I decided with staggering finality this afternoon while the sun was eclipsing my brain with its heat that I wouldn't write about anything today that could be considered as, one, deep, two, dark, and three heavy. I decided that if those thoughts were to reach even an ounce on the bathroom scale that I would flush them down the toilet. *mischievous grin curving lips*

You see, though I use words to unburden myself from whatever heaviness might be weighing me down, moments inevitably come when those very words end up carrying too much of a weight and they slip down my tongue dragging it down, down, and down until it's hanging loose to my toes. It's quite the same as having your foot stuck in your mouth and when this happens I know for sure that it's time to lighten up on myself.

I had every intention of doing just that, I swear. I even made a point of watching, or at least, trying to watch the first five minutes of the movie Timeline which i've been meaning to do for quite some time now. I placed some effort into it even if I felt as soon as it was confirmed that who was originally a professor of archeology in Michael Crichton's book was suddenly morped into the role of 'Dad' in the movie that it was going to be horrible. It was like saying that the trilogy of The Lord of The Rings would remain unchanged if Frodo were to suddenly discover in the movie that Gollum was his long lost father.

I still meant to stick to my word when I resigned myself to the conclusion that I was meant to enjoy Timeline only in its written form and settled on another movie instead, but how is one to remain detached and casual when all of a sudden, flashing before your very eyes, an absolutely heart melting (i'm being trite but I can think of no other way to describe what I saw at this point) story nestled into an enchanting, autumn-nish setting begin stroking awake parts of your mind which you were determined to relax for the evening?

How is one to react when a noble young man, an orphan, without anything significant or noteworthy about him, without a family, having have grown up in an orphanage, without a past, nothing except for the goodness and purity of his heart which shone through every gesture and every intention, reaches out reflexively, protectively, and compassionately to a troubled woman who barfs on his shoulder while he's on a trip to sell chocolates. The woman is pregnant and husbandless and is terrified of facing her restrictively repressive old fashioned family, most of all, of surviving her father's wrath. To save her from shame, he offers to take the guise of her husband.

How can one remain unmoved when upon finding himself in the midst of a beautiful grapevine valley which has been in the woman's family for generations, the young man suffers every insult and affront which her hard hearted and extremely possessive father throws in his direction, cruelly derising him for being an orphan, for having no idea as to who he is or there he came from.

Then how can one not feel one's throat tighten with unshed tears when the dictatorial father, finally having been softened by the young man's earnestness and sincerity realizes that he has been deceived, albeit without any malice, by his daughter and the young man. The hearts which break the most painfully, after all, are those which took the longest to melt, especially if that heart is a father's heart.

And how can one not feel a poignant mixture of sadness and joy when the entire valley of grapevines is burned into ash by a lamp being hurled unintentionally in a fit of rage during a tussle which would've
spelled the end of a whole tradition and a way of life of a family whose pride and fortune has been built in the harvest of its grapes but for the young man who found one live root within the smoldered remains of the original root from where the valley was born?

How then can one not place her foot in her mouth?