine had been nothing but a perfect wife to Louie. They had the cookie-cutter type of family. That was until Me Ann, Kristine's younger cousin, arrived from the US to stay at their home for a while (the girl needed to land a job and find her own place to stay in first). As the story progressed, Me Ann developed an attraction to Louie who soon fell for her too. They then start an affair that led to the disintegration of Kristine's marriage.
That's roughly the plot of the story. As you continue to watch the it, you will realize that it's not entirely about Kristine's failed marriage to Louie but about the journey she embarks on to become a confident and independent woman. A mom, an ex-wife but more importantly a woman who loves herself as much as she loves those around her (we have a saying in Filipino that goes---bago ka magmahal ng iba, matuto ka munang mahalin ang sarili mo / you must love yourself first, before you love someone else). The problem with Kristine was she forgot to love herself and live her own life when she got tied down to Louie. Her life revolved around him. And there's no problem with that. But the thing is, she let herself go. She forgot to take care of herself and abandoned the dreams that she once had. So yeah, after her divorce she strived to improve herself. She found a job, started dressing up (not to impress people but because she loved herself enough) etc. Fast forward to the ending, she became even more beautiful (eat your heart out Louie!), his life became miserable (ain't karma a bitch) and Me Ann (being mentally ill and all) learned she only liked Louie because she was in love with the idea of him being a successful man---someone she cannot have---and soon left him. Louie asked for Kristine's forgiveness and she acknowledged his genuine apology but she chose not to be with him again. Getting back with him would put everything to waste because to turn back means to revert back to her old self and to forget about the progress she’s made to become the independent, confident woman she is today. Hence, it was only reasonable for both to go their separate ways.That ending was such a bittersweet moment but it totally made sense. It made me admire Kristine more because she had the courage to move on and reject Louie's offer to get back with him. It's always easier to return to old convenient ways than to move forward, perhaps even alone. It also made sense that she didn't end up with anyone after her divorce. Aside from all the symbolism, jokes and metaphors (that I truly enjoyed) used and thrown in this drama, I guess what made me love this series even more was the natural ease in acting by the actors. Oh.My.Gosh. THE ACTING. The acting wasn't overly dramatic. So subtle. So simple yet so poignant. Kudos to these brilliant actors! Pero higit sa lahat, nakakaloka 'to kasi nakakagigil si Me Ann at Louie. I swear, when me and Ate Gina (our household help) watch it together, namimilipit na kami sa inis. Pinagpapapalo namin yung unan sa isa't-isa! HAHAHA! :)))

So I appear to have rambled on long enough. Haha! I hope after reading this, you'll give FW a chance and watch it yourself! You guys can watch it here! Now. Going back to my outfit, how was it inspired by FW, you ask? Well, that's my "If-I-were-a-fierce-mom-slash-wife" outfit. *laughs* I know it looks a tad too young and that's why I said it was only "semi-inspired". Oh excuses. Just agree with me please. Haha!

PS. Can't wait for "Nasaan Ka, Elisa?", a remake of the Chilean version "Donde Esta, Elisa?" which was based on Stieg Larsson's Swedish novel (originally entitled as Men Who Hate Women) "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo"!!! Hmm, interesting. I've watched the Swedish film version and it was really disturbing. If the story's based on the novel...then Filipino viewers are in for a big surprise. I wonder how they will receive it. :)

XO.

Haruki Murakami: On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning

Just got home from school and I'm really upset 'coz I didn't get the schedule that I wanted. Well, actually I got a good sched but because I wasn't satisfied and wanted a better one, I dropped this particular subject in order to make room for another one. But when I went to adjust today, apparently they couldn't grant my request and as a result I waited and wasted an afternoon for nothing and am one subject short for this term. Because of this, I now have a very messed up (butas-butas) sched and need to kill time (5 looong and agonizing hours) on Tuesdays and Fridays for the next 3 months. Le sigh. Anyway, here's a little Murakami to perk myself up. A very apt story too if you ask me since it's about letting go and passing up an opportunity (or love) when it's really unnecessary to do so, without thinking that once you let it pass you can never get a hold of it ever again (or maybe it will come again just not in the same way). So yeah, what a great--not to mention ironic, way to cheer myself up. Only reminds me of being the failure that I already am (both in life and in love haha). One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.

Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.

Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.

But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.

"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.

"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"

"Not really."

"Your favorite type, then?"

"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."

"Strange."

"Yeah. Strange."

"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"

"Nah. Just passed her on the street."

She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.

Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.

After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.

Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.

Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.

How can I approach her? What should I say?

"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"

Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.

"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"

No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?

Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."

No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.

We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.

I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.

Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.

Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"

Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.

One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.

"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."

"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."

They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.

As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?

And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"

"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."

And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.

The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.

One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.

They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.

Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.

One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:

She is the 100% perfect girl for me.

He is the 100% perfect boy for me.

But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.

A sad story, don't you think?

Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.

XO.