Regarding the state of human existence, the exploration of this kind of driving force like inertia, although we only know the surface of Freud's libido driving theory, is already convincing. We Easterners are all implicit, and we can only wait for the other half of the earth to pierce such a layer of window paper for such a theory. China's Lotte Knows Fate, and Japan's Cherry Blossom Chrysanthemum Sword is actually the same thing. The only difference is how prominently you are used to putting "sex". It's inescapable anyway.
The story told in this film, I named it "Little Soul Soul's Obsession". Obsession is "a paranoid thought that cannot be shaken off". The so-called addicted daydream.
This is what I thought about the story of the little soul:
when I watched "The Love of the Ghosts", I was also nervous and moved by the story. Such a tangle of love. The older I get, the more I don't believe it, and I can't even tolerate such a sticky entanglement anymore.
In the past twenty years or so, like most people, I have loved and been loved, and probably know all of them. But as far as I can think of now, for such a world, and love, more often than not, I am more willing to be a bystander. It's like watching fireworks, just look at it, standing far away, unlike fireworks, which have to fall from such a high place after burning.
So I am willing to live like a ghost. The body becomes light and nothing, lives on the clouds, no longer eats sweet and sour food, only wears plain white clothes, and most importantly, is able to pass through walls and roofs, through time and space, and always be with me colorless and tasteless beside the person you love. Be a little soul.
This must be a strange idea. I, who have always been a little soul, can always be as white and juicy as a freshly cut apple, without withering and yellowing in the remaining years. And the people I love only remember what they looked like at the time. In their cloudy and rainy days, they occasionally think of me, or they can't remember me, it's not so important. I think I will become a silent bunch of eyes, just keep looking at the people I love, everyone, all their unknown worries and secret joys, all their obsessions and fantasies.
If this is really possible, such an existence, even if it is not life, is enough for me to hope.
Because true love is too hot and sharp, not you and my body can carry it. But without such love, it doesn't matter if you live or die.
For the same reason, I like "Empty Room" very much, like the Asian version of "o fantasma", the layers of Su Li are open.
After reading it, I thought, maybe life is like all stories, and happy people only live on the surface.
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