Schindler's List - why is the little girl in red?

Perhaps the most moving image in Steven Spielberg's epic Schindler's List is the little girl in the red coat, one of only four color images in the three-hour black and white film. Our attention is drawn to the little blonde tot, overlooked by the Nazi troops, who wanders alone amid the horror and panic. She is wearing a red coat which draws the viewer to her even when she is but one of a hundred people in a wide shot.

The little girl's jacket is red so that she stands out from the masses. When color is used, it makes a point and an impression. And Schindler´s soul is touched by the child, he feels her pain, cries for her. The plight of the one little girl in red touches him in a way the shear numbers make unreal, it is easy to get lost in numbers. He transforms the faceless mass around him into one real palpable human being. This one child is a symbol of all the 6,000 000 victims, exposed to ruthless slaughter. The little girl in the red coat footage gives a feeling of hope. You think that she may be able to get away, that she has a chance. But then you see her later, and she is dead. She has already been killed, and you feel the despair and a lot of anger towards these Nazis. How could they kill something so innocent? 0 Comments

Quoted.

Wednesday, March 03, 2010 @ 12:11 AM

"... And quality friendship to me is being with the person physically but no conversation at all and yet we both still feel we had the most enjoyable day.

That is probably the highest level and requires very deep understanding of each other."

How true.

I can relate to this. And this feeling just feels absolutely wonderful.

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On youths becoming more technologically savvy but more brain dead.

Saturday, February 20, 2010 @ 3:29 AM

This is it.

The Doomsday clock is ticking.

They often say, one day, humans will be wiped out from the surface of the earth, totally annihilated, because of what we are doing today. With every action comes a consequence. We, through the process of mass consumerism have gained a lot from the resources that this Earth has to offer, however we are also slowly but surely destroying ourselves and our world.

It is quite sad but yet it is rather inevitable.

Can one person change the world? Can some strong opposing views change the world?

I, albeit being quite an optimist, do not think so. It takes one person to say something and another person to start doing.

Sometimes I think our current youth generation is quite lacking. Not to say that I am not. Sure, there are many bright sparks and gifted students (oh, I hate the sound of that word, but nmind) thanks to the education system, but there also a lot of rather brain-dead people in our society. When I say society, I mean our world in general.

I believe being gifted isn't in our genes. You aren't born gifted. You become gifted, slowly, through the surroundings you are placed in and the people who surround you, who shape your worldview, values and take on issues. Many people nowadays know what is the right thing and what they should do. However, very few actually are opinionated and have a stand, or a calling. Like many youths are quite politically apathetic and rather ignorant and passive towards what is going on in our world nowadays.

Check out Youtube. Some disparaging comments (racist) just make one feel rather disheartened.

AND, the main reason for why I think youths have become so mentally retarded and passive?

It's because we are being spoon-fed and locked in a cage. A shell.

I find it rather true that our technologically advanced world has made us faster consumers, but we have also become slower readers and thinkers, finding it difficult to process words on a piece of paper as compared to a webpage.

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The Day After:

Tuesday, February 16, 2010 @ 2:25 PM

So he's gone.

And this is how it must feel like.

I did not cry when he turned around and left, strangely. Nobody else was crying either. I felt perfectly okay and stable when he walked through the departure gates, only with a slightly sourish feeling tugging and twisting on my heart strings, especially when his Dad commented that he had went in by the wrong gate.

I felt like I had kept my composure. You seem like a strong girl.

But then after that we bid our farewells to everybody.

And, they left one by one.

In groups.

His parents offered to send me home, but I declined... saying that my Dad was here to send me to my Uncle's house for CNY dinner.

So I went towards the entrance of Terminal 3, as far away from the departure gates as possible. I really could not bear to turn back.

That was perhaps the first time in my life I realised what a horrible, stagnant and cold place the airport could really be.

And I sat on a chair, you know, those new, plastic-like hard chairs that the newly refurbished T3 is installed with.

And then the warm tears started flowing freely.

Down my made-up face, onto my pretty white and pink ZARA dress.

Everybody was staring at the girl crying alone. Two soldiers walking into and out of the airport, on patrol duty. The lost and homeless guy sitting next to me. A mom with her child.

Argh. This really sucks.

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Doris Day... What A Legend.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009 @ 12:49 AM

Just listened to this song, and I can't get over how fantastic it sounds.

So 1960s Parisian chic and boudoir-like.



I simply cannot hide my absolute adoration and love for the old classics. Geez. So often I have wished I lived in the past.

It beats today's trashy music, hands down, over and over again.

This song really takes me back to a different era, it makes me imagine I'm in a 1960s cabaret with gentlemen in tweed coats smoking cigars and courtesans in skin-tight flare dresses dancing gaily around them.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps!

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When is it really the time?

Saturday, December 19, 2009 @ 7:58 PM

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

Decisions for things that have not yet arrived... ...

Decisions for invisible, unpredictable, random, perhaps even unforeseen circumstances.

I am afraid.

You're like a hot air balloon, still tied and firmly attached to the earth by a thick rope.

But the earth is getting loose with each minute the balloon fills up with steaming, searing, almost incandescent hot air. Like someone feverish with the anticipation of something new.

I want to be inside the hot air balloon, I want to be in the basket and rise up slowly exploring the whole world with you.

It will be fun, and exciting and mystifying, I promise.

But I touch the balloon and quickly draw back, my hands are too hurt and burnt. Its too hot. Its almost unreachable.

Untouchable, almost?

The earth beneath the hook cracks.

Its time. The thick rope is released, with a premeditated motion, almost cold and emotionless. Its been done a lot of times. Its just another cycle.

You rise up slowly, leaving the earth... dizzy with excitement, ecstatic about the new world.

Meanwhile I'm still grounded, firmly rooted. I call out your name. You hear me and reply, but your voice is now drowned out by the noisy, burning rage of fire.

A tear rolls down my cheek. Its warm from the heat of the hot air balloon. It tastes salty. A quick shot of reality hits me.

Am I destined to be on the ground forever?

Should I go back to my roots?

I know deep down I really yearn to... I dream to, long to, crave to. But I'm afraid. Of the whole world.

Afraid of the whole world.

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