"you don't talk much, do you?" she asked.
"that's cause i keep it all in here," martin pointed his head with his index finger while he drove.
"i don't talk much... but i think a lot," he said.
"and i watch. i watch people," he continued.
i resonate a lot with martin's response because i know it's all in my head but i always have this limited language to speak with eloquence... or maybe i do have the language now, but never the confidence to be vulnerable around people. he was a guy along the way you never would've expected to be someone who brings comfort. but this comfort is so awkward on a personal level—something unusual even on a surface level.
a mother's mourning is another level of mourning. you face grief for a newly born child she didn't even get to say hello to. you face pain indecipherable to a man. you face routineless days with no apparent reason to have. it's a film that lualhati bautista would love to see and witness this film—a feminist for a feminist.
a gateway to a mother's life, i'd say.
"you don't talk much, do you?" she asked.
"that's cause i keep it all in here," martin pointed his head with his index finger while he drove.
"i don't talk much... but i think a lot," he said.
"and i watch. i watch people," he continued.
i resonate a lot with martin's response because i know it's all in my head but i always have this limited language to speak with eloquence... or maybe i do have the language now, but never the confidence to be vulnerable around people. he was a guy along the way you never would've expected to be someone who brings comfort. but this comfort is so awkward on a personal level—something unusual even on a surface level.
a mother's mourning is another level of mourning. you face grief for a newly born child she didn't even get to say hello to. you face pain indecipherable to a man. you face routineless days with no apparent reason to have. it's a film that lualhati bautista would love to see and witness this film—a feminist for a feminist.
a gateway to a mother's life, i'd say.
