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“There exists clashing pangs that reverberate between my bullet and chamber. Sitting at the table outside of the café, I could feel my leg fall asleep and escape from the dead-set conflict. How, despite being a part of the same vessel, can there be such… Yearnings, consisting of such empty paths aligned by the flowers of bold promises and blurred people who had spoken as conquistadors of introspection. By all means, this path does not even exist, I am not sure if it is even a path. It is as confusing and as ugly as a modern art masterpiece. The circle of conception and interest has certainly enclosed to the point that we now see rings on the canvas, floating in a foreign space that undoubtedly occupies us.”
Such confusion. The day had been so dashing, yet now, our main character began to be picked apart by himself. Perhaps a change of scene is in order.
Walking down Rue d’Assas, he passed by the lycée at which he had been studying that summer. Turning to the left and crossing the road, past Rue Guynemer, he walked past the gates to Jardin du Luxembourg. At the moment, gently protected by the lush deep green trees of the garden from the coarse sun, he slowly but surely made his way along the gravel towards the fountain the rested within the heart.
As the aligned trees led to an opening, once again the entity strongest dans l’été scorched and tore away at his skin, as if desperately trying to reach the innards. Exposing, especially at the top of his crown, the mind that would sizzle upon exposure to the real world. Yet, there the fountain was.
He rushed towards it, seeing that a gentlemen had just gotten off one of the reclining chairs. Claiming the seat for his own, he quickly made himself comfortable and directed his covered eyes towards the fountain. But, he wanted to see the fountain without the awful tint; he took his sunglasses off.
The surface of the water was covered by wooden toy boats, each hoisting their own colors. Overlooking the fountain was the Palais du Luxembourg, a foreboding building, each individual brick a romantic sentiment, all adding to the luxury of culture. The mind was an excellent thing for creating such a beautiful building. But to give the mind all the credit is unfair.
As it stood, daunting and proud, in its sight, the jewel that accompanies its presence, the fountain, remained littered with boats till the very sky began to darken as the sun began to fall asleep.
The children, in all their ignorance and happiness, were controlling their little vessels, making them dance upon the spirit of the Jardin.

Since when did time traveling become a cliché? After reading and watching so many stories about boys and girls trespassing across time and space to save the world from being destroyed or to simply cause more troubles to people around them, I gave out a snuff when I saw the title of the film: About Time. “Here comes another guy with this magical power to mess with what happened in the past.” Nevertheless, I clicked on the play button without a high expectation simply I got so bored and tired of this eight-hour flight.

The film begins with the monologue of our “extraordinarily ordinary” protagonist, Tim, a college student who is too shy and clumsy to attract the attention of the girl he secretly loves. When Tim was told that he, as all the male members of the family do, could travel in time, predictably, just like most movies about men with previously unknown superpower, we see the serious face of the father and ridicule and disbelief in the son’s eyes.

The film flows relatively slowly as Tim tries out his newly gained ability. He travels back and forth to fix every embarrassing and awkward mistake he makes to leave the best impression before the girl of his dream. Unfortunately, obviously the ability of time traveling cannot help him win the heart of the girl he loves: Tim gets rejected and heartbroken no matter at what point he expresses his feelings to her.

Aiming to be a lawyer, Tim moves to London, where he meets Mary, his love at first sight after a pleasant conversation in Dans le Noir. After a sequence of first encounters when Tim travels back to make sure every detail is perfect, the two finally fall in love. The montage of scenes in the tube station where the two kiss goodbye and depart for work is just so sweet and cute that melted my heart. The stormy, if not catastrophic, wedding scene was one of the most hilarious parts of the film.

Tim realizes the limit of his power after his daughter is born, that traveling to a time before his child is born would affect the child to be born. Knowing this limit, Tim becomes more cautious when using his power. About the same time, Tim’s father is diagnosed with cancer and not long after passes away. Tim keeps traveling back into the past to see and play ping-pong with his dad, until Mary decides to have another child. The decision to have a new baby forces Tim to say farewell to his beloved dad, after which he becomes more mature. At the end of the film, Tim realizes that the secret of happiness is simply to enjoy every ordinary day as if it is the last day of his life.

Such a relaxing and pleasant comedy about love and happiness. I was totally blown away when the ending song began, knowing that this would be one of the films that I would recommend all my friends to watch. You say there is a flowed logic how Tim’s sister is not supposed to be able to travel back because only male members in the family have this ability? Come on, who cares!

My name is–
I am–
But who?

I am street lamps and starlight
Twining silver round your finger
Threading lunar white tresses
Blackening moth wings
In the eye of dawn
Blackening moth wings
Threading lunar white tresses
Twining silver round your finger
I am street lamps and starlight

But who?
I am–
My name is–

Padre Noche

Although the Moroccans are not as interested in food art as say, a group of New York urbanites, they have their own methods and artistry in cuisine that is both delectable and architectural.

The typical Moroccan food fare is laden with vegetables, couscous and usually some form of meat (either chicken, goat, or camel if you are daring enough). A quintessential form of cooking these ingredients lies in the volcan0-looking ceramic dish known as the tagine.

 

You’ll find the pottery of the tagine in almost every market stall you come across, whether it is in its large cookable form, or in a pair of mini tagine salt and pepper holders.

I was lucky to take a tour that included a ‘Make Your Own Tagine Day’. We were divided up into different groups by our main dish. There was a chicken tagine group, goat tagine, beef tagine, and then a vegetarian tagine group that I was a part of.

Tagine can involve any meat and vegetable combination. But chicken is one of the most common. Tagine is much like the pot roast of Morocco. It is a dish that requires a bit of seasoning and chopping beforehand, but then once it starts to cook, all that it requires is a bit of patience. Fortunately for us, there was a very picturesque valley far away from our delicious tagines that provided a two-hour walk and lots of pretty photos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the time we returned and our tagines had been cooking on the stove for 1.5 hours, the vegetables were well-seasoned with cumin, cinnamon, salt, pepper and tumeric.

 

YUM! Bright and beautiful vegetables, cooked in olive oil (locally sourced!) and delicious spices!

Have you ever had the night
silver fishes lining veins
cool and scales flashing against
blood vessels bursting dreams
slip through veins arteries and
stories tumble rainwater wells down
the inside of tearducts not reaching
faces but voices throat swelling lungs
filling not drowning out except in
gills and dreams and clear cloud desires,

have you ever had the night