Lars and the Real Girl

i read the screenplay for this movie in the Intro. to Screenwriting class i took about two semesters ago. i couldn't believe that it was the same movie as the one i'd seen in the trailers, as all of them advertised the movie as a complete comedy.

granted, as i read the script i did enjoy the funny moments (like the whole throwing the flower aside so as not to give Margo false hope thing), however, for the most part, i found myself more moved than tickled. even as i just read the script i knew that there was something more to the story than boy gets fake girl, boy loses fake girl, boy gets real girl and they live happily ever after.

at its core the story is actually about a guy who, having lost the one person who was supposed to be the source of unconditional love and human connection in his life, and blaming himself for that loss, pushes anyone who has the potential to be close away so as to avoid further complications following yet another devastating disconnection.

the event that triggers his sudden desperation for complete transformation to hermit is the pregnancy of his sister-in-law, whom he actually adores. as his own mother died during childbirth, the cause for his insecurity - which ultimately manifests itself in the form of a lifeless, life-size "female" doll that fits his exact specifications (like not being able to get pregnant/give birth or feel pain) - is the fact that he's so afraid of the same horrible thing happening to his brother's family.

before i managed to see it, the friends of mine who already had advised me that it was "just really, really awkward." after watching it, i knew that they were right in most respects - there's no avoiding the fact that certain scenes (like Lars's dancing at the party) were a little cringe-worthy, but, for the most part, i couldn't help but relate to Lars just about the entire time.

i'm not going to be melodramatic and suggest that i had it any worse than he did: i've never had to suffer the real loss of a parent or sibling. but i will say that, in a way, that might have something to do with the fact that i couldn't lose something that i never really felt i had in the first place.

but here is where it gets strange for me: that, though i did see a lot of myself in Lars, the other person i saw in him was my own mother.

she never had it easy. our grandfather, a traditional Korean man who warned her that the only way he'd pay for her college education was if she studied to be either a nurse or a teacher - rather than an artist as she wanted - and who wasn't afraid to use old Korean disciplinary methods, was never the kind of father our mom really needed or wanted.

so, instead of losing a mother, like Lars, she lost her dreams - a loss that is arguably as traumatizing as the former.

when she married my dad, he was supposed to be her way out of that life. and he did get her out of Korea and bring her to the US, but, much to her dismay, she still found herself wanting.

she was far away from home. she had to learn how to effectively communicate with people in English. she had to fulfill her wifely duties of maintaining the house and raising a family under a tight budget and with a more or less absent husband.

and she had to do all of that while dealing with my dad's infidelity.

i've never been one to buy into a cheater's excuses. a affair is, ultimately, one of the most inconsiderate, hurtful, selfish things one person can do to another. i've often wondered how and why our mom was able to stick with our dad for so long after finding out about those incidents, but then i remember her entrapment.

Lars both doesn't know how to and can't be with a real woman (or people in general) because he's afraid he might hurt her somehow; our mom couldn't break away from our dad and be on her own because she didn't know how to communicate and survive on her own, and because the first person who really showed her any sign of love betrayed her.

as my sisters and i grew up, our mom did her best, in her own way (that is, the only way she knew), to instill in us the feeling that someday we would do whatever we wanted and not be confined to the social laws that trapped women (like herself).

i'm not defending her actions, because i don't think anything really can excuse a lot of the things she did to my sisters and myself. my sisters and i have often talked about how we all wish none of us ends up like her. we've even gone so far as to say that, though we'd like to have kids, we wonder if it would be in the kids' best interests. like Lars, like our mother, we're afraid of ourselves and what kind of pain our limited knowledge of appropriate behavior might bring to the people we care about.

none of us had a decent model for human interaction.

so, again, this isn't a defense for our mom, but, having seen the movie and seeing Lars in both my mother and myself, i can't help but think that i have a better understanding of where we're both coming from. oftentimes, our actions rely solely on that with which we're familiar - nobody really consciously tries to be bad, but we tend to behave in the best way we know.

our own mother, brought up with abuse and disappointed hopes, continued those cycles when she had her own kids - cycles which worsened under the even more disappointing circumstances.

in turn, my sisters and i were given a special vantage points - those of being born a generation later and thus being better able to identify and [somewhat] cope with the situation, and having sisters who felt the same way. unlike our mom, we had something of an escape to look forward to.

so, when we were growing up, our mom continued the cycle of abuse - which is why i never felt much of a connection with her when i was younger. i didn't want to. the one person who was supposed to be the source of affection and confidence provided neither of those things, so i always had trouble relating to her or seeing her as my mother. so, even though my sisters and i were brought up with slightly better circumstances, this didn't mean that we didn't have to suffer for it first.

i developed a multitude of "problems;" among them OCD, anxiety, and depression. but, most importantly of all, i closed myself in.

when you're in elementary school and all of those puppet shows visit, preaching morals and good behavior, you're told from the onset that, unless consciously avoided and "defeated," abuse goes on in cycles, as the abused often turn the tables when their time comes around. in response, i made the conscious effort to avoid hurting other people as my mother had hurt my sisters and me.

i did manage to make friends in school and everything, but, for the most part, i also managed to hide under the guise of someone who was comfortable with herself and others and could make people laugh, usually by way of impersonating the root of my insecurities.

but even if i did manage to make people laugh, or make friends, i never really let people too close. i may have given my friends the illusion that we were close, or that i was completely open with them, but, for the most part, i always made the conscious decision to hide the bits and pieces of myself that i felt might potentially do some damage.

in a way, i guess, my mom stories became what the safety blanket (that is, a piece of the one person with whom he wished he'd had a connection) in the movie is to Lars: something that was always there when i needed to somehow relate to other people, and acted as a crutch when i felt inadequate.

Lars doesn't wallow in self-pity. throughout the film i got the feeling that, in some way, even though he wasn't able to verbalize it, Lars was at least somewhat aware of the reason behind is social awkwardness - but he was never willing to talk to someone about it or use it as an excuse. he just was, and he tried to hide it by way of adopting a "fake person." i was never my true self with other people.

but, eventually, like Lars, when i was finally able to accept my "condition," although i still do suffer plenty of social awkwardness with people i meet, i've finally opened up to the people who've already been part of my life (including both of my parents) - and i'm learning how to open up to the new ones.

Lars and Margo, in a way, are symbols of hope for me, so, even though i'll admit the film had its share of awkward situations, i couldn't help but see myself in him. granted, i know it won't be an overnight change (that is, my capacity for interacting extravertedly with new people), and i definitely have a ways to go before i can completely make it through a conversation without making an ass of myself. but i also know that there is a chance of recovery and hope for close human interaction. my fear of my being with someone and potentially unconsciously hurting them is dissipating and i can always look ahead and on the bright side.


"Day Too Soon" - Sia



"Big Mistake" - Tim Fite

hello, goodbye anxiety

hello. hey. heyyy. yo. bonjour?

there're lots of ways to say "hi" to someone; lots of ways to greet a familiar face or make a good first impression.

in a lot of ways, there's a lot riding on that initial "hi"; it can serve as the basis of a new relationship or spark some kind of tension; it can comfort someone in his/her time of need or imply just the right level of authority; it can be the first of many memories to come.

whenever i approach someone for the first time (rather, whenever i'm approached by someone for the first time), i can't help but think about all the weight tied to my "hi." when i sense a necessary greeting getting closer (that is, when i see someone slowly making their way towards me), all i can do is try to will myself to avoid or hide my inherent awkwardness with the hopes of maybe convincing this new person that i'm anything but awkward.

or nerdy.

or weird.

or wildly uncomfortable.

so i pre-game (or try to), and try to envision the perfect "hello" with which i plan to blow this person's mind.

oh man, i tell myself, they're gonna think i'm so cool.

because, at least, according to my subconscious (which, of course, is the subconscious of someone who enjoys making obscure Harry Potter references and watching things like Ken Burns' The Civil War in her free time), silent pep talks merit "cool" status.

but then i notice that the person i'm determined to impress with my awesome is, in fact, getting closer - a fact that's, unfortunately, directly proportional to my growing anxiety and forgetfulness.

the icy hott "hello" that i'd so carefully choreographed - the one with the smooooth handshake, the even smoooother "hey," and the nonchalant grin - goes out the window and i find myself desperately scrambling around for the scraps of what was to be the new, cool Vickie.

and, while i was blanking out and trying to remember everything i'd practiced, there they are and, in the words of Christina Aguilera, suddenly it's hard to breathe.

now and then i get insecure...

from all the pain...

i'm so ashamed...

...and i can't remember the rest, and i realize that i only just managed to prevent myself from singing the few lines of "Beautiful" i know aloud instead of returning the greeting the person (who's now standing right in front of me) just extended.

and my super-cool "hello" becomes something more of a high-pitched squawk followed by an awkward handshake or spastic wave and, for the majority of the rest of the conversation, i'm forced to subconsciously relive and overanalyze the horror that was my typical, nerdy "hello" and wonder if the other person cottoned on to said nerdiness.

worse still is the fact that, once i finally manage to come to terms with the proverbial spilled milk, i have to start thinking about the impending "good-bye."

if hellos are important because they're the first impression you make on someone else, good-byes are important because they're the last, most recent memory or mark the other person will have of you when you part ways.

so i go through the whole anxious planning cycle all over again, with much of the same results, and i wonder if i'll ever succeed in out-growing my awkwardness.

that being said, there're definitely times when i completely abhor my social-ineptness, but there're also moments when i convince myself that there're even worse things to worry about.

recently, someone i was close to for a number of years (starting in 6th grade and lasting through 10th) died in a car accident.

i'm not one who's openly afraid of death and all that it implies: i'm well aware of the fact that it's a natural cycle, blah blah blah, and that "the other side" isn't something to fear or oppose.

what i have trouble coping with is the idea that, well, one moment someone you've known, cared about, talked to, laughed with - someone who's existed and grown and had personality and thoughts and feelings - could suddenly just (physically, at least) cease to exist. they're gone, forever.

and you never even got to say, "good-bye."

and you wish you had, regardless of how nerdy or awkward it may have been.

looking back, i can't even remember what our final good-bye was like.

when she transferred to a different high school, and i moved to Mexico, things just sort of drifted into a sad, detached, "see you when i see you" kind of relationship and, apart from the occasional "hey" on myspace or facebook, our friendship basically disintegrated.

after i found out that she had died, i immediately regretted not keeping in touch with her as much as i probably should've done. i wished that we'd said proper "good-byes" before we'd gone our separate ways.

but in the long run, i've come to think that maybe the good-bye we did manage to make was as it should've been.

there's something more romantic in thinking that our last "good-bye" was nothing special because neither of us suspected that it was to be, in fact, our very last "good-bye" - that we expected there to be many more "hellos" and "good-byes" to follow, so there was no need to make a big deal out of that particular one.

we were optimistically looking ahead.

i guess some people would consider that "taking a moment for granted" or "that every good-bye should be a special good-bye" because you never know which one'll be your last.

but i don't like thinking about finalities, or in terms of finalities.

finalities are so pessimistic - looking towards the end of something instead of the next-time.

i can't live that way.

my hellos and good-byes're plenty loaded and troublesome, thanks, without considering something as morbid and heartbreaking as death.

i miss her, and i wish we'd had more time together, but i don't regret the way we said "good-bye." she was a wonderful and beautiful person, and i'm grateful for the time we did manage to have together, and there was nothing wrong with assuming that we'd see each other again.

so i'm going to try to worry less about my hellos and good-byes from now on.

granted, i know my awkwardness and social skills need some help, but i'm working on it.

it's way more meaningful, i think, to always hope for a next time.

Some music:

1. "Beautiful," Christina Aguilera

just because i alluded to it. i may or may not love this song a little too much.

2. "Come Here," Kath Bloom

this video is really, really, really cheesy, but it's also the only one on youtube that has the entire song. this is one of the most romantic songs i've ever heard, and in the movie Before Sunrise it's in one of the most romantic scenes i've ever secretly enjoyed. and it kind of hits close to home. about the whole "timid" thing, i mean.

3. "Slow Show," The National

speaking of being timid and anxious...

re-inauguration and R-E-S-P-E-C-T (of the "self" variety)

Man. 

Reading old blog posts is like finding unpleasantly cheesy, trite, and painful childhood diary entries. 

Seriously.  

Save for a few of the more personal entries (and even those can trigger slightly cringeworthy effects), I gotta say: I have been one sap-tastic blogger.  

Moreover, I've been horribly unreliable and unoriginal.  

What I've decided is that I'm way too easily distracted and scatter-brained (*using this word makes me feel like a 70+-year-old*) to come up with and stick to a set blog theme.  Also, trying so hard to sound clever and witty and deep has never been my strong-suit.  I think I'd fare better by writing in my own "voice" - or, at least, figuring out exactly what my voice sounds like.

So here's the deal:  I'm making it one of my New Year Resolutions (apart from the resolution to make and stay true to Resolutions) to post at least one blog thing a week.  Another blog-related resolution is that I'm going to be myself.  

My wifey Jose (who's actually a guy and therefore not really a sexual object in my life and therefore not actually my wifey (God has a weird sense of humor and decided to put my soul-mate in a gay man's body)) and I made a pact at the onset of Winter Break:  to do everything possible to build up the confidence in ourselves to be ourselves.  

For me, this includes getting healthy (and having a healthier body image), dressing in clothing that I feel suit my style (pun!), and, most importantly, speaking for myself.  Basically, it's all about self-respect.  But no worries: I promise I'm not going to turn back into sap-tastic Vickie. Granted, I'm probably going to keep on writing about some personal things, but I'm going to do it on and in my own terms.

So here goes.

...

Again.  

But for real this time.

Leaving on a good note (just some music I've been obsessing over for the past couple of weeks or so):

1. "Mona Lisa" - Nat "King" Cole

There's just something about his voice that makes me melt. That and this song is just so beautiful in so many ways. I'm not saying I'm a Mona Lisa, but who can listen to this song and not relate to it in some way?

2. "Postcards from Far Away" - Coldplay

I've always been in love with the piano. I'm both eminently jealous of and easily in love with anyone who can play it well - particularly with pieces like this one. It's short and sweet, but totally engrossing. When I'm at school, listening to it makes me homesick for the brown, fall leaves of VA. And when I'm home, it's just a nice way to sit back, relax, and take a moment to think.

3. "Can You Tell" - Ra Ra Riot

Ra Ra Riot's quickly becoming one of my favorite bands - mainly because I'm partial to bands that use stringed instruments apart from the guitar. Also, this song is so catchy and poppy and pretty much says everything that needs to be said about being way too awkward, shy, and inarticulate to tell that special someone exactly how you feel or show him/her exactly who you are - something I may or may not know a lot about. Okay. Maybe a lot.

Also, I like their moves.

4. "Saturday" - Chris Garneau

This man writes some of the most heartbreaking songs you'll ever hear. On the same token, he can also write some really romantic songs. This is one of those songs that can touch you on both levels.