Netflix 'The Trunk' Review

 I finally finished Trunk after five days of trying to watch it. Lol, no, it's not long. Trunk is only eight episodes; I was just taking a long time to watch it.

In it's core, Trunk is a romance drama set in a murder mystery backdrop.

The beginning was a bit slow and it seems like the show itself was taking its time finding its bearing. It's started picking up about 3,4 episodes in and that's slow for a show that only has 8 episodes. 

Typically I don't watch trailers and only read short summaries on Imdb. I would skim through the reviews if I felt unsure. For shows, unless it's playing on tv, half the time I'd start watching something if I found it intriguing based on comments or recommendations online. So generally, I don't depend too much on the promotional materials acting as a guide, telling us what to look forward to and how to view it. I wait for the shows to unfold on it's own.

The first episode felt ambiguous. It feels like eavesdropping on a conversation. The characters already know what's going on but it missed inviting the audience to come in. It missed telling the audience what we're supposed to do here. What are we supposed to expect? What questions should we be asking? It leaves the viewer grasping for context. In leaving these tasks to the audience, it takes a lot more to get invested in the story, potentially alienating casual viewers.

This distant, standoffish feel permeates the series, from the settings, to the acting, to the dialogue, seemingly echoing the mental state of the main characters. At times, it does feel like a choice of style over connecting with the viewers. Too cold, too guarded. 

Push halfway through the series and you can finally see things pick up as the pieces start falling into place. I'd describe the romance to be little bit messy, a little petty, which is its charm. At first it did seem like there was uncertainty at how they wanted the romance to play out. I was initially annoyed at how it was starting to shape up like a destiny type of love story but they managed to make it to be significantly less cliche.

Overall, while the style dominates and the story feels a bit thin, I like it. While I would have wanted to have either the story or characters fleshed out more, it's a different approach to portraying the same old story about love. 

 This year was hard. 

 I was happy to see someone else happy, changing, becoming better. I think I was just fearful about what it meant.

I'm looking forward to becoming better too. 

 I'm so weak. I was looking forward to this new show and I read one of the main characters described as "unhealthy and has nightmares" and I amusingly thought that sounds like me. Totally relatable! But the more I saw the promotional materials, the more I saw this character being described. I started feeling uncomfortable. It feels too familiar. I can feel myself panicking.

When I first became depressed years ago it was such a terrible experience for me that for the years afterwards I became conscious of being too overwhelmed. I was so afraid it would happen again. 

And I thought I put that behind me, that I'm in a way better place now, but it seems that I've always been overestimating how well I'm doing. Looking back now, I can see the number of times I faltered. I always knew I was just surviving but even when I thought I was doing more to get to a better place, it seems like mentally I was more focused on self-protection.

I was too easy on myself.

This is where I am right now and this is how I'm going to move forward. These recent weeks have made me feel uncomfortable and that's what I should continue doing- face the uncomfortable.

I'm grateful for the time given to me- one hour, two hours, sometimes three- but I should do more for myself. Last time, I thought this is how it stops. One steps away and forgets. I step away and I forget. And I was fearful for what could be lost. But it is what it is.

I can't always look towards someone else to be a beacon. I can't always be reminded of my friend as the only reason to stay. Damn, I wouldn't have survived this long in life if I didn't have these within me in the first place. 

Someday, maybe, you will be blessed with someone who will be happy because of you.

To be happy because of you, even when you're not there. When I read about other people describing describing their ideal relationship, I realized I didn't have one. I never thought of it. And I pondered what that could look like for me.

And I thought, maybe if someone was happy because of you when you're not there, you'd never be forgotten. Because it was easy to have fun with someone because they're right next to you, available to you. And it's easy to think that it could be worth more than it actually is. And it's easy to make the mistake that you're happy. Until they're out of your sight.

And I thought maybe happiness was enduring, persistent; boiling over and spilling out- the little smile you have that you didn't know you were making, that little hum that echoes the songs in your steps.

Someday you'll be the world to someone. Maybe.

And then seeing someone looking so happy...
I felt terrible. Then I felt bad for feeling terrible. Because isn't that the point? To see them happy?

And I wondered if I was forgotten...

And I wondered if I'm like this because I was scared that it was all coming to a close. I knew that would happen all along. That that was the inevitable outcome. In a way, I prepared myself for it.

I see the chatter, the conflicting rumors, and I wondered if any of it was true. If I see people talking about it then there must be more people talking elsewhere that I'm not aware of. But why wouldn't they? It was so obvious that something was different..

I know nothing 100%, so I'll go on as usual. Hold on as usual. Prepare myself until the inevitable comes. 

What am I doing?

I am not so selfless to just stand here and watch and feel the little cracks run through my heart. 

A little snap. A little break.

It echoes... disturbing the calmness I've held in my mind. 

I had a rabbit toy

I had a rabbit squeaky toy.

I suddenly remembered the last time I saw it- I was about to put it in a box to give away when I thought, "Why do I have this?"

You see, it wasn't supposed to be mine.

I was very young. The neighbor's kid was having a birthday party.

My parents sat me down, showed me the toy rabbit and told me they were going to give it to the neighbor's kid. They were doing this to be nice to them because they were my grandparents' tenants. They were showing the toy to me so I would know, so I wouldn't get jealous if I saw them give it to the neighbor's kid.

You know what I did? I hit that rabbit and it fell on the floor.

But I wasn't jealous.

I just couldn't articulate what I was feeling. Even as I child I was being told we couldn't afford things. And I was okay with that. I kept quiet and tried not to bug my parents to buy me things. But now, suddenly, they could make that effort for the neighbor's kid. Not their own kid. "Ridiculous" and "unfair" weren't in my vocabulary yet so I did the closest thing that I could to voice out how I felt. I swatted that rabbit out of their hands. 

I guess to them that meant I was just a jealous kid. Envious of a toy. And that was the start of a seemingly lifelong inability to masterfully articulate how I feel, what I think, and the disappointment that I often felt because of it. Misunderstood, misconstrued, unheard.

I didn't like the toy. I didn't even want the toy. I don't even remember them eventually giving the rabbit toy to me. I didn't ask for it. I didn't question it. It was just there. 

Begin Again

 Stops and starts.

This is the first time since 2018 that I've felt comfortable as her birthday passed. I'm not too sure why, but I felt more at peace.

And with that I feel more convinced to move forward. I realized I never imagined myself at 70, 80. Probably because I didn't think it could be a possibility. I'm not talking about probability here- I mean, if you weren't sick or anything how do you envision your ideal life at 70 or 80? I didn't think I'd reach my age now! It was all dark in my head.

I got a thousand dead-end starts in my life. But I want to start envisioning a lived life at 70, 80. I want to live. I want to have more stories. Add more textures in my life. I hope they're good. If not, I hope I can get back up and start again.

Shall we begin again?

Romanticize Life

I used to think that my life was so exceedingly uneventful and boring. I wanted to experience living and, at the same time, hated being alive.

I was reading a thread sometime before Valentine's about somebody who yearned to feel what it's like to receive flowers at least once. I only received flowers a couple of times in my life. The first time was something I considered a bad memory so I never really thought of looking at it like it was a good life experience. I was forced into a blind date and that's when I got the flower- a long-stemmed rose with a plastic container at the end. It wasn't that common at the time so my friends thought it was a big deal. I must have looked ungrateful but I was upset. I found out about the date literally 30 minutes before it happened. I didn't want to go but I was told I was being difficult for refusing. I went. That was my first ever date and I hated it. I think I made that rose wilt through my death stare.

I thought about the time I saw a clip of the drama Pachinko, where the male lead brushed the hands of a woman with his fingers as he walked by, and I suddenly thought, 'That happened to me!' I thought it was funny, that something seemingly romantic on screen, was anything but romantic to me in real life. At the time, the guy who did that hardly even talked to me. Talk to me!  I was depressed at the time, so it only made me feel annoyed. Even perverts try to touch girls so what makes this special? Talk to me instead! Definitely didn't give me butterflies.

But the point was, I had been completely overlooking the moments in my life.

Reading women talk about wanting to experience getting flowers at least once is kinda heart-breaking. Would it have been better not receiving it at all? I know that for the most part I would have said 'Yes, I'd rather not have received it at all' but now I'm not so sure. Looking back at least I had a story, an experience that added a little texture to my life no matter how pissed off or disappointed I was.

I wanted to feel alive but I stubbornly shunned the experiences that would make that happen. The good, the bad, I look at both with mirth now but I severely underestimated how valuable the 'bad' experiences are. In the moment, our feelings of pain, anger or sadness overpower us and there's a desire for something better. To have something that's perfect. I should learn to how to better take things in stride. To romanticize life. Imperfect keeps life interesting.