Falling in love

Raindrops beat down the window. The yellowish maple leaves are also wet with rainwater and fall to the ground. Looking at the leaves rolling on the floor, I low head to the theme song of the movie 'In the mood for love.'

The tight rhythm of the cello prefecture brings up the pain buried deep in the heart and spreads it out in the air. The deep gaze of a man at a woman with his eyes closed, trembling with emotion and loneliness, is melted into music. The theme song of desire to love, regret and loneliness flow repeatedly.

'In the meeting with him, she bowed shyly, and in his timidity she left.' The subtitles starting with tell the beginning and end of a movie. Eventually, with love that could not be achieved, the more you watch 'In the mood for love' directed by Wangawi, the more I fall in love with it.

Tony Leung Chiu Wai and Maggie Cheung Man-yuk are the main actors. Men and women who bump into each other without words in Hong Kong's cramped spaces, but without showing any physical contact, only music represents their ardent love.

A man who is coming up the narrow stairway is glancing silently at a pensive woman. Under the light of a dark alley lamp, the man leans against the wall and pulls out his cigarette. As the music comforts the woman's sad gaze at the place where the man climbed.

The waiting and brushing scenes of a lonely man and woman in a suspended moment are like the canvas of the painter Edward Hopper, who portrayed a quiet emptiness.

The movie is a love story, and as the English title 'In the Mood for Love' tells us, it is the development of mood. Music also reminds me of their love even more deeply, so on rainy days, I listen to and listen to it with the sound

As the old story goes, "If there's a secret you want to hide, go to the mountain and find a tree, dig a hole there, whisper your secret, bury the secret in your heart forever, seal it with mud." In the movie, the main male character vomits the secret of love in a hole in a Cambodian temple tree, and then seals it with a blade of grass.

It seems that the appearance of a young monk in an orange robe watching him whisper into a hole in the distance is a sign of the fleetingness of life's history. Even though orange is bright and warm, why come to me as the blood of poppies, the futility and emptiness of life?