A Single Child

I just watched A Single Man with Colin Firth and Julianne Moore. For all the high praise it got, I'm not too sure what I expected, but I was definitely less than satisfied when it ended. But I suppose the ending fit the general feel of the film. The whole affair is pretty pompous and melodramatic, not helped by its stringy and long-winded score. It's not a particularly poorly written soundtrack, nor a poor movie for that matter. It's just that I feel however poignant it gets, the build up takes too long to allow it an equal payoff.

That being said, it's a wonderfully stylish film. 2.5/4.


The other day my mom and dad and I were eating outside. It was dinner time, and my dad was on his laptop outside, as he usually is. Being summer, the sun had yet to set for a few more hours, and hunger struck our bellies like a lightning storm above a volcano. My brother was in Vietnam at the time, so he couldn't join us, naturally. My mom and I saw my dad outside and we decided to join his lonesome on the small table we have in the backyard next to my dad's makeshift hammock.

Our backyard was large, and where a patio could have been, we instead had cement laid out with a wooden roof I believe my dad made himself when we moved first arrived. We had two sliding doors on opposite ends of our house that led into the backyard. The roof covered the width of our house so no matter which door we slid open to enter, we'd be covered. One door was in the family room. When we first moved in, opening that door led to a clear view of the backyard. However, over the years a large ivy-like bush of flowers had extended from the ground to the room, providing shade onto the patio area. This was where the hammock was fastened, behind where the roof ended and covered by the big plant.

The other door, behind our kitchen, was opened and led right near a table where my dad was sitting. It was through this door that my mom and I exited to sit next to my dad.

"Who do you think is better-looking, bố?" I asked my dad during dinner. The sun was still up and the lack of humidity in the clear California weather was a blessing I never took for granted. The occasional breeze hugged my skin like a quiet lover, always gentle and soothing.

To his children, my dad is a generally reserved man. He projects the persona of the dominant male figure of the household and generally doesn't indulge us when we are silly. However, through the years, my brother and I have found that around his friends, he is extremely social and jovial, so we know that he can be very easygoing. Thus, unless he's giving us direct orders, we love joking around with him and being as ridiculous as possible.

"Me or you?" I clarified.

"Andrew, you can't be serious," my mom interjected. "Bố is much better looking, especially when he was younger. He was so handsome." She smiled.

My dad stared off, quietly, as he is apt to do. He spoke as if he wasn't really listening and answered as if he only heard the question in passing. It always seemed like he was thinking about something else, distracted even when talking to his children.

"Bố don't know. Probably you," he replied quietly before taking another chopstickful of rice.

I laughed.

"See?" I told my mom. "Even he admits I'm more handsome!" I told her jokingly.

"No. Definitely not," she said, looking at my father lovingly.

"Well," I said, thinking aloud to my dad, "who's better looking, bố? You or Matthew?"

There was less hesitation this time.

"Matthew," he said, more quickly, but still in his special reserved tone. "He's taller and has long eyelashes."

"Oh, Matthew is so handsome!" my mom said. "And he has those beautiful baby eyes!"

I thought about what she said for a second. It was then, I realized, that my mom thinks I'm the ugliest guy in our family.

Sad times.