I’ve told quite a number of people that I won’t want to watch ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ because everyone is hoo-haa-ing over it for the past few weeks and claiming that ‘it’s the best love story ever’, and of course, ‘the saddest of ’em all’.
I remembered that back in school, Crystal once asked if I want to watch this movie, I replied ‘No’ straight right into her face.
“People should give more credit to Chinese romance movie because it’s much better and equally, or even much more saddening than those coming from the Western countries.”
– I quote myself saying.
Indeed, I find Chinese movies too under-rated compared to English-speaking movies. Maybe people love the US of A more than they like Taiwan and Hong Kong. So I thought, ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ might just be as over-rated.
I refused to watch it in any circumstances.
Even when I was told that everyone in the cinema was suspected of using too many tissue papers that it was difficult for the cleaners to even pick up the litters afterwards, I stared at whoever who told me that and I laughed it off.
I still think that doesn’t make sense at all.
Everyone might be wondering, ‘Why did I watch it in the end afterall?’
Thanks to Nicole. I was suppose to meet up with her in the afternoon to pick up the camera that I asked her to lend me. And then, on the night before, she told me that she’ll be meeting up with Ratna in the morning at 10.30am to watch ‘The Fault In Our Stars’.
So, she jio-ed me.
At first, I was really contemplating if I should really join them. I was thinking, what if I really cry? I was thinking, what if I run out of money before the end of this week. (Alright, there’s no linkage between my thoughts because I am random like that.)
Since I still have to wake up early, travel all the way down to VivoCity to pick up the camera (because I really need it for my assignments), I might as well join them for a movie. I really want to see how attractive is the movie that makes it such a topic of discussion throughout Twitter for the past few weeks. And ya, how sad it really is.
Of course, not to not mention, to see Ratna because I haven’t seen her for like few months already (Someone was having Malay Lit lesson when we were celebrating Nicole’s birthday earlier this month).
“What if I go in and laugh throughout the movie?”
Issac: Augustus Waters is a self-aggrandising bastard. But we forgive him. We forgive him not because he had a heart as figuratively good as his literal one sucked, or because he knew more about how to hold a cigarette than any nonsmoker in history, or because he got eighteen years when he should’ve gotten more.
Issac: I am assuming you’ve got some time, you interrupting bastard.
(Issac paused for a while before continuing)
Issac: I’m telling you, Augustus Waters talked so much that he’d interrupt you at his own funeral. And he was pretentious: Sweet Jesus Christ, that kid never took a piss without pondering the abundant metaphorical resonance of human waste production. And he was in vain: I do not believe I have ever met a physically attractive person who was more acutely aware of his own physical attractiveness. But I’ll say this: When the scientists of the future show up at my house with robot eyes and they tell me to try them on, I will tell the scientists to screw off, because I do not want to see a world without him.
(Here’s the funny part)
Issac: And then, having made my rhetorical point, I will put my robot eyes on, because I mean, with robot eyes you can probably see through girls’ shorts and stuff. Augustus, my friend, Godspeed.
Then, I hated Hazel for making the comedic moment so short lived.
“Some infinites are bigger than other infinites.”
“You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I’m grateful.”
How touching can this be. I know, everyone was tearing up. I was there, enjoying the literature in the eulogy, telling myself not to be that mainstream.
However, the most touchiest one is this:
I’m a good person but a shitty writer. You’re a shitty person but a good writer. We’d make a good team. I don’t want to ask you any favors, but if you have time – and from what I saw, you have plenty – I was wondering if you could write a eulogy for Hazel. I’ve got notes and everything, but if you could just make it into a coherent whole or whatever? Or even just tell me what I should say differently.
Here’s the thing about Hazel: Almost everyone is obsessed with leaving a mark upon the world. Bequeathing a legacy. Outlasting death. We all want to be remembered. I do, too. That’s what bothers me most, is being another unremembered casualty in the ancient and inglorious war against disease.
I want to leave a mark.
But Van Houten: The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star and you think, “They’ll remember me now,” but
(a) they don’t remember you, and
(b) all you leave behind are more scars.
Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion.(Okay, maybe I’m not such a shitty writer. But I can’t pull my ideas together, Van Houten. My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into constellations.)
We are like a bunch of dogs squirting on fire hydrants. We poison the groundwater with our toxic piss, marking everything MINE in a ridiculous attempt to survive our deaths. I can’t stop pissing on fire hydrants. I know it’s silly and useless – epically useless in my current state – but I am an animal like any other.
Hazel is different. She walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly upon the earth. Hazel knows the truth: We’re as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either.
People will say it’s sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it’s not sad, Van Houten. It’s triumphant. It’s heroic. Isn’t that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm.
The real heroes anyway aren’t the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who invented the smallpox vaccine didn’t actually invented anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didn’t get smallpox.After my PET scan lit up, I snuck into the ICU and saw her while she was unconscious. I just walked in behind a nurse with a badge and I got to sit next to her for like ten minutes before I got caught. I really thought she was going to die, too. It was brutal: the incessant mechanized haranguing of intensive care. She had this dark cancer water dripping out of her chest. Eyes closed. Intubated. But her hand was still her hand, still warm and the nails painted this almost black dark blue and I just held her hand and tried to imagine the world without us and for about one second I was a good enough person to hope she died so she would never know that I was going, too. But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar.
A nurse guy came in and told me I had to leave, that visitors weren’t allowed, and I asked if she was doing okay, and the guy said, “She’s still taking on water.” A desert blessing, an ocean curse.
What else? She is so beautiful. You don’t get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she is smarter than you: You know she is. She is funny without ever being mean. I love her. I am so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers.
I almost broke down here. I sat there silently, for the first time during the screening. The last second – third sentences spoke my heart. I sat back reflecting. Yes, everyone gets hurt one way or another. But who did you give the rights to hurt you? I had made such decision before. I cried. I emo-ed. I even went into the process of self-deny. But I like my choices.
I need to admit I am falling for all the quotes from the movie that I think I am going down to get the book after publishing this post.