An Ode to Interstellar

Simply said, Christopher Nolan had taken us all hostage. There is no other description for creating such an incredible 3-hour film and then shooting us all point-blank with his genius at the end of it. Our brains are all over the wall.

I remember walking out of the cinema quietly, not entirely sure what we just witnessed. The usual mindless post-movie chatter was silenced because what on Earth could we discuss about after watching Interstellar? Spoilers ahead because if I don’t include them in, nothing in this post will make any sense.

I enjoyed Interstellar so much that I get personally offended when someone else doesn’t. Yes, I am one of those people. In the beginning, I didn’t have high expectations, even with the Nolan label. He did put his name on Man of Steel and that was basically trash in CGI. It was so painful to watch, I wished a falling skyscraper would crush me instead.

However, one thing made me chance on possibly watching another version of Man of Steel: Matthew McConaughey. Earlier, when my friend and I saw the trailer to Interstellar for the first time, we both gasped, “RUSTY”. No way I could ever skip another Rusty performance. The True Detective folks won’t give us the goods, so now we’re just chasing Matthew wherever he goes. So to the cinema, I went.

I’m an environmentalist and I say this with the least bit of confidence. I care about the environment, I keep up-to-date on natural disasters, I donate to causes but at the same time, I own a car, I don’t recycle and I love tech as much as it guilts me. In other words, I’m like everybody else who’s familiar with climate change but not sure how to stop it. The Earth depicted in Interstellar is my worst nightmare realised. Set in the near-future of ours, or at least what could happen to us, Earth was in its dying throes and threatening to bury everyone along in its grave. Instead of scientists to amend the situation, they had farmers. Just pure survival mode. And they kept that mode alive by saying that is how they must live as they try to redeem themselves from their reckless and hedonistic past that caused the environmental crisis (read: our current generation). Taken out of context, I can see that happening already. Maybe it’s cynicism or deeply-rooted fears over a future that’s rapidly changing beyond our control, people simply fear thinking out of the box. We want to survive, not to live.

This is what I love most about Interstellar. I mentioned on Twitter that naysayers try to rationalise the science, nitpick on scenes or try to pin down plotlines. Screw that. What I like about it is that it makes me think of more. The possibility of space, sure, but also the many nuances of humankind. That we haven’t just seen it all. That we’re not just farmers waiting for the next crop.

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Dear you

I wouldn’t call this a crush.

I call this the slow burn of affection. That familiar lilt of my heart when I recognise your name, even more so when it’s you talking to me. The way we fall into our similar patterns like the soft bumps of quilted sheets. The way I pull you in, forming an intimacy among the prying eyes. Excuse me for this streak of exhibitionism, you’ve pulled down my resistance.

I wouldn’t call this a crush.

A crush – enveloping, invigorating, suffocating as it pushes me from edge to edge. But you are not like this. You are inviting, a constant softness to my sharp ridges. The way you close over them, convinced me that I have not always been like this. Like a slather of cool balm on my parched skin. I wouldn’t call this a crush, no.

Uncertainty is the maddening fuel of crushes. But we are as certain as the hours that passed between us. As certain as the punctuation in our sentences as we bid goodbye. Goodbye. No, I wouldn’t call this a crush.

A crush has hope at least. And here we have none but our good graces and slow paces.

Together, we float on, gently but also aimlessly.