3.11.09

Mi Vida (subtitulada)

Do you ever have that out-of-body moment when you see yourself --your actions, your words, your emotions -- through the eyes of those staring blankly at you and think that perhaps you need to be accompanied by a translation?

I'm not sure if language translation is really even a reasonable metaphor; honestly, sometimes it feels like a .mkv codec trying to read an .mov file (I'll let you figure out which party the highly superior .mov represents [.mkv--*blech!*]).

I've been told I have no ability to school my facial expressions (since I don't prance in front of a mirror to observe my own reactions to various scenarios, I'm unaware of the truth of this statement). If that were true, though, why would my words fail me as often as they do?

I think maybe I just need to stop watching foreign films. The subs make me angsty and emo. That, and epically tragic love stories don't do much for a cheery outlook on life-- or self-inflection, for that matter.

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