A100 watches Blossoms

[doggie]

This article contains no spoilers—feel free to read on.

Overall Review

Some parts feel odd, but overall, the flaws do not overshadow its merits: it’s a deeply evocative work.

Preface

Two years ago, when Wong Kar-wai’s Blossoms was all the rage, I watched part of it—and then set it aside.

Recently, I visited Shanghai (a story I’ll tell later—another unfinished draft), and that reminded me of the series. So I picked it up again and watched it from the beginning. I even asked my friends in Shanghai what “pao fan” (soaked rice) actually is—essentially just pouring water over cooked rice, a traditional eating habit among the older generation; nowadays, young people rarely eat this way.

Main Text

The central narrative follows A Bao / Bao Zong’s life—a storyline filmed with sufficient dramatic intensity. It interweaves numerous subplots and emotional arcs, while deliberately fracturing the timeline. Some segments feel oddly disjointed, yet overall, the imperfections don’t diminish its brilliance—the aftertaste lingers long after viewing. In this article, I won’t discuss plot or characters; I’ll focus solely on that lingering “aftertaste.”

In the past, I valued tightly woven plots and dazzling visuals—I mostly watched genre films, where characters tended to be stereotyped: beauties, heroes, sages, clowns, etc. The pacing was either rapid-fire or light-hearted and humorous.

Lately, however, I’ve grown increasingly drawn to works that leave me feeling, while watching, as though I grasp them—and yet also don’t. After finishing, I’m left with a sense of quiet melancholy; I sit still for a moment, then slowly savor their layers more deeply the longer I reflect. Recent examples include Blossoms, Eat Drink Man Woman, Look Back, and 12 Angry Men.

What matters most in such works is people—and the relationships between them. These require patience and attentiveness to perceive. A few years ago, I would have found such pacing sluggish and boring—so much so that I’d fall asleep watching. Now, though, I genuinely love it.

They wait for me—and I wait for them. Watching films helps me settle inward, much like listening to music, cooking, brewing tea, or tidying up. These activities ground me, helping me slow down and truly sense the subtleties within. What I gain afterward—a quiet sense of fulfillment—helps fill the hollow space inside me.

Lately, writing my thesis has been extremely stressful. For a long time, I produced nothing at all—just endlessly scrolling through my phone. The less happy I felt, the less I could write; the less I wrote, the more I scrolled; the more I scrolled, the unhappier and less productive I became—a downward spiral, eroding my resilience until I finally collapsed. Friends and family can offer support, but ultimately, pulling myself back up depends on me alone.

Practices like these help me break free from that destructive cycle.

There’s a line in Blossoms: “Emotions are like this—turn your head once, and you’re on an entirely different path. What’s gone is gone, never to return. Things simply are what they are.”

This holds true not only for how we treat others—but also how we treat ourselves. Turn your head once, and you step onto a new path: one leading toward greater calm and inner fullness—or one spiraling further into deflation and self-reproach. Once you’ve turned, there’s no going back.

I hope you, too, can find such a path—one that brings you stillness and a deeper sense of fulfillment.

Postscript

I originally intended to write about Blossoms’ richly layered plotlines and vivid, three-dimensional characters—but upon reflection, I decided against it. This quiet sense of resonance feels just right.

Postscript II

This is the 100th entry in the “A Series.” I’d planned to write a summary—but reconsidered. This quiet sense of resonance feels just right.