The Prestige

Among my favorite things about seeing films is that when I happen to witness a really good one, it feels as if I have done something so great and remarkable that it makes me want to shout out loud and out proud when all I actually did was to sit back and watch. I have this love-hate feeling for that feeling. (Redundancy intended.) I love the ecstasy, the overwhelming joy. I love seeing something so brilliant, so amazing that it seems enough to make me feel glad I am alive to see that moment. I love how it fills my heart with powerful emotions that drive me mad. The Mad Hatter mad. The mad that makes me be among whom Alice calls the best people. I love how this feeling is so beautiful that it kills me. The feeling is so splendid and so grand that my chest feels like it is going to explode. But it fuels up my soul too much that I find it hard to take control. And I hate it when all I want is to let the emotions flow yet all I could do is to stare blankly into space and keep the ravaging river of feelings locked up inside. At the end of the day, it is for this kind of feeling that I continue to live. And I will spend the rest of my life looking for the book, the music, the film that would make me feel like this again, like exactly how I feel now. Because it is during these moments that I feel infinite. By the way, I just saw The Prestige.

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