Aftersun

everything about this film smells like a familiar memory. somehow blurry and yet it clears up a deeper secret: something that is buried down on our deepest subconscious, like a childhood, like a summer kiss, like the waves in the sea, milkshakes, arcade games, making out, and a teenage soul all captured–encapsulated forever–in a miniDV footage. something that makes you feel loved and sick for it but still you ask for more. something more of a father and another of a child. it revels inside every pulse of a heartbeat to feel a sensation of some sort resembling so much like a human being. although after sun and at the heart of everything, it makes you to only feel–to only observe a memory of yours that never happened–a placebo effect, a hot air ballon experiment, a scattered piece of you, of us, glued up all together leading us to only two things: to feel and observe but never experience, or to experience and feel but never to observe what made something feel something. what makes a sensation a memory. what made a memory yours–what made it known, or what made it a stranger. and it hurts. and it will only continue to hurt some more.