Some Thoughts on Rurouni Kenshin: Kyoto Inferno (Movie Review)

Hajime Saito

Hajime Saito is still hot and cool at the same time. My sentiments are the same with the first movie though—Saito in the series has a more indifferent vibe. Oh well, you can’t have everything.

Makoto Shishio

I’ve said this before. I don’t like their pick for Makoto Shishio. Shishio is tall and thin; Takuya Fujiwara is neither.

Farewell scene

What was that? Thirty seconds or less? In daylight? What happened to the fireflies? What happened to the cloak of darkness adding mystery to Kenshin’s quest? What happened to Kaoru’s painfully sweet tears? Of course, the director explained why he opted to change the scene, but still . . . the feels . . . Mr. Otomo just ruined my childhood.

Aoshi

I still don’t get it why they did not introduce Aoshi in the first installment. They were adding him in the storyline anyway. Why didn’t they give him a more solid character in the first place? He just went on like a broken record, asking everybody where Battosai was. The actor is handsome though, with slender muscles showing on his sexy biceps. He was still like a broken record in the series, but at least it was more poetic. His lines were sort of like, “I will take the title of “Strongest” and decorate it on the graves of my men.” I’m too lazy to give a back story to the noobs. Just look it up online.

Misao

The actress sorta looks like someone I know. Hello, Alya Mongaya. :) You have a doppelganger in the new RuroKen movie! ;)

Eiji

You have to give it to the kid. He totally stole the scene! They should give him an award: best child actor in the screaming role. His cries were perfect.

Fight scenes

The fight scenes were great! I was dissatisfied with Kenshin and Sojiro’s initial fight though. Maybe because the setting was different and one character was missing. That large dude was not a major character, so I guess it was okay to omit him in the movie. But they could have made the fight more exciting. I have a big feeling that they will compensate through Kenshin and Sojiro’s final fight.

Sano and Kenshin’s moment

It was awesome! I know it had bromance written all over it, but I couldn’t help getting the feels. Can’t see it? Well, imagine Sano with a wet look just inches away from Kenshin’s face. I shriek and giggle internally.

Kaoru as bait

Are you fucking kidding me? They made Kaoru look weak. She did nothing but fight the enemies in the series, and they just let Sojiro snatch her in the movie. This modification is a travesty!

Kenshin, Sano, and Saito’s deck scene

I love this scene in the series. I love how Saito kept calling Sano baka when in the end, Sano’s strength helped in bringing the ship down. Too bad they did not include that in the movie. Instead, they decided to kidnap Kaoru and make her look helpless. The only explanation that came up is fan service—damsel in distress with the fearless samurai at her heels.

Hiko

We were pretty sure that was Hiko in the final scene. But what the hell, man. What the hell did they do to his outfit? His coat was gone, and his clothes were all baggy and dull. Ugh. The actor who portrayed him is handsome though. ;)

Affirmations? Violent reactions? Additional thoughts? Feel free to comment below.

Half-Broken Hearts

I will tell you a story. You might assume this is a love story because of the title you have read. So, I won’t disappoint you. After all, this is for you to enjoy. Although I am not so sure you will enjoy my narratives since so few others can relate to them. Nevertheless, let me tell it to you.

Once upon a time, in a land far away . . .

Wait. Let’s steer clear of the openings that suggest fairy tales. My story is far from it. In fact, I have never written a fairy tale in all my long years! Let’s leave these tales to the likes of Stephenie Meyer. A prose about a vampire that sparkles is surely a fairy tale. Sparkling vampires. Ha! Tell that to Count Dracula. Okay, back to my tale.

This is a story of a boy meets girl . . .

Wait, wait. Is that not the opening line of 500 Days of Summer? Not good. I cannot afford to be sued. And the movie is easy enough to recall. I cannot afford to be dubbed as a copycat too. Let’s see . . . Oh, yes, yes. Here it is. Are you ready?

There was once a girl who carried her heart in her hands. It was half-broken. She was walking on a well-paved street where many people tried to appear busy enough to look important. And important they seemed to the girl. She was looking for someone, for something. If anyone cared to pause, to look, one would see the determined fire in her eyes. It was almost feverish.

She desperately peered into each person’s face. She raised her half-broken heart to each one, as if in offering. With every offering, she would ask a stranger one thing.

“Can you love me?”

The poor girl was answered with scowls and shoves and snickers and sarcasm. She was caught in a throng of people hurrying to God knows where—maybe to a nine-to-five office job where they revolve their lives around. Maybe they could not wait to kowtow to some bosses they considered as gods. The girl screamed helplessly while hands pushed and legs kicked. When the throng finally thinned down, the girl was lying on the concrete. Her hair was a mess, and she had scratches on her face. But she never let go of her heart.

She stood up testily. She seemed oblivious to her injuries. She dusted herself and continued asking the people down the street—teenagers sitting on benches, old people playing chess, brooding people reading by the lake. She asked them the same question.

“Can you love me?”

Some of them gave a slight attention to her pitiable-looking heart. Some ignored her entirely. When she was too tired to go on, she slumped down a small bench by the fountain. She was surprised to see that a boy was already sitting there, eyes closed, face upturned to the sun. The weary girl cleared her throat once, twice. The boy did not move. She summoned her courage and started in a small voice, “Excuse me . . .”

The boy slowly opened his eyes and turned to her, “What do you want?” slightly irritated to be disturbed from his reverie. The girl looked him straight in the eye and held up her half-broken heart. The boy’s gaze shifted from the girl’s eyes to the heart, then back to her eyes again. They were now brimming with fresh tears as she asked in a cracked voice, “Can you love me?”

The boy did not move. He continued looking into her eyes. After a few moments—they seemed like an eternity, really—the boy spoke quietly, “I think I can.” The girl’s eyes flooded and then it overflowed, yet she was smiling from ear to ear.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t cry here.” The boy seemed disgusted, but his expression turned mild as he took out something from behind his coat. He held it out for the girl to see. He too had a half-broken heart. His heart looked worn out, twice as worse as the girl’s scruffy one.

Now, it was the girl’s turn to shift her gazes from the boy to his heart. Her expression turned sad. She continued in her small voice, “Do you really think two broken people can make it work? Your heart is worse than mine. Can you really love me?”

The boy’s expression turned sad too. He carefully returned his battered heart back into his coat and looked up at the sky again. Then he quietly said, “I said I think I can.” He closed his eyes again, but his face now lacked the quiet calm he previously had. His eyebrows were drawn together. His lips were pressed. He actually looked pained.

The girl was distressed. She was ridden with guilt. She wished she had not said those words, but she had no choice. She had to find someone who could love her completely. She needed to find someone who could make her half-broken heart complete again. She stood up and turned to leave. Before she could take another step, she heard the boy speak in his quiet voice, “I’d still be here.” The girl turned back, but the boy’s eyes were still closed.

Her mind made up, she continued with her quest. She never wavered. She walked from place to place, offering her half-broken heart to anyone who would notice her. Don’t get me wrong. There were people who did promise they could love her. But they turned out to be wicked, with hearts blacker than coal. They trampled on her precious heart as if it were mere grass on the field. Her heart was left a little bit calloused every time. Numbed, she continued with her search. She did not know how long she had been walking.

When she had circled the whole world and still could not find what she was searching for, she was crushed. 

This can’t be it. This can’t be it. 

She kept thinking to herself. If her quest was not in this world, surely she could find it in other worlds, in other universes. So, desperate and alone, the girl traveled far and wide—farther and wider than the places charted by the maps of this world. She searched fiercely but to no avail. She gained nothing but more bruises and cuts for her wretched heart. It looked like it was already completely broken.

Hopeless and exhausted, she returned to her world. The world that so effortlessly rejected her. The world that gave her nothing but pain. But . . . she had a little bit of calm in that world. On a bench near the fountain. If she returned there, would she experience the same calm? Would she find the boy again? She still could not believe that his half-broken heart could sustain them, but her heart was more crushed than his own now. If she went back to that bench, would the boy do what she did so many lifetimes ago? Would he reject her too?

She did not know anything. She refused to think. All she wanted was some peace after her endless struggle. Once again, she summoned every ounce of courage left in her and walked wearily to the bench near the fountain. The boy was there. His eyes were closed. His face was turned to the sky. The girl gingerly walked toward him. She was about to open her mouth when she heard him speak in his quiet voice, “Welcome back.”

The girl’s weary heart swelled. She was hopeful once again. She sat beside the boy and asked her request for the last time, “Can you love me?” The boy opened his eyes and faced her. He had a small smile on his calm face.

“I think I can.”

Then, he returned to facing the sky. When he closed his eyes, the girl stared lovingly at her beat-up heart. She whispered, “Be better, old friend.” before she tucked it carefully inside her coat. Then, finally content, the girl raised her face toward the sky, closed her eyes, and smiled.

Of Queues and Daydreams

Long lines
How much longer?

Long queues
Am I to wonder?
About witches and wizards
And mutants and fairies?
About daydreams--
Both reachable and farfetched
About fantasies--
Both of innocent romances
And of guilty pleasures?

Am I to continue guessing?
Is that person staring?
Should I stop mouthing lyrics?
I'm running low on breath mints

Lull moments
Am I to endure awkward silences?
Am I to suffer idle chit-chat?
Am I supposed to enjoy this torture?
Waiting is the worst.

Zombie

What makes the soul die? For me, it is the endless rotation of the mundane. Every day, the same---with nothing much going on in between to keep you sane. Getting stuck in a hole where you can never crawl out, no matter how you struggle, no matter how hard you try to claw through the dirt and stones.

Can you blame me for quitting? When all I have for all my efforts are dirt in my fingernails and grime on my face? Would you have continued trying even when doors incessantly shut in your face? Perhaps you would have carried on. Perhaps you are the brave sort. But you have to know that I'm not. You have to know that I easily give up. All those inspirational quotes circulating online can only do so much. Pep talks from friends feel rehearsed, like they're just going through motions of comforting someone insecure and incompetent. Yes, they help boost morale for a few seconds, but they don't give me the courage I need, the confidence I crave.

Dumbledore said that words are our most inexhaustible source of magic. Unfortunately, I'm a witch who found out that she's a muggle after all---a squib, a disappointment. I'm a dreamer who has woken up to a cold, bucketful of water poured over my head. I'm a fraud. I'm a fool.

But I'll keep doing this foolishness anyway. Because I can't think of any other way to exist.

How Writing Is for the Rest of Us

How will a writer know if she's good enough? If it's measured by the books she's published or the starred reviews she's acquired, then there are thousands out there who will never, ever feel confident with their abilities. 

How can a writer go on when she receives rejection after rejection--every piece close to her heart, written with passion and pure intentions, ignored.

We regret to inform you that your submission failed to qualify.
Thank you for participating.

Two lines. Only two lines are enough to make a writer feel like garbage. The world only needs to say no to make her stop forming dialogues and arguments and plots inside her head. You see, fear of rejection is a writer's toxic friend. She shares a bittersweet coffee with it every day. In return, it feeds her insecurities. It blocks her path and spits on her hopes.

The world of writing is a cruel place. This is a world of masochists. We keep on going even after a deadly blow to our ego. We keep pouring our souls, baring ourselves just to fall hard--rejected, unrecognized, alone.

Yep. But we're still hooked. Like fucking junkies.

Jeni: Live in Manila II

I went to Manila last month. I was busy when I came back to Cebu, so I wasn't able to post my adventures. :) I originally wanted to post this in Tumblr because they're all pictures, but I was only allowed to post 10 pics maximum. Total bummer, right? Anyway, enough of the shitty introduction. Here's my Manila adventure (the second time around). :D

Oh, by the way, thanks to Kirby, Bemits, Tip, and Meggy for the documentation. :3

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Finally attended Komikon! See my bag? It was full of komiks and goodies from the event. My shoulders and arms were so tired I was so thankful for the massage the next day. :D

Fangirling part 1: photo op with Sir Budjette and Sir Kajo! :D

Bemits, Tip, and Kirby accompanied me to the Walled City.

I wanted to pose with arms raised in surrender while manong guardiya sibil pointed his gun at me. But he said it was dangerous. LOL.

Walking inside the walls was surreal. Space, time, past, and present were all warped inside my mind. I was possessed.

My first kalesa ride. :)) We just wanted a ride around the city, but the kalesa's tour guide, Manong Jun, offered to tell the history of the place as well. We paid more, but it was all good because he was an enthusiastic and engaging guide. :)

The oldest church in Intramuros--forgot the name. Heh.

The art on the ceiling is a 3D painting. :)

Yaaa. I know it's blurred, but it's the only picture of us four together. XD Saree. :3

Had dinner at Bellini's in Cubao Expo with the rest of the Manila gang :D

With Crazy Meggy. LOL.

Fangirling part 2: photo op with Sir Tuts of Queso! :D It was a serendipitous meeting. I didn't know there was a MEDISINA shop in Cubao Expo. I was so starstruck that the first thing I did was shake his hand, bow my head, and say "Sir, I'm a fan." HAHAHA. Gahd.

Two of my most favorite people in the world. <3

I'm fat. I'm with friends. I'm happy. I'm broke. As far as I'm concerned, I'm living the life of a twenty-something. Fuck thirty-something and beyond, right? >.<

Next stop: Baguio. Fingers-crossed! ;)

Spectrums

There she is. She’s frowning again. She walks—quite briskly—in midday, one hand carrying the take-out chicken she bought from a nearby fastfood chain. I’m afraid that will be her only meal for the day. Again. When will she care about her health? I wish she will smile once today. She looks best when she smiles. Radiant and sincere. Her only abnormality is that deep dimple on her left cheek.

Wara—that’s what they call her. I wonder what she would call me if she knew I existed. But I know. My gray presence is not worthy of her attention. Sometimes, I wish she was translucent—like water or glass. So that when the light hits her body, I will turn into a spectrum of colors. Like the rainbow. Not like this. Insignificant, drab, sometimes even frightening.

I’m happy that the sun beats too much because I get to be more visible. That and when there are no electrical lights at night, and she has to use candlelight. Those are the only times I get a more solid form. Those are the only times I can have a better look at her and her enchanting world. It is full of colors—colors I will never see in mine. But why she chooses to apply dark makeup and wear dark clothes confuses me. It makes me sad. She could have worn flowers. She could have painted her face with the colors of the sun. I don’t understand why she loves the gloom when everything around her is light.

If she continues to be this way, she might as well live in my world. Everything here is bleak. There is no real darkness, but there is no real light either. There is only a depressing spectrum of grays. I am in between pain and comfort, grief and joy, death and life. If she were in my place, would she be happier? If I invited her to come to my world, would she have said yes? I would give anything just to be in her world. But I don’t have anything to begin with. Just one dark moment after another. This is nothing compared to the red of her lips, the browns and reds on her hair, the eternal blackness of her eyes. Her dark, sad eyes.

Wara’s voice is equally dark, equally hypnotic. She is a singer. Yes, and I dare say a really good one. She is not like the others. She becomes alive at night. She sings from one bar to the next with the band mates she dare not call friends. Yes, they’re a band. But she never stays for drinks after the gigs. Oh, she drinks all right. But not outside where she feels vulnerable—where she can’t control everything.

She drinks alone. In her closetlike room. She doesn’t care. But her loneliness grips me. I want to hide in my darkness and be free of her emptiness. But I am her. She is me. And I think I have more of me in her. Because she prefers darkness over anything else. She prefers solitude over company. She’s crying now. How on earth can I comfort her? What can I offer to ease her pain?

There is nothing of course, except this eternal darkness. So I decide to break all the laws that bind me and step out into her gloomy light. I step out and offer her my gift. I offer it to her, without hesitation. I offer it willingly because I know it will give her peace.

That’s it, Wara. Come on over. Embrace my darkness. It will set you free.