EPTIt's about 2AM and just as I about to doze off watching the light-hearted film of The Terminal, my favourite actress invokes a face that just blew everything I had thought I couldn't write before. Everyone watches the film for Tom Hanks' stellar performance, but to be frank; I love Stanley Tucci and I'm a lone fan of Catherine Zeta-Jones performance (even in terrible films such as 'The Rebound')
Centered around a man stuck between a non-existent country and limbo of a free world, Tom Hanks' character is stuck in 'The Terminal' waiting for more than just his ticket home.
A few days ago, I had to step into a medical clinic for some minor discomfort pain and some tests. The last time I stepped into any sort of medical area was 14 years ago when I arrived in Canada and before that was with my father, a slender man with a medical degree in cardiology and a divorce in the coming future after 16 years of marriage.
As I sat there, nearly bored out of my mind, as the clinic was just floors above the Jazz musicians and festivities that filled the city's air, I got to take a look at other impatient patrons both on line and seated near me. It's been awhile since I last observed my surroundings, saw something more than the average student stuck in a place without sunshine or where silence meant more than boredom and daydream.
A young girl and her mother sat in front of me, the teenager, nearing seventeen, could not look more carefree than ever. Music in her ears, tapping of her feet, her demeanor was a complete contrast to the shadows of her mother. Her mother was also impatient to get out, but her age complemented this weight of curiosity about her health. She'd read the paper and the door, waiting for her name to be called. Her fingers were her outgrown security blanket as she constantly kept them near her lips, no matter if she was alone with her thoughts, or sharing a moment with her teenager's optimistic attitude.
An easily recognizable piece by Debussy, Clair de Lune: "Votre âme est un paysage choisi / Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques / Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi / Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques."
On line was an ensemble of characters with their agitations ranging from shifting weight on their feet, readjusting of their clothing or a small dance. This elderly man literally swayed his arms left and right, aggravated that the queue was not shrinking fast enough. His brows pointed downward and his slight hop were indications that he waited his turn. These were all ways to reassure himself he'd make it to the end, that he'd get the service and assurances he'd been desperate for before.
We were all here for our reasons and expected answers, comfort, the safety that we're ok to continue worrying for something that could come again. As soon as I saw Catherine Zeta-Jones' face from that scene, I realized that nobody was ok, but rather comfortable with the weight of worries that come with our liberties. It's not like anybody not being ok (double-negative) was bad, but rather just a standard of living we try to stay well-above. Nobody's ok and yet we teeter on whether we should really take a closer look into our lives or attempt to progress further hoping the next breath of fresh air let's us continue a little longer. It's peculiar how modest we are about our problems, yet so proud of our successes. Even when resolving of those unmentionables, we never speak of the resolution, just how it no longer prevents us from reaching. Only when in the past, do we feel we have room to talk about it, without fear of being cursed of it again; not another cold for the season, another week of unemployment, failing grades for a whole 'nother semester.
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Catherine holds back something more as she hears why Tom Hanks' was willing to live in an airport for nine months.
That face can be without context and fit in many dramatic scenes we face in our lives. Nobody's Ok, but if someone were to ask how we are, I could think of 20 replies that could keep them disinterested. It's this insane human will or nature to be able to internalize major turmoil and on top of that, deny people's interest on the basis of courtesy, even when invited to share that hidden pain.
The justification could range from anything on why we don't speak aloud about the big or small things - "it's none of their business" to "I don't want to burden them with my problems" - but in the end; it's that silence that filled this clinic, created more distance than the physical walking space between these strangers and I. It's the above implications that ultimately lead to a compounded worry strengthened with age and suspense that no professional answer could give or display in tests. Even with all I know about myself, how little I know of others, there's still an impulse to share with anyone reading this. Sharing something we all know, which could be said, just for the sake of it being out there. An established knowledge that nobody's ok and that's acceptable, if not the norm of society of 'can't complain'/'could do better'.
![[image loading]](http://i.imgur.com/tdzGoVg.png)
Jennifer Lopez's character looks past the neon lights of this rundown dance studio into a world she hides from in 'Shall We Dance'. Also a good film with Richard Gere.
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