However, this review does not say much about the film itself.
A lot of people remember GiGi. A lot of people talk about GiGi, but I remember Janine—the woman with a handsome profile and a dashingly handsome cheating husband.
That's how I remember her. - at first just because of her long hair and dark blue clothes, then because of the yellow cigarette case in the drawer (is it American spirit, I forgot), and then because of her husband's shirt shaking in her hand Then, after ten seconds, she walked back and swept away the mirror fragments on the ground, and finally, she placed a long row of yellow cigarette cases on top of the clothes she had folded for her husband.
Yes, I'm obsessed with whether her husband smokes, obsessed with her asking him if he smokes, obsessed with whether the truth deviates from the answer she gets. My whole idea was to follow Janine's ideas, ignoring most of the film. Just remember her, with that (those) yellow cigarette case.
Her husband never said to her, yes I smoke. In my opinion, this is the saddest thing.
The saddest thing is that the man next to you vowed to defend a trivial secret and only kept it from you. No matter if you are honest with him from the bottom of your heart and signal that you want him to be honest, he still has no intention of being honest with you.
It is that he may be close to you alone, but he alone does not try to communicate with you.
So... so love cannot be equal. Very hopeless.
I still don't understand why a person should be determined to hide perhaps the most inconspicuous thing from the person closest to him. But I know that when this concealment is exposed, I can no longer be honest.
Maybe it's really simple, all I still don't understand is actually just what I didn't admit, I didn't admit He's Just Not That Into me.
He's Just Not That Into me. In class today, I often think of this sentence, how should I put it, I don't know if it's depression or something else. In fact, it is not depression, because it seems that it is actually understood early in the morning.
But the empty class made my mind wander a lot. It wasn't just that that came to mind.
I suddenly remembered high school, two boys I had almost forgotten about in high school. One would show up in the classroom every weekend I go back to school (when I don't have to go to school on weekends), bring me breakfast, and do my homework. Every time I asked him why he had to go back to school, he said that he came back to play, and then he would go out with basketball for ten or twenty minutes and come back, and continue to sit in his seat and do his homework. Pack up his books when I say go and say he goes too.
Another day, I jokingly snatched his diary and took it back to the class to see (the second year of high school has been divided, he is on the fourth floor opposite and I am on the second floor), and I was surprised to find that the diary was full. It's me. About this class, I walked out of the classroom and stood by the handrail to look at the scenery. In that class, I looked out the window as if in a daze, or this class, I looked up and looked at the fourth floor...
They still don't know me . It doesn't matter to them that they go back to school on weekends or stand out of class or look up to see what the fourth floor is for. But what they did at that time was what I did. It's just A to B, B to C formulas, consistent, but not looping, that's all.
I mean, so I can understand them. So I can see that kind of feeling that can be regarded as the beginning of love.
At this moment when I accidentally think of them, what I think is that the boy's love is probably the most real at the beginning of his relationship. The feelings they give may be jerky or even light, but most of them are very sincere.
And at that time it happened that the person they met was you, and you were happy enough.
At least when I think about it, I was really liked by my heart.
Thinking of this, I suddenly became very relieved about reality or something. It seems that there is some gain by default, and it is deserved in a certain age, and after a certain age, it is delusional.
Since it is delusional, it is better not to think about it.
(I want to go to bed, so let’s wrap it up.)
I am still honest about my feelings other than love, and I still have the ability to be honest about love. But...but I hate injustice, I hate the unresponsive signals that crave honesty as if they were sent out into the vast universe. So finally I stopped asking and thinking.
When Janine put a row of yellow cigarette cases on Ben's shirt, she probably wasn't relieved, just helpless.
He's Just Not That Into You , so let it be .
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