I caught the movie Sepet on TV over the weekend. Alone of course. It is a sweet story about inter-racial love. Of course I knew it was a romantic movie. That was why I left my unopened VCD copy in my desk drawer for close to two months now.
I dislike love stories. They are in essence, sugar-coated candy-flossed tales that have so lost touch with reality. Plus they make me cry like a school girl.
I scoff at the tissue waving, eye dabbing chick flick fans. But then again, when I think about it I am not really that different.
When women watch love stories, we examine it against our own relationships and we weep bitterly over its utter wretchedness/death.
Yet through chick flicks, we continue to live in hope. Not unlike men with their porn collection. Somewhere in our fantasies we hope our Brad (or Keanu or Johnny) in shining sports car will sweep us off our Bata slippers with roses and champagne. But of course the chances of that happening is about the same as most men scoring with their favourite pornstar.
It will be a while before I watch another love story.
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