Author's Note:
Vivre d'amour et d'eau fraîche: to live on love alone; to live a life free from worries or responsibilities.
Blue Is The Warmest Color left an immeasurably profound impact on me. In my opinion, it was a masterfully crafted experience in every respect: from the music, to the beautiful cinemetography, it's raw, and at the same time, subtle honesty in depicting life and love, and of course Adele Exarchopolous's and Lea Seydoux's powerful performances. We are priveledged to see the passionate beginning of Emma and Adele's relationship, and the tragic finality of it-leaving the rest to personal interpretation. I've seen this film several times, and each time, noticed something that made me understand and fall in love with it even more. I still maintain that the ending is breathtaking in its impact, and absolutely fitting-I am grateful for this film for helping me mature more and bring me closure in my own past relationship. But when I watched the film most recently, (and observed in particular the final two scenes) I was left with intriguing questions and possibilities: What if Emma still loved Adele? What if Adele never really moved on? Was it possible for them to live on love alone again? And what if Fate again gave them the opportunity to do just that? After all their personal characteristics, personal sacrifices and struggles Adele and Emma experienced, this story is the closure I think they deserve.
If you'd like to watch the "Thirst" video I made for Blue Is The Warmest Color, you can just put the YouYube address followed by: watch?v=CcaRSNgLAVI
The silence is deafening and
I can feel us becoming strangers.
I know that you think that I am
a foolish woman that simply wants
what is no longer mine, but my time
with you made me feel like my bones
finally had a place to rest.
I am miserable without you, and
your shadow has settled on all
the things that you ever touched.
Your memory is crushing all
of the things that I used to love.
I need you to tell me that everything
is going to be okay.
Where you find her love, you will find me- Mariah Gordon-Dyke
Adele was fine.
She could breathe again: the excruciating, heavy pain in her chest had gradually subsided into a dull ache that she had come to accept would always be a part of her. There was even a certain comfort in knowing it was there.
She could sleep again: she no longer woke up broken throughout the night and imagining burning, hungry lips and tongues, restless hands and wild eyes- this all consuming fire no longer burned the fabric of her dreams the way it used to. In fact, rest came to her fully when she didn't dream at all.
She could eat again: since she cooked only for herself now, her appetite consisted mainly of simple foods such as bruschetta with a glass of wine, ratatouille, even her father's recipe for spaghetti Bolognese once in a while. When she had re-learned to cook meals for their sustenance rather than sentimental value, her health had greatly improved.
She could think again: at first, not an hour would go by when she did not dwell on the past. It took her months to simply make it through the day without crying, or mercilessly reminding herself of decisions gone wrong. Drowning herself in a sea of memories every night, until she was convinced she was losing her mind and decided that she would have to forgive herself and simply accept the consequences of her actions or drive herself insane for the rest of her life. Since then, blue hair, blue eyes, blue paint-all of it drifted in and out of her mind from time to time but she would allow everything to overcome her, only so she could then gently exhale it and focus on living for today.
She could teach again: after spending the summer helping the children with difficulties, a new group of first graders would be under her care. Watching them learn how to speak, read, and write French gave her joy, especially knowing she had been the one to help them. Although she still wanted a family of her own, she was unsure if that would ever happen, and therefore felt a deep affection and bond with all of her students. At the end of the day, she would let herself go out with colleagues, but never too late, because she wanted to return home to focus on planning further lessons.
She could write again: poetry and prose that, while still melancholy and restrained by her standards, was refreshing and hopeful after a dark, bitter winter. Her first published work, a collection of children's stories, had been out for a month, just in time to celebrate the renewing season of Spring. Samir, in between his small acting roles and real estate, had helped her organize a release party. The local press in Lille had been there, as well as a few other teachers from work that taught Literature, and her mother had been there too-her father was still distant and hard to talk to ever since she'd moved out of the house after high school. It was one of the unfortunate realities that she had learned to live with.
And she could live again-without Emma. After their last devastating conversation in the cafe, where Emma claimed she no longer loved Adele despite feeling an "infinite tenderness' for her forever, and Adele's quiet departure from Emma's gallery showcase where she realized she did not belong anymore in her world, Adele had slowly, painfully maintained some sense of closure. She'd even visited their special spot in the park at Square Daubenton last week; the bench and majestic tree were the same as ever, and she could still recall her happiest memories there, but she could walk past it, even stay awhile, without being consumed by her emotions.
Adele had also found new ways to keep herself occupied and her mind under control. She was taking salsa dancing classes twice a week for example, enjoying the freedom of movement and sensual release the experience offered. To her pleasant surprise, Adele discovered that she had quite a passion for it, reveling in the music, the way it moved her blood and warmed her bones, revitalizing her confidence. So much so in fact, that she had boldly decided to get a tattoo in Romanian right underneath her left breast: "Pentru tine de o mie de ori" which meant For you, a thousand times over.
Yes, Adele could live without Emma-and she supposed that this, too, was fine.
But loving again was a different matter.
Although she had certainly made admirable progress in maturing and moving forward since her relationship with Emma, Adele still wasn't quite ready to give herself away to someone else. She wasn't even sure if she could; whereas falling in love with Emma had been numinous and swift, Adele felt as if she was forcing, forcing everything, with everyone else. She'd had some flings here and there, but nothing concrete, and so she concluded that she needed more time to regain and develop her sense of self, along with a change of scenery. To that effect, Adele had decided to finally travel to New York City as Samir had suggested years ago. After saving up little by little, she had bought plane tickets for a flight in two days and made arrangements for a month long stay. She was sure she'd return to Lille refreshed and with a new perspective on life.
This excitement for her oncoming trip filled Adele with an energetic sense of freedom as she moved throughout her apartment. The building itself was only two stories high, made of old bricks, with the roof and tower painted white. It was also located on Gounod Street, in the heart of Lille's historical district. The inside of the apartment was fairly spacious, as if trying its hardest to give Adele room to breathe: French doors opening to the balcony dominated the living area, which was furnished with a black leather sofa ,where her suitcases were laying open, and a wooden coffee table. The kitchen was off to the left, with cherry red cupboards that matched the oven door. A cookbook rested on the counter, beside a vase of peonies which filled the air with a sweet, cheerful fragrance.
The hardwood floors and carved beams near the ceiling gave the apartment a rustic charm and an aura of warmth that was separate from the warmth of the sunset spilling through the window. The light carelessly cascaded across the beige walls, as if purposefully splattered onto them by a stroke from a painter's brush. The light spilled into Adele's bedroom too, which also had a small window overlooking the boulevard, a shelf where she kept her favourite books, and a comfortable bed whose sheets of gold were embroidered with lilies-of-the-valley. Adele's favourite spot in the apartment was her mahogany writer's desk, tucked in the corner of the bedroom. The resin in the wood would seem to become inflamed as the light shifted and gained intensity throughout the day. Countless drafts of words were poured out on single sheets of paper, or napkins, or the backs of receipts, which were stuffed into the drawers along with Adele's notebooks she'd kept since highschool
She was just going through them at the moment, deciding which one she'd read and revise on the plane, when her eye caught a flash of a sketch on crinkled, yellowed paper. Hesitating for a heartbeat, Adele slowly disentangled it from the rest of the pages she'd scribbled on and inhaled sharply. It was the first sketch of Adele that Emma had ever done. Over the years, the sharp pencil strokes that captured the sweeping movement of her hair as it blew in the warm breeze of that sunny day had faded over time. The smudge marks from Emma's fingers had also been absorbed by the paper, just where they had traced the contours of Adele's face. But the innocence, anticipation, and mesmerizing power Emma had managed to preserve inside Adele's lingering gaze still remained.
As she admired the sketch, Adele felt as if she was taking a long look back into her past. She was completely unprepared for the rush of memories and emotions suddenly welling up inside her, as acutely painful as the cruel twist of a knife between the ribs. For a moment, Adele contemplated destroying the sketch, her most precious possession, if only to prevent herself this kind of heartache in the future. But before she could make a decision, there was an abrupt knock on the door.
Adele tried her best to breathe evenly and compose herself as she moved to open it. She wondered who could be wanting to see her; perhaps Samir had come to wish her a nice trip. Quickly tucking her hair behind her ears, she opened the door-and gasped in shock as she saw who it was. After a moment of stunned silence, Adele spoke the name she'd carefully locked away behind her lips like a secret, hardly daring to believe her eyes:
"Emma!"