The Paradise of My Life

Saturday morning. Fumbling out of linen sheets and sleep with the wading panic of last minute film school homework.

We were meant to break down a movie into a specific analysis, but earlier in the week I missed the beat that this was meant to be a film we thought was brilliant. So, with the ticking overcast morning comes a fumble through titles. Captain Fantastic is on Netflix, maybe that? Could do Little Miss Sunshine or Lost in Translation, but I’ve explored those in the last few weeks. Something that will ascend me into the day..

Lightning strikes. The Beach (Dir. Danny Boyle, 2000).

The first time, Film4 played it late at night when young girl in countryside Ireland stayed up late devouring whatever cinematic magic was on offer. The last time, it was projected onto a screen in island air of the Philippines — shrouded amongst the smell of vagabonds sprawled on beanbags. This time, it’s sweat pants and stop-pause-notebook. I pull it apart, then sit back with tears at my scrawled letters.

Richard is a traveller searching for pure thrill and adventure. For untainted paradise. In the end we know there is no such thing. We can only find our euphoria in moments.

No year is perfect. No holiday, adventure or day has been without spoil. I search forever for my paradises and illydic feelings. They pop up.

Sometimes sunset lays out hues. The rooftop holds my body laughing through the night. Someone says the right thing. A niece tirelessly exudes joy, de-weaponising trailing adults. A few pints on the street with neighbours. Pride in a parent’s eyes. That second of silence when you watch a friend and feel warmth. Taste. Sound. Electrifying music. A peaceful afternoon.

But taint rushes in. The body lets you down. The bus doesn’t show up. Stress reaches in for 8 hours and grips at your nerves. Aggravation bubbles. You never see someone again. Pain tears. Reality gushes. In the case of DiCaprio’s Richard, secrets and human downfall chip away at your golden beach.

And you realise there is no stretch of gold.

There’s a million pieces of sediment making up this wild exhilaration.