i’m back, baby!
IAF was a blast, a journey of (slighly more than) one-year preparation finally paid off last saturday, 17 september 2005, a date that will not surely be forgotten among us, around-80-committee members of this show.
yet, allow me to take a step back for a while to evaluate and look back in retrospect, while indulging myself on the beautiful scent of my hometown.
i’ll be back, baby! 🙂
Saturday, August 20
13.20 – Arrived at Sekolah Indonesia Singapura (SIS) at Siglap Road, immediately sat in short informal meeting of Creative Team and Production Manager
13.30 – Lunch break
14.30 – Start rehearsal from beginning
16.00 – Still rehearsal on the first part
17.00 – Touch-up rehearsal of scenes involving numbers of people, without the actual people showed up.
17.30 – End of rehearsal, looking for some missing props.
18.15 – Urgent meeting of Creative Team + Director
19.00 – Start re-working rundown/flowchart of detailed show from Pre-Show to Closing Scene. In another words, from the very beginning to the very end.
20.00 – Pre-Show touch-up, detailing things that happen before the show starts.
21.10 – Entering discussion on the beginning of 1st Half
21.30 – Dinner break
22.30 – Still mulling over with 1st Half, run through everything inside the scenes appearing during the 1st Half.
23.30 – Stuck with stage design for 1st Half
Sunday, August 21
00.30 – Stuck at the same problem
01.30 – Received 6 missed calls from twinnie
02.30 – Done with 1st Half, finally saw the word of ‘Intermission’ on paper
02.45 – Start working on 2nd Half
03.45 – Sailing through first scene nicely
04.45 – Touch-up on performance scene
05.45 – 70% of whole show is done
06.00 – Hailed a cab home
07.00 – Ready to sleep
10.30 – Woke up because of the nightmare about the show
11.30 – (Should be ready to be) Off to rehearsal scheduled at 1 pm again
It truly feels like yesterday,
And definitely not 17 years ago.
When I was happily seated next to this driver,
And your sister and your late grandmother was seated behind …
Oh!
How your grandmother never put down her holy book, uttered every single prayer,
While your brother?
Let’s just say that he was too excited of getting a new companion soon 🙂
It was Saturday, I remember vividly.
Just like lovebirds who always wish for sunshine throughout the day,
I opened the window and I could feel the wind of August heat.
And we stopped at a bakery,
Somehow your sis and I could convince grandma to buy dozens of bread for your mum.
Innocently, we ended up indulging in those cakes since Mum was not allowed to.
Then not even waiting for the car to park,
I rushed down to the lobby
9.30 am
Your dad was on his way to greet us
And I was asking him out loud,
“Pa! Gimana?!”
I was only 9 years old at that time, yet believe me, that day was one of the few moments in your dad’s life where I could see sparkle in his eyes, cheerfully said:
“It’s a girl”.
Fifteen minutes earlier, you had seen the world for the first time.
We rushed inside, hurried down to see your Mum.
A bright smile on her face, not even a glimpse of pain she had had to endure earlier.
And it’s you.
In a small box.
Along with others.
Yet, you responded from afar.
Grueling days of choosing one single name for you,
(remember how your elder sis insisted giving your name ‘jasmine’?)
Many tiring nights of taking care of you,
Preventing you from falling down or kept hitting the wall with your small head,
Being labeled as ‘that Japanese baby who never smile’ , or simply ‘that little Ulil’,
You remain as cute as you already are,
You remain as stubborn as you always are,
You remain as one little sister I am always proud of.
So, we may have never been living together ever since you were 6 years old.
I may have not witnessed your growing-up stages,
From one tomboy yet adorable kid,
To become a girl in her full blossom.
But I’m sure what you have become,
One who never fails to learn from her mistakes,
And one who loves her beloved ones.
A sweet greet of Happy 17th birthday indeed for you 🙂
the one who pops up unnecessary question like “Eh, pa kabar elo?” after we talk to each other for some good, healthy, chatty and insightful 30 min., and not to mention that we haven’t seen each other for some good, healthy 2 years.
the one who knows to which direction my eyes often stare to check someone out, yet claims that the person checks my friend out in return, instead of me. and of course, we can only conclude hopelessly that the intended person checks us out. both of us.
the one whom some unknown meat seller in some wet-market thinks that we are twins.
the one whose lovers i never approve of, except the last one.
the one whose opinion towards my lifestyle counts most.
the one who criticizes my writing with a big yelling of, “redundancy!”
the one whose sacrifice in being my ‘backup’ slowly gives her pain and headache.
the one who inspires me to do what i should do.
the one who keeps bickering about my taste in films, yet we always seek each other’s companion.
the one who saves my holiday trip and turns it into a journey worth taking.
the one who respects my decision.
the one who shields me from being thrown away.
the one who punches me hard with the lines like “Kenapa baru sekarang?” when i mentioned that i resign from my job.
the ones I treasure most.
the ones I can’t see my life without.
the ones I love.
you know who you are 😉
By any means, this posting will go down in history as (one of) the most personal entries I’ve ever written in my blog. Like I’ve never written anything personal before, you might say :), and I shall have no objection on that. But to me, my blog is one perfect medium to release the opinionated side of me when it comes to criticizing and analyzing things I indulge myself in, and by now, you know that my ultimate indulgence is films, followed by books and music. In fact, I’ve realized that I tend to write more on concerts and plays, rather than films. At least my writings that managed to get published were around plays and concerts, and shamefully I have to admit that none of my film writings ever got published. Not yet, I suppose. But I keep on writing about film though, regularly after I watch any films, or whenever I feel like it.
So you see, I’m not a good writer myself. What was initiated as something else, turn out to be, aptly, anything else. It’s really hard to keep ourselves focused with so many distractions around. The buzzing phones, the beeping sounds of messenger windows, the flashy lights of camera, the flickering images on TV, whoever should we to blame for many recent analysis on how modern human beings tend to be more having short-span attention? Or is it short-attention span?
This is the writing of someone who only manages to scan through the title of headlines in newspaper. It is some kind of privilege to be able obscuring Reuters, New York Times, Kompas, Associated Press as daily staple alongside my usual Ice Mountain Drinking Water. Yet, the number of those papers actually shows how to read thoroughly in each and every article would be an impossible feat to achieve.
Bottom line is, I know that some of you have made efforts to drop by here for the past few days. And yet, none of words actually be delivered to reply your gratitude. Or even to reply your visit.
For the sake of recap, so my twinnie came here for 3 days, and I managed to secure half-day leave from my office on those days. Then I struggled again with my work, made a day off again for another errand, and weekends from last week onwards would be dedicated wholeheartedly for IAF.
Yet the bang itself happened on Sunday morning when my beautifully shaped butt flirted with my blue mug containing hot, strong, creamy coffee which was ‘nicely’ positioned next to my iBook baby. There you go, splish splash!
The right side of keyboard was filled with golden brown of coffee, and immediately I had to rush my white baby to Apple Centre @ Orchard for quick recovery, although it is very likely that I’ve got to void its warranty. Remember baby, your daddy here has not finished paying your installment, and now some nice amount of hundreds of bucks I’ve got to pay for your bail? What a cutesy naughty white-y you! 😉
Well, what can I say? Sunday’s nite concert of John Pizzarelli managed to shift my troubled mind, thanks to his eclectic performance, and the uninterrupted flows of DVDs will surely keep my weeknights full. After all, it is nice to be at home of yourself.
The month looks good, indeed.
i’m a hopeful romantic longing to seizuring every chance of possible romantic encounters only found, mostly, in romantic comedies genre.
i’m a hopeful romantic who always looks forward to a little bit of quality time in romancing the loved one.
i’m a hopeful romantic whose existence is defined by executing well-planned surprises for the object of my affection.
i’m in love, actually.
i am.
Just in time you’ve found me just in time
Before you came my time was running low
I was lost the losing dice were tossed
My bridges all were crossed nowhere to go
Now you hear now I know just where I’m going
No more doubt of fear I’ve found my way
(and julie delpy starts doing her grooves)
For love came just in time you’ve found me just in time
And changed my lonely nights that lucky day
Just in time
(so, do you think ethan hawke will stay?)
Before you came my time was running low oh baby
I was lost the losing dice were tossed
My bridges all crossed nowhere to go
Now you hear now I know just where I’m going
No more doubt of fear I’ve found my way
For love came just in time you’ve found me just in time
And changed my lonely nights and changed my lonely nights
And changed my lonely nights and changed my lonely nights
And changed my lonely nights that lucky day
(and nina simone gave her utmost)
Such a sensitive issue like racial slurs, when brought up to the artistic form of visual dimension whereby the words and acts dealing with the issue can be seen and examined with our perfunctory senses, may tend to be banal if being given an inconsiderable treatment that shies away from presenting reality.
Thankfully, the banality in this film is in fact the strongest point that makes the film compelling to watch. In a rare occasion of successful ensemble of too many good actors pulling out dramatic punches at their best, Paul Haggis manages to unite them in one strong story of a life in everyday LA, seemingly a town full of racism to inhale as a daily staple.
In the recent times of politeness in tackling the issue, any forms of accusations in the manner of cursing and swearing are easily uttered to one another, at some point taken as jokes, yet most of the time, it has emerged to become some kind of state of mind. The hidden anger and the confusion of misunderstandings beguile these people in living their life blanketed under the cover of assumption and preconceived notions, resulting of exclusivity among their own races.
Life may turn laughing at us or with us, but like the life itself, Crash pulls out an eventful day of any city on the earth where we are taken to realize, how we may never be able to understand the difference. Acknowledging the variety may be one small step to begin.
There are over-paranoid white upper class couple, black detective and his Latino partner, a Hispanic low class family, a struggling Arabic enterpreneurs trying to make a living in this chaotic city filled with compromises and consequences of every racial thoughts that translate to their action. The juxtaposition of these characters’ actions may leave you shocked on how looks can be deceiving. Appearances can not be taken for their face-values, especially not in the time of gun-culture when anyone at any given time may shield themselves by pointing guns at any other human beings for any reason under the name of protection.
It may be a fictional place to see, yet the facial expressions of these people tell anguishes some of us have to bear everyday. Others may put it as “c’est la vie”, but to me, Crash shows that in a place where angels flock in, the paradise is far ahead to reach.
there we were,
bidding goodbyes,
waving hands,
and be a faithful doer
of living differently
of loving each other completely
of liking some objects contrastly
under one unity
that when it begins to wear thin
no, it never fades away
instead it remains like it has always been
and gratefully does not even date by a single day
gone maybe those tacky lines
the past bears irreconcilable stupefying minds
and yet there’s always something to look forward to
within a month or two
or more than what regulars might think in their contrived thoughts
there we will be,
another bids,
another waves,
another miss-you glee,
another time.
again.
if home is a place where we can’t be honest to ourselves,
if a comfort zone is a place where we can’t escape the scrutiny of being pressurized,
if home is a place where to be bold means sacrificing our comfort,
if a comfort zone is a place where to be free has to miss our home,
if home is merely a state of mind,
if a comfort zone is merely man-made creation,
where do we stand then?
Love him. Hate him. Adore him. Dismiss him. Indifferent? Neutral?
The two latter words have never arisen to surface when we start talking about this dream-maker who goes by the name of Steven Spielberg. At least, not until we watch his latest work, War of the Worlds.
The reason for those first words is quite clear: those who praise him tend to faithfully worship him regardless of his misfires on Amistad or The Lost World for example, whereas for those who bash him out will suppress their feelings on marvel works a la The Color Purple or Raiders of the Lost Ark. Hardly we think “it’s good, but …” or “it should’ve been this or that, then it’ll be good or bad” since Spielberg presents his work as representation of his own dream, his own fantasy world he longs to exist in reality. Not quite an auteur though, but there is a certain visual element on each of his work, often superbly crafted that will leave us feeling mesmerized. The bleak look of World War II is captured convincingly through the lens of Janusz Kaminski in Schindler’s List, the swinging 60’s has never looked any brighter in Catch Me If You Can, and the marriage of high-technology concept and futuristic look reaches its highest point in Minority Report. Regardless my disliking towards the latter film, the look itself is enough to keep me glued to the seat and getting overblown by his magic. This is something lacking on his second collaboration with perfectly miscast Tom Cruise here.
Or at least inconsistencies keep occurring throughout the film. I jumped off my seat while reeling the glowing looks surrounding Miranda Otto and David Alan Basche, suggesting the dreamy-like surrounding in the scene. A good five-to-ten seconds there, only to be ruined with the monotonous grayish coloring throughout early scenes, with certain gap of stillness in-between the scenes. Call me being unknowledgeable on examining Spielberg’s films but I can’t help scratching my head over things you least expect from a Spielberg film. Not to mention other kind of inconsistencies in logicality of the story that will leave smiles on the faces of trivia and goofs spotter out there, and failure to bring out the best in Tim Robbins and surprisingly annoying Dakota Fanning.
Does he want a breakthrough? Artificial Intelligence does better than that. It may be a tribute to Stanley Kubrick, but Spielberg does inject his personal touch that makes the film adorable despite its semi-controversial subject. Spielberg’s films stand for his own testament on how to amuse audience in genres crossing over one another, that we often think no other directors can make or re-create Spielberg’s films. Sadly, when I set my eyes to the big screen in Lido Theatre watching Tom Cruise trying too hard to act appropriately to his character, I can’t help wondering that this film should have been directed by someone else, to make it better.
The moment of revelation? Morgan Freeman’s majestic voice over.
The United Kingdom’s prestigious The Royal Ballet Company presented everything that rings true in treating a timeless tale as legendary as Swan Lake: it needs to be royally grand in terms of staging, it needs to be emotionally engaging to keep audience seated for 165 minutes, and it needs to be magical to make audience keep humming Tchaikovsky’s delicately crafted tunes long after the show ends. Such impossible tasks were embarked effortlessly by the 90-strong troupe highly respected as one of the most sought-after ballet companies in the world. Staged as part of Singapore Arts Festival 2005, it was hardly any surprise to find most of tickets had been snapped up months earlier leading to the three-night only presentation.
On Friday night, 24 June 2005, the 2,000-seats of Esplanade Theatre, Singapore, became a witness of dazzling spectacle set in the late 19th-century Russia, where a prince by the name of Siegfried is having a coming-of-age party, and the eventful occasion turns to be a more delightful one when he encounters a flock of swans, and decidedly ends the festivities with a hunt on a deserted lakeside by ruins of a chapel. Little does he know that the lake is an enchanted place where the Swan Princess Odette lives together with her fellow victims of Von Rothbart, an evil magician who turns them into swans by day, yet they can return to the form of human beings by night. The lake itself is a lake of tears shed by Odette’s mother over the suffering of her daughter’s fated destiny. However, this cursed spell can be broken only when someone who has never loved before, will pledge and sacrifice his eternity to Odette.
Knowing that Siegfried will take more than anything to rescue and prove his love to Odette, Von Rothbart does a dirty trick by transforming his own daughter, Odile, into bearing a similar physical resemblance to Odette. The prince dances with Odile, whom he mistakenly assumes as Odette, at the kingdom’s ball, and captivated by her beauty, he proposes to her in front of the royal court. When the royal family accepts his initiative, Von Rothbart begins to reveal the truest layer of his plan, leaving Siegfried disappointed and hurrying down to the lake in search of Odette.
Hearing the heart-wrenching news, the real Odette decides to face death by perishing herself in the waves of the lake, so as to free herself from the evil power. Siegfried pursues Odette there, while Von Rothbart who insists him on marrying Odile threatens him. Not wanting to leave Odette being a swan forever if he marries Odile, Siegfried decides to be united with Odette in death. Von Rothbart and his power fall, the swan maidens are freed and the lake will linger in memory as a witness of star crossed lovers.
Under the guidance of conductor Valery Ovsyanikov with the strong support from Shanghai Philharmonic Orchestra, the audience was transported to the fantasy world divided in four equally elegant acts: Act I on the initial party celebrating Prince Siegfried’s coming of age, Act II lays the lake where the swans flock to the spotlight, Act III presents the dazzling colors of costume ball, and the final act IV revolves around the lake to resolute the lovers’ destiny. These acts are conceived and brought to the audience eloquently in enviable stage and costume designs meticulously conceptualized and gorgeously presented in Faberge inspired style by the designer Yolanda Sonnabend, as if to enhance the truest quality the ballet company has in store to bring the tale lively on a grand scale performance. The bare proscenium arch stage of Esplanade Theatre could not be more fitting to accommodate the extravaganza set which draws disbelief sighs often heard among audience in seeing how the stage is imbued within the ballerinas’ elastic movements that deserve numerous applause throughout the show. Whereas it may be impossible to place a certain divided notion among each and every dancer performed on the night, it is inevitable not to praise Roberta Marquez and Johan Kobborg, as Odette/Odile and Prince Siegfried respectively, in carrying their roles with graceful and irresistible presence.
For sure, the troupe has done a testament that will leave Marius Petipa, the initial choreographer, feeling proud of the work he had started more than nine decades ago.
The timeless beauty will remain eternally beauty as it is meant to be.
Next time we catch a film on a cinema, be sure not to arrive late to *properly* notice the opening credits of the film. There may be a hint shown during the opening credit that will give us a little clue on how the film we are about to watch is going to turn out. It does not mean to set a certain expectations or whatsoever, yet the attention will serve as some kind of guidance on how to watch the film in a certain fashion. Especially if the film has a drop of governmental influence.
When I saw the words of “Israeli Film Fund” at the beginning of the film, I had no objections whether this film has to be politically correct. After all, it does not take powerful political injection to make Kingdom of Heaven behaves like a lion on sedative medication. Or the recently released In My Father’s Den still manages to generate a good buzz on its emotionally appealing plot twists, without anyone ever remember that the film is funded by New Zealand authorities to boost the country’s film development.
Hidden agendas are hard to escape. By any means, film makers will feel reluctant to go extremes in being arrogant as they have this amount of accommodativeness. The government institutions help them financing the film, the filmmakers will try their best, or do a little sacrifice in accommodating messages or laws or any form of apprehensive information to be inserted to the film. Yet when they integrate to the tight-lined structure of the film, they succeed to disappear and pave the way of total enjoyment in watching a film on a big screen. At least, the subtlety of such placement will not make us raging over 2-second show-off a la Tisot watch in Angelina Jolie’s wrist.
What’s wrong with Walk on Water then?
To me, nothing.
But a fellow film enthusiast point out how the film was made to look like a PA-commercial of Israeli and Germany tourism promotion. The panoramic views of Israeli like we’ve never seen in any primetime news before may enhance this opinion, which IMHO is something acceptable to do since, going back to my point above, the film is funded by government and it serves the storyline. Consider the summary below.
Eyal, an Israeli spy agent, on the heels of despair after his wife committed suicide, is given a mission to murder an ex-criminal of war in Germany. To get in touch with the family member, he pretends to be a tourist guide who will accompany the convicted’s grandson, Axel, in his holiday trip to Israel to visit his sister. What starts off as a pure business relationship blossoms to become a close friendhsip, eventhough Axel’s outgoing personality clashes with Eyal’s introvertness, not to mention Axel’s homosexuality which frights Eyal’s orthodox value at first. As Axel finishes the holiday, and the mission drags to uncertainties, the agency decides to send Eyal to Germany to finish the mission.
The two buddies meet again, and Eyal succeeds in getting an invitation the Axel’s family gathering where the secrets of more than five-decade year old are revealed.
Interchanging scenes that shift between two countries greatly different from one another allow Eytan Fox helming the film in such a way to suggest the film being ripped off directly from pictorial books. Together with the cinematographer Tobias Hochstein, they present the two countries as an ideal place to live in. From the houses with communal atmosphere in Israeli suburban area where they look peaceful, to the bright lights of Frankfurt, they put distinctive quality to each set that eventually do not merely serve as backdrop, but rather, in accordance with each personality traits that the character posses.
Well, to expand further on the latter statement may take up our whole patience here as I can feel that you start to get tiresome reading this blurting, but what I can assure you is that it may be tempting to classify the characters into stereotype or classification of being Arian and Jewish as what our pre-conceived notion might bring. After all, the two good-looking lead actors carry physical qualities of their own race in the first place.
Yet, in this political-charged drama, we may not see many mind-challenging twist. Everything is told in a clean slate narrative manner, flows on a chronological order of time without any dizzying flashback scenes as they are promptly inserted in the dialogues. But to see an enjoyable drama with nuanced performances from the actors in a big screen is surely one pleasant way to spend a Saturday evening.
Not to mention that it will make us feeling like taking a walk in a breezy sea of Israel.
just be with me
when i run out of love
for i may need some time to flock the feeling all over again
then when i’m loaded with abundance of desire
i may rise again to embrace the beauty of giving.
just be with me
when i run out of words
for i may be drained from exhaustion
those stupefying deeds i do
they are needed for my survival.
just be with me
when i run out of energy
for i may have dimmed the bright lights on my own
then we shall see how and when they will spark again
but don’t you realize the excessive power supply is such a rarity?
just be with me
when i run out of excitement
for i may present you with boredom
that feels like seeing plain white wall is a better option
but then, we’ll miss out the whole point here.
that for just bearing with me, for a little longer
then we’ll soon find out
the light of this tunnel with undefined length.
Forget everything we know about the man in a bat suit, aka Bruce Wayne.
Do we know him by a certain curve of lips? Do we know him by haunting eyes? Do we know him by his physical strength? Do we know him by showing off his nipples on the suit?
Set aside whatever pre-conceived knowledge we had gathered before on how Batman should be presented in a film format. Throw away our ruined imagination on the richest superhero of all, thanks-but-no-thanks to dizzying and too-colorful style spilled by Joel Schumacher.
This is the beginning of how a man can become a superhuman, and his own being is a choice of conscience, not simply fated. In this aptly-titled prequel, Christopher Nolan cleverly drops any hints how Bruce Wayne is destined to be what he wants people know him to be. This smart director, although having to sacrifice his signatural style stamped on his earlier works, lays bare Wayne’s struggle before triumphing and conquering his biggest obstacle in life: fear.
So much emphasis is put on the subject of fear itself that for slightly more than half of the duration is dedicated to showing Wayne’s past not often exposed in many previous renditions of his alter ego. Initially a child living on his paranoia over many things as a result of his parents’ death that he witnesses himself, he grows up being a juvenile searching for his own faith while constantly trapped in his own freight. This long journey ends in some secluded area in Far East where he gets trained to assassinate the injustice in the world, without even knowing that injustice has many multifaceted appearances that can be deceiving.
Thus, slowly but surely, a hero is born. For the first time.
At this point of time, we get to know the circle of life that Bruce Wayne has to go through and complete before he dons himself in a bat suit. Painful, hurtful and never an easy feat, all these elements give the film a serious and heavyweight look. However, the result does justice on how a film based on comic gets a dramatic treatment on the right dose. After all, being a superhero does not mean having to be fantastically living in fantasy. The real world he lives in is the world of those multilayered crimes where one crime may kill another, and his good act may not be perceived as a good deed by his own conflicted being.
The journey does not stop here, for we just get to see the birth.
And thus, this is how Batman Begins.
(casting our minds back to 11 years ago, in 1994, when your pal here was at his prime of cuteness and innocence *run for your life! :P* while he still proudly wore the high-school uniform, on the first grade to be exact.
this song was on the top of playlists in many radios in indonesia, and i got smitten by it, so much so that i bought the cassette *CD was a luxury at that time*, and played it over and over again, not really giving a thought that it would only shorten the life of the cassette and until now, i’ve never seen the cassette again! 😀
but thanks to the advancement of technology, mp3s are widely, illegally available to download, i managed to find this lovely song again. you bet, it ranks as the most frequently played song on my iTunes now.
i wonder if any of you are familiar w/ the song, so for those who are not, this is called ‘when you look in my eyes’, written by this jazz great jay graydon, featured on his album ‘airplay for the planet’.
hey, if you ever came across this song before, and one of those people who often requested this song to be played in radios more than a decade ago, this song is for you all.
t, the lyric is about you.)
Though I was through with love
Thought it was over
Didn’t need what I needed before
The neverending story
Had an ending after all
And it hurts you when you fall
Guess I didn’t believe enough
Didn’t think it could happen
I gave up on myself long ago
Love had me believing
Then it turned and closed the door
I couldn’t trust it anymore
While I’m beginning to doubt my doubts
And I’m losing faith in my faithlessness
All the grey above is clearing
Becoming blue skies
When you look in my eyes
But here in reality
It gets so confusing
Why are old habits hard to break
My heart’s afraid of losing
So I haven’t played the game
It always seems to end the same
But I’m beginning to doubt my doubts
And I’m losing faith in my faithlessness
All the grey above is clearing
Becoming blue skies
I’m beginning to feel again
And I’m losing what’s left of my thoughtlessness
The sun has begun to come out
In my life
When you look in my eyes
You gave me something more
It’s like I never love before
But I’m beginning to doubt my doubts
And I’m losing faith in my faithlessness
All the grey above is clearing
Becoming blue skies
I’m beginning to feel again
And I’m losing what’s left of my thoughtlessness
The sun has begun to come out
In my life
When you look in my eyes
Nauval Yazid & His Words. 