Life may often bore us with its ever-so-graceful adagio pace, only to give it a twist soon after and have everything happen to us all at once. Fortunately, the stale waters of my days saw their stream resume its course tenderly; springs of fresh impressions. It began on a wearisome Sunday, when, to shake off its blues, I went to the cinema. There, I realised my city was holding a Ghibli Studio film festival.
Malaise-stricken midweek, I figured the deep emotional rift that had been gnawing at me for much of the last fortnight had to be stopped. Lackadaisical, all days felt like Sundays. Stale, stifling still-lifes of rotten motifs. Lest I risk ruining a hard-earned, functional routine, I sought some kind of psychological renewal in the evergreen artistry of the unconscious.
Recently some acquaintances have scrutinised my gaming habits just to be let down by the non-existence thereof. As to the whys and wherefores of my lack of ludic endeavours, it all boils down to me maturing into an absolute bore. Be it for physical, psychological or ethical reasons, playing nowadays will seldom ever please me.
I first came across Bears in Trees on Tumblr, about eight years ago. Needless to say, my first impression was bad. Their outright lie baffled me — none of the band members were bears. Sometimes, they’d be in trees, though. Regardless of such despicable conspiracy, they grew on me. I put my liking of them down to their chaotic-good attitude and their British indie sound with a twist of queerness.
When the last scene from Pixar’s Luca was coming to an end, I tearily told my friends its only mistake — Disney’s censorship aside — was not including Mina on its soundtrack. It seemed fit for its subtext of a teenage romance set in the 60s dolce vita Italian seaside. I was proved wrong delightfully when the credits rolled to Mina’s Città Vuota, and the tears ran down my face.
