Lately I've Been Obsessed With Old Cinema.

𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘋𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘺, 𝘓𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘦. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨—𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝖳𝗋𝗎𝗅𝗒 𝖮𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖺

—𝖠 𝗅𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗅𝗅, 𝖩𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅.

𝐵𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑡, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛.

𝐵𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑛, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑑.

𝐵𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑘, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ.

𝐵𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑.

𝐵𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑦.

𝐵𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡,𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝐺𝑜𝑑.

𝐵𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝐺𝑜𝑑.

𝐵𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛.

𝐵𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑙𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑙 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑒.  𝑅𝑒𝑗𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑑, 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑝ℎ𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

—The Beatitudes, 𝑀𝑎𝑡𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑤 𝟻:𝟹–𝟷𝟸 (𝑁𝐼𝑉)

—Donna Tartt, The Secret History

I look my mum to see The Last Supper part 3 because it was almost Mother's Day.

She thought Jesus wandering around in the garden dragged on too long and that The Chosen was too long and too depressing to watch. I think she's right.

I didn't like how Jesus lied to his disciples at the last supper. "It's nothing," he lied. I also didn't like that Jesus falsely accused the father of asking too much.

My mum said The Chosen focused too much on the other characters, and not enough on Jesus and Judas.

I haven't watched the last supper scene of the chosen. I believe its out in cinemas alone but maybe when I see it I'll probably understand what you mean.

Hi loves ‧｡⋆

.☘︎ ݁ About me: I'm Jacqueline, She/her, 20, Christian girl, CS major, part time water fairy(lol) 🧚🏽‍♂️₊˚.༄

.☘︎ ݁ Current hobbies: Reading, writing, blogging, playing the violin, debating. ⋆.

.☘︎ ݁ What you'll find on this blog: Art, poetry and other stuffs that resonate with me. *:･

.☘︎ ݁ Favorite authors atm: Donna Tart, Sidney Sheldon, Francine Rivers, Chimamanda Adiche. (Still getting into the classics!!). ₊˚₊𓏲

.☘︎ ݁ Current obsession: Pinterest, Tumblr(Obv), Substack, Articles, Video essays, French, poetry, classics, period drama, self education, classical music.₊˚ʚ ₊

.☘︎ ݁My Substack: https://aladyandherquill.substack.com/

Obsession beats talent every time.

Today, I encountered a little black girl who looked frail and seemed timid, and it nearly brought me to tears. There was something in her eyes, a glint of quiet pain, of low self-esteem. She seemed afraid to speak, to take up space, to simply exist in the fullness of who she is. And in that moment, my mind instantly went to my younger sister. And of course, to my younger self. I see so much of myself in my little sister. I love her with everything in me, and I would do whatever it takes to shield her from the cruelty of the world—from my father's rage, from society’s judgment, from the harshness I was never protected from. I couldn’t save my younger self from all the things that broke me. The things that silenced me, made me shrink, made me feel like I wasn’t enough. So when I see little girls like that—like her—I feel this deep, aching need to protect them. I glanced at her multiple times today, and she might’ve thought I was judging her. I wish I could’ve told her I wasn’t. That I cared. That in a world where others might overlook her or treat her like she’s invisible, I see her. I would be there for her. But I couldn’t say it. Because that would've scared her off. I hope I see her again. Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t this sensitive. I wish I could just numb myself just a little, so I wouldn’t have to feel so deeply all the time. But here I am, writing this with tears in my eyes. Empathy is starting to feel like a curse to me.

—A lady and Her Quill, Journal of wandering thoughts.

The city was silently bloating in the hot sun, rotting like the thousands of bodies that lay where they had fallen in street battles. An oppressive, hot wind blew from the southeast, carrying with it the putrefying stench of decay. And outside the city walls, Death itself waited— in the persons of Titus, son of Vespasian, and sixty thousand legionnaires, who were anxious to gut the City of God.

—Francine Rivers, A Voice in the Wind (Mark of the Lion series).

-My left brain 🧠