Back to the Future

A few weeks ago, days before Chuseok holiday, I was told by my friends Kyra and Aisha that Cinematheque, a small theater connected with the Pusan International Film Festival (PIFF), has an archive of all past PIFF films. Best of all, it's completely free. If you know me, you'll be aware that I'm the sort of girl who takes anything if it's free. The thought of a free movie, then, was exceptionally galvanizing. Emily and I made plans to see one a couple nights ago.

The feel of the room is similar to a section of a college library. Book shelves line the walls and the middle of the room, which is slightly larger than my apartment (not a difficult feat, come to think of it). Also, three work stations are set up. At one sits two computers, likely intended for facilitating film research. At the other two, segmented into three portions, are televisions, each with two head sets. One may choose any film from a list and then (for free, did I mention?) view it at one of the stations that are so conveniently set up. I do believe this has been done for film students hoping to study past movies, not people looking for a free "DVD Bang" (a Korean business that allows people to rent a DVD, then view it on a big screen while sitting on a plush couch in one of their rooms; Korean couples often frequent these).

Emily and I, eminently desirous of self-education, chose the intriguingly entitled Korean movie "Love Story," knowing nothing of the plot or purpose.

"Is it sad?" I questioned the girl behind the desk.

"Little," she answered meekly, pressing her thumb and forefinger together, holding them next to her eye.

Going ahead with the little sad Korean love story, Em and I settled in the provided chairs, prepared for an education. As it turns out, we were pleasantly surprised by the movie, despite the sometimes atrocious English translations ("Love is I wanting not forget long time.") and the melodramatic acting (long scenes of the actor or actress staring forlornly at the ocean while the camera zooms in to capture the single tear running down his or her cheek). It took place mostly at a seaside house called "il mare" with a man and woman who lived there corresponding with each other; he writes from 1998 while she writes from 2000. Their love develops over time, though she is struggling with the remnants of feelings for a lover who recently jilted her. Toward the end, she requests that he help her regain this fickle lover. Walking into her past, he attempts to do so, though an accident occurs and he is killed in the process. The future form of her remembers seeing him killed and returns in haste to "il mare" to leave him a note. I won't spoil the ending, except to say that he doesn't die and they do get together. Wait... did I reveal too much?

We both found this movie to be in a similar vein with "Sliding Doors," starring Gweneth Paltrow as a British woman (Why don't they get actual British actresses, who are likely more talented anyhow, to play these roles? Why is she so often a British woman?) whose life takes drastically different courses based on a small incident: she catches the train in one life and misses it in the other.

"Love Story" and recollections of "Sliding Doors" led us into a discourse about how each small decision influences our lives so profoundly. In minute ways we cannot possibly measure, small shifts in our daily course can shift the entire trajectory of our lives. Yet we place so little stock into these decisions, unable to see beyond their utter normality, unable to predict their interconnection with the web of world events. Daily decisions are far too mundane.

If you've read enough of my writings, you may surmise that I have a penchant for reflection on my past and wondering about my future. Often I feel the weight of my decisions, especially when considering what I will do in the next several years. Currently I work in an ephemeral position as an English teacher, something I have long claimed as a mere means to an end. I am constantly confronted with decisions regarding my future. Having long claimed that I have too many varied interests to settle on just one choice, my decisions are constantly in flux. I'm leaving, I'm staying, I'm returning to school, I'm traveling forever. At times I've cried out in frustration, wanting to know what the future holds.

But what if we were actually given the ability to glimpse into our future? What if we could attain, even with some sort of vague awareness, the knowledge of what lies ahead? This opportunity is so provocatively dangled by fortune tellers or those with similar professions. Go, and they will reveal the course of your life. Yet I am no fatalist; there are no events in my life that I see as inevitable, having been laid before me while I follow, powerless to effect change. The future is instead what we perceive that we can or will do. If I believe something will happen, because I have been told by a palmist or simply because I carry a strong conviction, then the likelihood of it happening is much greater. Life, for good or bad, then becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I have long desired to do great things with my life. I want to travel the world, to immerse myself in other cultures. I want to work in a poor country, either with orphans or working in some way with the underprivileged. I would love, actually, to work with battered women in a Muslim country. I want to return to school, to relinquish the role of teacher for that of a student. I want to write; I need to write. But I want to be published, to someday create something that others deem stimulating and thought-provoking, something they would want to reread. I don't want to have a great deal of money, though recognize my need for it given my other interests. I want freedom; I want to be uninhibited; I want to always desire more. There's so much that I want.

All of this begs the question: Am I making the decisions today that will one day take me there?