When I was thirteen, I experienced a monumental change in my young life.
It wasn’t a big move, no one close to me died, and although puberty was rocking my world in the worst way, it was something else altogether that shook me to the core:
The movie Titanic came out.
I know, I know, it’s just a movie, and I was just another swooning teenager wishing that I was the one Jack never wanted to let go of, but it hit me hard. Truth, love, the pain of loss: a woman following her heart and risking it all for true love. I relished every second of its three hours and fifteen minute run time.
So much that I saw it multiple times over winter break at school – usually with my equally enamored mom, sometimes with my best friend, always with a lump in my throat. I held back tears as I saw Jack’s face disappearing into the icy waters, always wondering why Rose couldn’t make room for him on the raft, each time imagining myself in the situation: falling in love, making tough choices, persevering through loss.
Continue reading please as this intro has a purpose. Not everyone watching that film was moved by it in the way that Melissa was. The image above encapsulates the message. The girl in the rain prevents the water reaching her by using an umbrella, the boy with the bowl is collecting precious water.
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