Today‘s post it is not going to have beautiful pictures or funny things. Today, I do not pretend to entertain if not to see if people can think a bit.
As I said past days ago on my Twitter feed, you can imagine the voice of Cate Blanchett narrating this story. I have imagined her reading it because I know her unique way to say the things will make this story sound more epic and, sometimes, it is what we, writers, need.
It is straightforward to point a finger to someone to tell her that she is crazy because she dreams with cast very talented actors to the “no sense” she writes. That she is only faking a bunch of things to try to get the job that she desires BUT as she is so crazy and obsessed she probably will never get a job in her whole life. To all of you who think this thing about me: “Thank you for to show me who you really are. It is a shame that none of you is brave enough to tell this thing to me looking directly into my eyes. Then, you will really know what I think about your poor life.”
To the ones who do not know anything about me. Let me reveal you something. Today it is my birthday. It is also my Happy New Year because I was not present in the official worldwide celebration between 1984 and 1985. My year starts today and for the curious who do not know how to count. This year I make 03 years old. Right now, I am probably celebrating by myself this day in any corner of the world far away to all the people that I know and, above all, far away to this insane virtual world. I think I have mentioned before how much I hate it, so I am not going to repeat myself with that.
Now, to all the ones who are like: “OMG! She is so pathetic. I am sure she expends the whole day crying because no one else wants to be at her side.” You have arrived at the same wrong conclusion which most of the world arrive. My problem it is not “no one else wants to be on my side”. My problem is: so many people want to be around me. So, I prefer to be with myself in peace and calm because most of the superficialities than the usual average of human beings have they take out of me my aggressive side. Trust me when I say that I need a lot to make me lose my patience or nerves but it tends to happen and I do not like myself when it happens. So I prefer to avoid the lambs. No offence, folks, but I will eat all of you alive.
Despite you can think, or believe, “lonely” does not mean sad or depressive to me. To me, it is great and it refills me back to can manage with more or less sanity the whole year. I could ask for the whole world which is my favourite colour, or my favourite dish, even the members of my family will give me an answer which it is not the correct but which they would take for granted that their answer would be the right one. They would even fight you if you go against them so why should I waste my special day with them? If I have a new jacket, trousers, nail polish… anything. They want it, even if they use two or four sizes more than me. They want it, and their dream is to lose weight to can fit. You can apply the same with the food, way of talk, way of walk, “style”… However, this is not only limited to my blood correlatives. Unfortunately, it happens with the “friends” that I have met in my path too. If I have been in a disco with them and a cutie has approached to me and not to them; they, suddenly, invented a new excuse or “movie” to move to another place. If they had bought something but after, you have bought something in the same shopping day they have kept the rest of the day with that “bitter” tone and this kind of words like b*, w*… I do not know why, folks, but it is this way.
I only have received two birthday cards in my whole life, and I do not know why I keep them. The first one it is not more significant than a postage stamp. Inside, it only has the picture of the friend who gave it to me. The second birthday card has something written, but it ends saying that “I own” travel to London to the person who has written the text. Happy Birthday to me…
However, like this was not enough, it seemed I needed the virtual world to top the cake. Almost five years ago, when I was trying all by my own to pitch my television series in Hollywood, a strange group of fans came into my path. The story is long, so I am going with the short version: “I do not know why but they confused my series with a ‘mysterious’ project of an acclaimed film director of the music videos of a relatively unknown alternative music band.” Like I am not scared to even call Michelle Obama or Hilary Clinton to talk with them about why we, women, need to be pushed up. I contacted him to try to resolve the ‘confusion’ and to try to see if he needed help with any job. Since then, I still receiving each day all kind of “hidden” messages declaring to me “love” or “hate”. It depends on the day, and it depends on what he, Me or Ellen Degeneres does. Honestly, I do not know why but this is how it works.
In all this time, I have received threats with to kill me, to steal the money of my bank, to rape me… And the most pathetic thing is not that they had used personal information shared in private e-mails to try to hurt me and to try to make me believe that I was crazy. The most pathetic fact it was when their jealousy made they try to emulate my personality pretending to be me. “WHY?” Are you probably thinking? Because for the crazy stalkers who fall in love of myths like this “film director” they do not have enough with a judicial order which forces them to stay away. To them, “their love” it is the ONLY which matters, and it means that or I am all for him or I should not be for anybody. I am fine with that, I have said it thousands of times: “All for you! I do not like sexy guys. I prefer a Stephen Hawking‘s with a taste for geek stuff.” However, it is not enough.
Imagine how absurd is the situation that, at the beginning: all that I have done, all my work, only could have been done (Written) by him. Because: “he is the most talent being in this universe and there is no one else on this planet who could be more intelligent than him.” That hurt me very deep my girl’s pride. After, somebody noticed that I was a woman, finally! I was not intelligent anymore. I was crazy, and every day they remembered me how loony I am, but they tried to imitate my style. I do not know who were they trying to fool, but when a person needs to copy other to try to like another one this only shows me up that this person does not deserve any second of my time.
So, yes. Since those times everybody wants a piece of me. Some people even think that I must be George Lucas or Steven Spielberg and they ask me for money to their filming projects almost every day. If not, a bunch of desperate actor/actresses come here too, waiting that I create to them the role that will make them FAMOUS (with majuscules) or, in another hand, there is the bunch of folks who are only thinking in to win Sundance, but I am going to reserve this one for something funnier.
After all this prologue. I have a question: “Is it me who is really faking it because I am trying to fight for my ideals and I am not afraid to address to anybody or to fail? Or is it you who want to believe something which is just air?”
Past days, I received a printing test of a thing that I pitched for a folk and which he probably is not going to use. Any, person, would tell me that I wasted my time creating it. Maybe you are right, but I needed to have the real print in my hands because it remembers me that: what I can visualise, it can become real. Probably, you will not understand it, but to me, from where I come, it is essential to can think that not everybody is a concept or theory. Dreams can be real, and these prints are the proof of it. To me, it is enough.
In another hand, I am going to confess you something about the prints. When my mother saw the package the first that she asked was how much had cost that stupidity. It is just a tiny envelope with ten print samples, and it is for free. The face of nausea that she uses in these cases it is something that I will never take out of my head. It seems that the only thing that the “normal” people can understand it is about money and to be rich. So, if any of you who are reading this thinks in to be an actor/ actress or filmmaker, it is a synonym of to become wealthy. Please, step out of this train quickly, because it travels very fast and you will crash into it if you do not know how to drive it.
I was complaining a few weeks ago because I could not find any movie or play in March and somebody told me: “Why? It is the release of Cinderella and Cate Blanchett is in it!” Sorry, Cate, I love you as I love Meryl, but I cannot see the story of Ella anymore even if it has a happy ending. I need the time to be with myself and to disconnect from the world. I hope you enjoy the story. You can read the first part of it here. Peace and Love.
After the war, everything fell into the oblivion. One by one, the seven rivers dried up. The trees, and the magnificent gardens which custody the Palace of the Emperor, died back. The glorious buildings, memories of the splendorous yesteryears, eclipsed, empty, eerie…
The era of peace had finished. The equilibrium had been broken. And now, the Sons of the Sun reigned over the whole Imperium. The old alliances, which were respected from the elderly times, had been burst. The land: burned. The people: bonded.
All the kingdoms succumbed one after other to the fury, fire and fear. The ones who resisted were killed, knocked or keeled. There was no hope for no one in those sad years.
The Sons of the Sun conceded only one thing to respect: the monks would keep praying for the souls of the dead. And, it was here, where it resided the last hope; where it lighted up the flame. Because those monks were the ones, who helped the injustice to fail.
Step by step, but after so many years of cruelty and slavery, the people recovered their rights. They fought back the oppressive tyranny, and they rescued all that they could find.
The silence was now the sovereign of the old temples, palaces and realms. Only a magnificent sakura tree had barely survived to all the suffer and chaos in those lands.
However, the monk who guarded the tree had suffered in his skin the deep wounds of evil. Now, old and tired, he was sitting for last time between those roots. Keeping in his arms the only thing he had could save from the ancient splendorous times. He made his last breath protecting the thing to which he had commended his life.
Time passed. The rivers recovered their plenty. The magnificent Imperial Gardens revived again, but nobody walked between the diversity of plants. Everything flourished in the quietness. Only wild animals lived now in those lands, and they were utterly respectful with the things which had been left behind.
It was not until the first explorers who decided to travel the world when the peace of the old kingdom was disturbed.
The first one to arrive was Sir Robert Keen, a bold British botanist, who travelled the world searching for new species. This was in the century where everybody had to discover something to find themselves.
He was fascinated for the richness of the plants in that valley. He could not understand how certain species had arrived at those lands. Until the point, he formulated a new evolution theory, and he decided that these species were original from that unique loam. It was the Bonaventura who spread the seeds of those vegetal species to other areas in his way of to see everything. Sir Keen renamed the old kingdom, and he said: “this fantastic place could not be other than the Garden of Eden”.
The rumour of the discovery of the divine land spread quickly as a lie. Soon, the whole world desired to travel to that remote realm.
Several explorers, from different countries, went then, to see by themselves the piece of heaven on Earth. They cut, gashed, slitten and picked. They changed the landscape at their will…
It was then when they found what it was left of one of the most splendorous kingdoms from the old peaceful times. Between the ruins of the majestic palace, the wild things had come inside: breaking, changing, caring the stuff from the past.
The ancient structure, rich in Asian motives much older than the Yuan times, was barely damaged: like if it was frozen in time. Only the vegetation and some cracks subtracted the beauty of the old abandoned palace. The silks, gold and pearls had been stolen by the barbarians in the past, but not all the things of value were inside the pile.
Outside it, few yards ago, McCallister was exploring the field. When, after he crossed the curtain that two weeping willow trees were forming, he found it. The river was flowing full as in the old times, and next to it it was growing the most beautiful sakura tree than any man could see with his mortal eyes.
McCallister, overwhelmed by the majestic tree, approached slowly to it. Then, between the bare roots and the trunk, he saw it. The old rests of a man holding the most alluring object that he had could see on earth: a carved jade vase.
The object was pretty big but delightfully carved in very rich motives. It was a bit higher than half a meter with a cover which perfectly sealed the inside. In the outside, the engravings told an old story about how a dragon fell in love with a flower, and he cried for her. Then, she transformed his tears in rocks and, with that, they were born the Dragon Tears.
The rest of this story it was written in old ancient Chinese. Language, which McCallister did not know how to read.
The urn was heavy, but he was strong. He took it away from the protection of the rests of the old monk.
The winds changed. A storm was coming fast from the north side. McCallister looked for shelter in the old ruins next to his pals.
Everybody looked the vase, everybody admired the work, the art, the craftiness. Then, everybody started to fight for to get it until common sense and reason won between the gentleman’s terrible manners. It would be a gift for her Majesty: the Queen.
With the hope to be named Lord or Sir, the six British explorers came back home with the jade urn in their hands. Waiting, the Queen Victoria would gift to them some kind rewards.
The British Museum was acquiring collections from overseas in those times. However, everybody was invited to gift anything which could be curious for the humankind.
It was organised a private event, with the Queen invited as a guest. Everybody went to admire the formidable piece of jade. The dukes, landowners, scientist and wives from this new times were fascinated with the vase. Suddenly, everybody felt the desire to had a fragment of it.
Louder than the storm, scarring than the hurricane, desolating like the last chant of the swan. People lost their way. The Queen was ashamed and upset: “How do you dare to say you represent the virtues and the intelligence of this new age!” she said.
The rumour was stronger, the voices screamed and between all the discomposure and accident occurred: somebody trip up against the vase and it was broken into pieces no more significant than specks.
After the crash, the discussion was over, and the silence was the real king of the room. “The jade is fragile,” they said, “it is normal it breaks this way”, but what it was not usual to all of them, it was to discover the vase was not empty. The body of a young girl it was buried inside. She seemed young and frangible. She probably was beautiful when she was alive, but she was only a child when she passed away.
The splendorous new society of this times decided the vase was not that. It was a vessel used from commemorating the tragic death of a child. All of them took a piece of the broken jade. Some people even took several instead. They changed the old body from the museum department, and everything seemed fixed then.
The Queen did not give more noble titles, not to the explorers. Neither of the people who assisted to the new funeral. Because, after that, all of them was admiring the rests of the most tragic story of the elder times.
It was the story of how the evil can desire to break the peace of the old towns of the East. How the desire from someone can make people destroy, kill and harm. How the lust started a war, and it burned an Imperium on fire.
No one learnt from the past. These teachings died, and the desired princess who was buried in a vase was forgotten. Everybody was tired of seeing her in her new crystal vessel next to the other memorable people, from other times. All of them ignored that her value was not in her beauty or in the broken pieces of her old jar. The worth was in the story behind her and which she could not relate as she had liked… It had arrived the time to say the last goodbye.