If you’re trying to separate out the countless “meaningless things” in the world from everything else, you’ll eventually have to make a judgment about human beings, about our existence. In my case, I suppose it’s all the movies I’ve seen, and the memories I have of them that give my life meaning. They’ve made me who I am.
To live means: to cry and shout, to love, to do silly things, to feel sadness and joy, to even experience horrible, frightening things… and to laugh. Beautiful songs, beautiful scenery, feeling nauseous, people singing, planes flying across the sky, the thundering hooves of horses, mouth-watering pancakes, the endless darkness of space, cowboys firing their pistols at dawn…
And next to all the movies that play on a loop inside me, sit the images of friends, lovers, the family, who were with me when I watched them. Then there are the countless films that I’ve recorded in my own imagination—the memories that run through my head, which are so beautiful, they bring tears to my eyes.