I've been begging myself for a while to write for myself and myself only. Without any expectations and obligations. The only obligation I have is to myself and perhaps to posterity to some extent. In 30 years, I don't want to look back and experience the regret of having a trail of wasted time. But at the end of the day, I end up writing for an imaginary audience. I polish up the pieces and make it presentable. Sometimes I go through a set of rituals that I dislike doing or having them entirely in my pieces. I don't want to do that anymore. This is why I'm recording the sentiment in text. A reminder for thyself; the time for a change is upon me. Here, I'll address myself in second person throughout this whole article.

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Do you remember the first time you've seen Last Year at Marienbad? Your motivation was nothing grand, just that it is a film by Alain Resnais and you had to see it. When asked you can never explain why you had to because you're under the notion you're doing something differently — while in truth, every film student has done the same thing. The film is thought to be an essential one.

But you've didn't see the film for many years. Postponed it. The synopsis didn't call to you. In a hotel a man tries to convince a woman that they met the the previous year. You thought, meh.

But as soon as the film started to roll, you realized that the vague synopsis is very much misleading. The film is a deliberate work of surrealism. That hotel with thick carpets, endless hallways and corridors, motionless guests, motifs and patterns of baroque design scheme — everything is there by design, deliberately. Nothing moves without the filmmakers say so. Not one frame represents casualness. Within minutes, you knew you would love it.

And you did. You loved the sudden shift in scenes. Those match cuts to signify time shifts. Merging past and present in seamless transitions. You became utterly confused by the craft of the film. You then loved being confused. The film challenged your cinematic sense and it never ceased to be a pleasing sensation to you.

You kept on admiring the aesthetic high dream. Yes, it was like a dream, wasn't it? Albeit, way less logical than a dream. Dreams do have logic. Last year in Marienbad has none. As the man continues to try to convince the woman of their previous encounter, walking beside her all over the hotel — in the lobby, on the open yard with carefully cut cone trees, in the bedroom with delicate engravings, and in between that card games where the manager never loses — you felt the gradual change in the atmosphere. You felt the yearning and as well as the futility of their endeavor.

What was the meaning of all that running around? You wondered whether they really met. And you wondered whether this chase tackles the absurdity of romantic relationships between men and women and what their hearts truly desire. You wondered about what could come next on the screen. How would the screenplay would play itself out.

Your younger brother, whom you've nearly forced to sit through the film, liked the performance of the manager. And so did you. His rigid never changing expressions did go well.

When the film ended, you tried to make some final sense out of it. But you couldn't. It could be an allegory to about anything. You knew the film was quite controversial and was heavily criticized upon its release. But your inspiration Pauline Kael wasn't all that antagonistic about it. She matters to you. The others don't.

You found the film so intriguing, you ended up watching it many times. You sought to learn from this avant-garde experimental art piece. It became much more than just another French new wave entry. And even if it remains incomprehensible to many, hated even, you will cherish it for the years to come.

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The trailer, for anyone interested —