The friend on my right in seat 25 told us that “The Admiral” was like the Russian “Titanic.” His words took me back in time to the premiere of “Titanic” in Varna. I distinctly remembered my strong concentration and persistent efforts not to cry. Drowning passengers, sinking hopes and the eternity of true love—none of that moved me. Clenching my jaws tightly and biting my lips, I looked at my mom sitting next to me. She was already wiping her tears and verbally attacking the villain, wishing for nothing else but Leonardo to kill him. My task had become harder but more challenging. How proud I would be if I could say that my mom wept at “Titanic” but I didn’t shed a tear! So, I held the tears in my eyelashes and reached for some popcorn to distract me.
I continued proving to myself the emotional stability that I lacked during various dramas, thrillers and even happy-ending romantic comedies. My movie partner would cry and I would just laugh, suppressing the flow of tears and the hurricane of emotions in my stomach.
It wasn’t too long ago when I realized I couldn’t help it anymore. When the saddest moment in the movie came and the music grew more dramatic and tenser with every second, the same well-known feeling started suffocating me and I gave in. Still hoping I could control it, I looked at my crying friend sitting on the beige leather sofa in our living room. Our eyes met, overflowing with tears, and we smiled. We smiled at our stupidity, our excessive sensitivity and at the realization that we had just shared and lived this moment to the fullest.
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