Theives and existential ramblings

I saw a movie at the cinema today… I ran inside barely catching my teacher who had reserved the tickets early. As usual, I was running on Spanish time - five minutes late.
The film was called – Ladrones or thieves…. It was awash in religious symbolism painted in grey somber tones, sung in Gothic chants, flowing through brilliantly smooth transitions... I understood about three- fourths of the words in the movie. But, the primary plot was obvious, and the art direction was so crystal clear if I did not immediately understand a word, a phrase, a gesture… it became readily apparent in the minor details… It was set in the grey area of life… somewhere between good and evil... there was a mannequin, an untrustworthy antique dealer, a confused lovesick girl, and a lonely lonely boy. The director drew pickpockets in a hazy reality and then inversely made clear details unreal. He threw in a Virgin and Child motif, there were hints of jailing, and red preordained a bloody demise. At face value, it was all thieveries but deep down it was much more.
Completely thought provoking and a little melancholy, the film was exactly what I needed at the moment. For whatever reason, not being a part of the world around you – being a foreigner – reveals the symbolism in life. Gestures become words, words become nationality, and nationality becomes fitting in somewhere. And usually that somewhere isn’t where you are. You learn to deal with… You find the world a strange wonderful reality of impossibilities, absurdity, and magnificent beauty. That had been my time in Sevilla… an unreal beautiful world where I spoke little but heard more than the natives … At least, it was that way at least till the last week.
I suppose at times the cleverly arranged façade falters and you realize that you are indeed alone… feeling as a stranger. It’s startling. From the top down the symbolism in life fades. Gestures cease to become words, words loose connotation with nationality, and nationality is a meaningless term. Its not homesickness or awkwardness… The closest word to it is in the spirit of an Arabic word… Feeling like a stranger longing for his native land… However, having the feeling of a stranger, not necessarily BEING the stranger. As if you are longing for a place that doesn’t exist. A place in your mind… in your heart… in all those patterns you imagined around you. The sense of the world.
I’m rambling into existential nonsense… I guess… discarding all my above analysis… the film rekindled the magic I felt here. The graffiti in the alleyways became horoscopes again. The Clam became a funky coffeehouse instead of a room full of uninteresting strangers. I lived in a ship, sailing above the city, instead of a tiny room on a dusty rooftop patio. I was in the Spain I loved again, and all that dull stuff was left behind….