Movie Review: Cinemalaya X (Part 1 “Hustisya”)

It’s never too late for any firsts but in my case as a film enthusiast, attending the Cinemalaya Film Festival in its tenth year for the first time was overdue. Nonetheless, it was exciting to finally see independent films that don’t walk the banality of mainstream movies. Philippine Indies were a breath of fresh air and although this year’s lineup was a mixed bag of hits and misses, their rare abilities to trigger emotions (other than the usual kiligs and guffaws), and spark intelligent discussions are what make them worth celebrating.

I only managed to watch four entries this year but my 2014 Cinemalaya experience was never short of enjoyment. It felt like a trip to the places I’d already been but seeing them in a different light (Hustisya, #Y, Children’s Show). It was also an immersion to the forgotten (and sometimes taken-for-granted) community which also has a story to tell (K’Na the Dreamweaver). The unfamiliarity in the familiar (and vice-versa) is the trickery that had me fascinated and displeased. There’s also the common notion of “Don’t judge the movie by its poster” as what my friend said, and such film prejudice was shredded once I arrived to my cinematic conclusion. And that’s what I learned one Saturday in Cinemalaya X at the Cultural Center of the Philippines.

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HUSTISYA doesn’t live up to its hype.

The trip began in Hustisya, the film festival’s most talked-about entry which starred the Nora Aunor (the title aptly defining her exclusion from the National Artist awardees). The movie was heavy of attention, not only because of the industry stalwarts behind the film but also the moral dilemma it promised to tackle. But don’t get too overexcited during the two-hour trip in Manila. Disappointingly, no trace of justice was seen in Hustisya.

 

MUGSHOT. Film still of Hustisya

Hustisya chronicles the ladder-like ascent of Biring (Aunor) from Vivian’s (Rosanna Roces) errand girl to become her own boss in the human trafficking business. The lever of Biring’s transformation turned when she was accused of a murder she didn’t commit. Her ordeal in pursuing justice was, however, greatly under-served, or perhaps discarded what Hustisya could have been. Maybe I’m the only one who expected Hustisya to say something about the society (like those politically-charged films in the 70’s and 80’s). Considering that its selling point is the litmus test on morality, Hustisya doesn’t even get close to its message. What could have been a daring and thought-provoking exploration of injustice in the metro through the expressive eyes of Aunor, Hustisya strode safely to its cliffhanger. It was too safe that it’s frustrating that a film, which could have been a vehicle for a powerful social commentary, wheeled linearly to its ending: no detours, no curves, and no jagged edges to at least substantiate its ominous title.

 

AND THE PLAN IS… Aunor and Nacino in Hustisya

Notching the film festival’s Best Actress trophy, Aunor is of course, indisputable on her craft. But it was only through her that the audience sympathized Biring. Without Aunor, Biring is just a flatly written character whose makeover is just one of the by-products of the dog-eat-dog world portrayed in the film. Hustisya misses the point of its title. Instead, it directs to an omnipotent force that controls everyone’s destiny and it hangs without any resolution. Religious and superstitious, Biring offered written prayers and peso bills at the Manila City Hall (the shot of the building towering Aunor subtly affirms my take), not to mention Atty. Gerald (Rocco Nancino) and his cohorts who were the syndicate’s higher-ups. Hustisya turned a blind eye on dissecting the societal injustices filmed at the sore shambles of Manila. There’s no mistaking how dirty the city is, and seeing it onscreen was just another bitter pill to swallow. But in a scene where Biring imagined herself walking under the LRT Carriedo station, obscenity and delinquency lining up to her distress (and the poor CGI of a full moon overcasting her), it felt feigned that it was ludicrous. Hustisya tried too hard in staging Manila as a sin city that it became unrealistic (too think that its setting is already relevant and timely). Unlike the camera-works of CHILDREN’S SHOW that brilliantly framed its impoverished setting, Hustisya’s unnecessary use of conjured imagery is a crime to the already powerful, eye-stabbing Manila rubbish. Too bad the crew behind the camera overlooked what is already so obvious.

Justice is said to be the right of the weakest. But Biring isn’t exactly the person who needed it most. Destiny heeded her rituals at the city hall tower. She lived comfortably at Vivian’s; the latter punished when she turned against Biring. From the cellar, Biring was elevated to the luxurious floors of Traders Hotel and converted into an impassive business woman in the black market. Her maleficent laugh at the ending was the ringing bells of her metanoia. Still, Biring is merely a pawn that can be easily disposed to her bosses’ liking. Hustisya doesn’t engross itself to the complexity of morality. As an accomplice, Biring already has a clear understanding of the hole she’d dug herself into (she sees and hears no evil, according to the synopsis). And as a pawn, all she could do is follow her superiors as they blackmail her while she tried to reassure white lies to her family. What really disappoints is that Hustisya doesn’t seize the opportunity of exploring the gray area between right and wrong. A moral drama is an excellent, cinematic medium in exploring what makes us human and exposing the flaws that define a person’s morality. Plot-driven and susceptible to plot holes, Hustisya makes waste of not leveraging on Aunor’s ability to carry a character-driven story.

 

Ate Guy literally and figuratively having the last laugh.

The thematic absence of justice and inaccurate imagery ambush Hustisya’s parting message. Applause erupted when the post credits rolled but I was left sunk in my seat, convinced that Hustisya is an injustice of its own doing. It doesn’t live up to its hype, despite the cinematic triumvirate of Aunor, director Joel Lamangan, and writer Ricardo Lee. In a matter of comparison, Hustisya runs in the same universe of Erik Matti’s On The Job which successfully blended the parallel stories of corruption, violence, and morality into a thrilling Manila noir. Hustisya was absorbed in its social commentary at the expense of its authenticity. But if there’s one thing that struck me in Hustisya was that there’s always someone preying at the dog-eat-dog world, much like in a food chain… but where’s the justice in that?

P.S.

There’s also a scene where a victim thanked Biring and referred her prettier sister to be recruited for their trade of cyber sex. Redeeming value of human trafficking as an escape to poverty, anyone?

Also, Hustisya will be screened at the Toronto International Film Festival this September under the Contemporary World Cinema category. We’ll see how international critics will react to the film.

Rating: 2.0/5.0

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UP NEXT: Weaving the review for K’Na the Dreamweaver 

Photos from Cinemalaya and The Pulse websites.

Movie Review: Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, The To Do List

DAWN OF THE PLANET OF THE APES:

Brilliantly directed and emotionally gripping, DAWN OF THE PLANET OF THE APES is a rare package of an action/sci-fi blockbuster and a social commentary that succeeds in creating a more powerful and more satisfying entry to the franchise. The point-of-view camera framing is both elegant and haunting, with an underlying message of a new, dark world that humans and apes lived in.

Rating: 4.0/5.0

 

THE TO DO LIST:

While it isn’t an adventurous and hilarious 90s teen comedy that it appears to be, THE TO DO LIST leans on Aubrey Plaza’s plain comedic timing to bring out the pallor of her awkward character into something laughable and passable. The film boasts of a solid comedic ensemble (enter Andy Samberg, Bill Hader, Clark Gregg, and Rachel Bilson who’s a mirthful surprise as the lead’s all-out sister) but the story comes short of hormones to fuel a guffaw-inducing throwback edition of a meticulously planned yet gauche sexual awakening.

Rating: 2.0/5.0

Beneath ‘Under The Skin': Fascination, Fear, and Fur

My highest rated film of the year (so far). Let’s talk about…

Beneath ‘Under The Skin’: Fascination, Fear, and Fur

 

“Strangely fascinating and eerily beautiful, UNDER THE SKIN sees Scarlett Johansson in her most bizarre femme fatale role onscreen. Director Jonathan Glazer’s exotic mix of science fiction and art house is a one-of-a-kind experience that leaves you speechless out of terror and trance, with a disturbing ‘prey’ music that preludes one of the most shocking sequences in the genre.” 

I posted the above capsule review on my Letterboxd and Rotten Tomatoes accounts, with the assumption that I’ve already realized the fullness of this brilliant film from director Jonathan Glazer (Birth and Sexy Beast). But days later, more reasons emerged in further undressing the Scarlett Johansson-starrer. UNDER THE SKIN is simply a mind-blowing experience; an intricate fable about a beautiful predator who slowly acknowledges the humanness she briefly adapted in a chilly Scotland where unsuspecting man-preys are the real monsters.

I may have used a lot of adjectives to describe UNDER THE SKIN but all the same, the film still makes me speechless. It was a one-of-a-kind experience that not even any 3D/4D/IMAX movie can match. It was the surreal marriage of science fiction and art house that enamored me and Scarlett was just an icing on the wedding cake. Sounds cliché but the beauty of UNDER THE SKIN does not simply run skin-deep; it rushes to the nerves that tingles of fascination and fear on the woman wearing the fur coat.

Scarlett Johansson as the alien in ‘Under The Skin’

 

UNDER THE SKIN is flawless (no pun intended) of its cinematic elements, making the blend of art house and science fiction the most impeccable among its species. Most sci-fi production sets took significant resources to build their fictional settings, including the special effects. UNDER THE SKIN is a minimalist work of art, coated of plain vanilla but layered of subtle messages. Both the alien and the snowy town of Scotland share the same air of mystery; the weather chilly and her motives chilling. The camera is angled in such a way that implores viewers to not just simply watch Scarlett. Shifting the perspective from audience to alien, they do not ogle but absorb but what they observe. From that, UNDER THE SKIN embodies how the genre succeeds: science fiction is not a fleeting memory; it’s an experience.

And science is just one half of the film’s ingenious biology. UNDER THE SKIN is brimming of striking and haunting imagery. The film does not resort to violence which it leaves to the audience’s presumption (except the alien hitting the man with a rock). Rather, its peculiar horrors resonate, and even yield twice the desired effect. The abandoned crying baby stilled for more than five seconds was painful to watch. And when the eerie music plays to signal the unimaginable scene which was this: (SPOILER!)

…makes me lost of words. UNDER THE SKIN has the unique ability of fascinating and frightening its viewers. That scene, in particular, was the first of its kind that I have ever seen and what happens underneath was a shocker. How bizarre and brilliantly executed it was! But the tricky message UNDER THE SKIN bares is not the roaming extra-terrestrial threat but the helplessness on sexual abuse which the alien was not spared of.

Sure, the alien uses her skin to seduce her preys, but these men are sexual predators themselves. Letting themselves be caught off guard for the promise of pleasure, these men fall victim to their own lustful weakness. The first half of UNDER THE SKIN was a cautionary tale; the alien stripping as a beautiful woman who knows that carnal desire is a commodity of the world she is into. The sequence, glimpsed on the above screen cap, was frightening but not to the point where the audience fear for the victims’ lives. It is their choice after all, and even as they sink, they still ogle at the woman who only wanted their meat.

The second half, however, sees the alien becomes the prey. Prior to her eventful end, she is slowly acknowledging her humanness. The alien becomes conscious of her skin and unlike the emotionless trail she led as a predator, she began to feel sympathy on her last victim. In her awkward attempts, she experienced become a human being. Not that she liked it (she did not like the taste of chocolate cake), but she marveled on the kind of life that the skin exposed her. (SPOILER!) But her experience of human existence was short-lived because of an attempted rape, which even an alien was unable to escape.

UNDER THE SKIN undresses the monsters of science fiction and reality. On one hand is an extra-terrestrial creature, the other is the rapist. But who is the real monster? Who must be more feared and punished? (SPOILER!) The alien burned to her death as the physical struggle from her rapist revealed her actual form. It is queer to realize that what makes us human also makes us evil. I feared for the alien’s life but as the smoke from her ashes rose to the sky, it was clear to me that she was not supposed to stay on this world any longer. She is an alien, after all, but innocent as she was, it was still cruel for her to experience such crime.

 

Many men come and go but I consider UNDER THE SKIN as a one-woman show. Having played a seductress many times already, Scarlett Johansson is mesmerizing as she brings her femme fatale role to the astronomical level. As the alien, she only speaks when necessary (with a perfect English accent) but it is through her eyes that Scarlett conveys her character’s feelings of stoic, curiosity, and terror effectively. Scarlett finds herself in a smart vehicle (no pun intended) that showcases her subtleties as an actress. UNDER THE SKIN was her first film which she bared her all, and it was not self-imposed and self-important. It was unpretentious and instrumental to the film’s message.

 

Loosely adapted from Michel Faber’s novel of the same title, UNDER THE SKIN is a must-see for sci-fi enthusiasts and even to those who are just interested on seeing Scarlett as an alien. One of the weirdest and thought-provoking films I had seen, UNDER THE SKIN is more than what meets the eye; it is an immersing experience that should not be missed. :)

“Sketches in Q” – a Homeland fan fic

“Sketches in Q” – a Homeland fan fic

Because PETER QUINN.

Because he’s my favorite character.

Because he’s not the typical CIA agent/assassin.

Because no matter how tough he is, you can see it in his eyes that he struggles with his feelings for Carrie. (Season 4!)

Because RUPERT FRIEND makes Quinn’s lovesickness so believable that I jumped to the Quinn-Carrie ship (but just right after S03E08 because I have to be certain of my feelings for them as well).

Because other than the romantic aspect, Rupert makes Quinn so humane and I hope to see more of his personal side in the next season (even if there are many new characters now).

Because I miss HOMELAND. Come back to me soon! Less than three months to go!

 

*To the person who wrote this fan fic, thank you because you just made my most favorite fan fic. :)

Movie Review: The Fault In Our Stars

THE FAULT IN OUR STARS:

Earlier films had teenagers fighting for survival and ousting authorities in dystopian worlds while tangling themselves in love triangles. THE FAULT IN OUR STARS falls in a different constellation but unlike the young warriors of the fantasy genre, Hazel and Augustus are braver in their more realistic and more painful battle for life. Shailene Woodley and Ansel Elgort embrace their characters’ imperfections to live a new meaning of infinity in their numbered days together. Genuinely affecting and unpretentious, THE FAULT IN OUR STARS may leave viewers to tears, but the promises of acceptance and hope makes this tragic love story extraordinary.

Rating: 3.5/5.0

After Potter: Flipping through the mundane Muggle tales of J.K. Rowling

Missing her extraordinary work (which was my first reading journey) that was the Harry Potter series, I was excited to know that my writing inspiration and hero, J.K. Rowling, will be back on the literary scene. But this time, riding off from Platform 9 ¾, she wanders and writes about the Muggle world. Her much-awaited return to fiction with her home country as the backdrop was a welcome departure from the Wizarding World (London is one my dream destinations because of her.). But sadly, no charms, spells, and even potions can reverse my dissatisfaction on Rowling’s new narratives.

 

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Frankly speaking, J.K. Rowling is much better off writing more chapters of the Wizarding World than chronicling the unexciting lives of Londoners in her two novels since ending Harry Potter. Her first book published last 2012, The Casual Vacancy is a dreary read about a community who basically hates each other and their animosity is further fueled when their (except the Mollisons) only unifying factor, beloved councilman Barry Fairbrother, died at the beginning of the story. The hostility in each character seeps from every paragraph and the reader inadvertently absorbs this hate, scowling on every page until he/she is freed after the final punctuation. The novel tosses from different families with varying domestic dramas as each unlikable family member teeters to the brink of self-destruction. The synopsis itself warns of the characters-at-war whom you do not want to spend with during night reading: bottomless arguments between husbands and wives, parents and children, opposing political parties, and the building blocks of the rowdy social pyramid.

Each character is a reflection of the pangs in the real world and it is a messy ordeal to the eyes and mind. The ending does not entirely redeem (spoiler!) the remaining characters even if they were able to resolve their respective storylines. (Readers are forced to be relieved consequent to their exasperation after finishing the book.) While Rowling stays true in deglamorizing and dissecting numerous domestic and societal issues: rebellious and hormone-driven teenagers, tarnished reputations, questionable parenting, political predators, and sufferers and abusers of all sorts (substantial, physical, even technological), The Casual Vacancy does not make up for a compelling and desirable material. No matter how relatable or similar the conflicts are in reality, the story itself is not extraordinary, not even uplifting nor value-laden, to be immortalized in a book.

What The Casual Vacancy can better do is to occupy an effective medium that can carry the tedious atmosphere of Pagford and its citizens. There are at least six families (with coerced boyfriends and closeted mistresses) of mixed ethnicities, accents, and social statuses, which are sometimes difficult to follow despite Rowling’s efforts on interlacing them towards the climax and resolution. The novel is crowded by displeasing personalities and disinteresting relationships. While imagination may find it intolerable to shape every word into their tainted beings, it would have been better if they were alive on screen, and it turns out, they will be. To my delight, BBC Films and HBO are set to bring The Casual Vacancy to the small screen. The adaptation should spare viewers from the literary toils in the book. The actual town of Pagford, its sights and scenes, will be better grasped onscreen and the lengthy dialogues will be more engaging (and entertaining) if they were blurted in character. Cinematography and production designs are an artistic plus but the key on appreciating Rowling’s material is through the actors who can perfectly preen and poise to the egos of their fictional counterparts. The mini-series will be shown this year and it will be worth seeing if the outcome will be critically acclaimed (or likewise dissed) from the source material.

It was only during the last chapters of the book that I realized what the front cover stood for: the voter’s mark on the ballot at Election Day. As for me, it stands for: (1) the X that does not hit the spot of my expectation; and (2) the X which should be read as ‘Not worthy of your reading’. But as a devoted fan of J.K. Rowling, I give The Casual Vacancy a reprieve because of the moral story buried underneath the naggings and bashings per chapter. In anthropology, the family is the basic unit of the society. The Casual Vacancy is Rowling’s attempt of decomposing the society into its broken familial pieces who altogether constitutes the community which they despise. The future of Pagford remains uncertain but there is a fleeting hope in the ending that the strengthened familial bonds will build towards a stronger and more compassionate society.

But then again, Rowling’s first Muggle-based book is a dull beginning after dusting herself off of Floo powder.

 

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The second cover more appropriately glimpses on the world Strike steps into: swallowed by fame, hypnotized by beauty, blinded by power, and killed by greed. 

A year later, J.K. Rowling downs a flask of Polyjuice Potion to assume the identity of Robert Galbraith, author of the warmly-received The Cuckoo’s Calling. Again, it took me about three-quarters of the book to decipher the mystery behind the title (because the clues popped out on the latter part). (Spoiler) ‘Cuckoo’ is the moniker of Lula Landry, a famous young model pertained to as a masterpiece of her ethnicity (Nigerian) but fell to her death from her balcony at the fourth floor of one of the posh apartments in London. Initially ruled out as suicide, her death was investigated three months later by Cormoran Strike, a former military man who was hired by Landry’s co-adoptive brother, lawyer John Bristow, on the angle of murder.

The crime fiction is at times funny because of Strike’s awkward interactions with his temporary secretary, Robin Ellacott. But apart from the usual inquests and noir atmosphere of its genre, The Cuckoo’s Calling is a budding character story of Strike who himself is a basketful of mystery: peripatetic childhood without his rock star father, aborted university stint, on-and-off relationship with his now ex-fiancee, and homelessness save for his ballooning unpaid rent of his office. Standing more than six feet tall with a body of a boxer, Strike’s intimidating surface is a thick shell of a broken man carved of emotional scars. While Strike has become Rowling’s new muse for a series (The sequel The Silkworm is now out in the US and UK), I am still hesitant on delving to Strike and Robin’s new case because of a number of inquisitive issues on Rowling’s first take on crime fiction.

Not that I’m setting my bar too high but the first detective novel I read was Stieg Larsson’s The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, a more complex case of familial conspiracy discovered by a journalist and a hacking genius with photographic memory, whose complicated relationship further heightened their suspenseful investigation. Both books (TCC and TGWTDT) are centered on unearthing family secrets by an unlikely teamwork (Mikael Blomkvist was a disgraced financial journalist while Lisbeth Salander was mentally-instituted now socially abused bisexual; Strike is living in penury and heartbroken while Robin is in elation of her recent engagement and under-employed). As compared to TGWTDT, The Cuckoo’s Calling is a novice in terms of compelling story-telling and conflict-building, granted that Rowling’s first crime novel is still welcomed despite its flaws. What the book lacks, despite Rowling’s eloquent literary establishment of London and admirable narrative of Strike’s inner workings and observations, is the element of intrigue which glues the reader’s curiosity. TCC is better written than TCV but Strike’s account on Landry’s relations easily slips away and does not registering to the reader who is supposed to bear the same level of attentiveness as required by the genre. The book is a slow-burner but that should not impede its ability to engage its readers; letting them speculate the who’s and why’s of the crime. Strike’s final confrontation at the denouement felt like a spoon-feeding of truths and lies, to my irk. I am not sure if the same tactic is actually the norm of the genre but TGWTDT did not make me feel that way, and surely will my unread copy of Sherlock Holmes’ tales.

(SPOILER!) As for the story itself, I am less than satisfied who the killer was, who turned out to be Bristow. As Strike figured out, Bristow and his sister were in a heated argument after he tried to coerce Landry on giving him money after he swindled one of the top partners of their family’s law firm. Before that evening, Landry visited her adoptive mother who recalled the death of her eldest son, which Tony Landry, Lula’s uncle, had insisted was John’s doing. Lula repeatedly called her uncle and her boyfriend (thus one-half of the title), the former to know the truth and the latter to seek consolation. Not giving away the rest of the story, Bristow indeed has the “motive, means and opportunity” but why hire Strike in the first place? If Bristow is really in dire need of money, where did he even get the pocket for Strike’s generous compensation? Hiring the childhood friend of the brother he killed who might even found out his first murder further glares the question ‘WHY’? The Cuckoo’s Calling is selling Bristow as a bat-shit crazy brother and lawyer (he is the real cuckoo after all) who is overtly confident in wiping off his murderous fingerprints, but I am not buying that assertion. In creating a villain of a lesser evil than Voldemort, Rowling tumbles in completely exploring and reasoning the anatomy of her main antagonist. Rather than sweeping the readers below the rug, Bristow’s reveal as a villain was a letdown of promising detective stories from Rowling.

Overall, The Cuckoo’s Calling is a decent detective novel, albeit a quagmire on its villain. Here I am again, granting another reprieve since this is Rowling’s first crime fiction and also hoping that The Silkworm will be an improvement. What I look forward to in the sequel is the rapport between the private detective and his (permanent) secretary. While Strike’s past is gradually peeled off like a banana until his vulnerable core is exposed, Robin is the lighthouse of her boss’ well-being. She saves Strike’s skin during their investigative visits and still carries herself gracefully on tricky and awkward situations. Good-looking and prim, Robin is a street-smart professional whose ingenious improvisations significantly helped solving the Landry case. While deemed too attractive to work for Strike, Robin chose her current profession (than a human resources position) because (like everyone else) her childhood dream is to become a detective and it is an opportunity she cannot simply pass. Her fact-finding skills surprises Strike but most of all, she is a compassionate character who becomes the nutcracker of Strike’s thick shell. Like the glass door that separates the receiving area from Strike’s office, Robin keeps her professional distance on Strike’s personal affairs but she quietly observes her boss’ personal strains and in Strike’s breakdown, Robin looked out for him despite the disliking of her fiance. With a renewed contract and stronger working relationship, I’m excited on the Strike and Robin dynamic for The Silkworm. I hope Rowling will explore their teamwork and how their personal lives would tangle with their new case; and a possible romantic angle between them is last on the list. Clearly there is no sexual tension between Strike and Robin (even the thought of it baffles them) and they were mentally vocal in not crossing that line. I just want them to solve cases together and be the genre’s new dynamic duo to watch.

 

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 This may not be my fondest review on Rowling’s new works but still, she remains as my all-time favorite author. Thank you for reading! Feel free to comment! :D

About a flower boy

Sitting on a bench while waiting for the 10:00 am mass to end, I saw the frequent flower boy; the plastic-wrapped bundles of daffodils he was sheepishly cradling were the only sight of vibrancy on his grubby get-up. He must have been a boy of eight, oil-skinned and skinny, clad on a graying white shirt and red shorts painted with soot. He pallidly stood, his back against the postern, and waited for potential and empathetic buyers. But despite the direly pleading filth for a much-needed bath, his eyes were starkly clear and brimming of stoic luminosity. Hoping to better grasp the dull radiance of his windows, I stared at him but he did not meet my gaze. Instead, he was watching a family of four beside me.

The mother piously stood behind her children. Her eldest was sidled by his two younger brothers, relentlessly tugging for them to be hoisted in midair. It was a good kind of distracting to see how playful and close they were to each other. I looked back at the flower boy and he just gawked at them. I can tell he was not simply ogling on their immaculate garments and squeaking rubber shoes.  I pondered on what he might be thinking at that moment and as the words condensed from my mind, they threaten to precipitate from my eyes.

He would have wondered on having a brother; to have someone enthusiastically lift him up and ready his arms for the assured nest to fall. He would have marveled at the tingling echoes of their laughter as they play along, definitely deafening his whizzing stomach. He would have reminded himself on how comfort feels like, as this unfair penury had left him numb. He would have wished for a mother; not exactly knowing if he came into existence through one. He would have fantasized on how it was like to have a family or he will continue dreaming of it as he lulled to sleep on cold pavements…

 

I snapped out of my thoughts and recoiled to myself, “How could I complain?”