I cry over everything. Not just real life events… songs… books… adverts. If something awful happens to you and you want a shoulder to cry on, by all means come round to my house. But don’t do it if you’re looking for someone to pass you tissues and make you a cup of tea. I’ll be too busy sobbing along with you.
My older sister is the opposite to me. Go to her. She’ll tell you to stop sniffling, pull your socks up and CARRY ON. My younger sister won’t help because she won’t be in. Leave a note. She may ring back.
I am a sensitive person. Empathetic. I care. I am happy to be all these things, but as a child? Not so much. Everybody else would just get on with things whilst I would worry. Things that washed over others would deeply affect me. And I’d CRY. And my sister would call me a cry baby and around and around we’d go.
I can still be relied upon to cry in films. So much so if there’s a film out that I think might make me cry I will purposely not go and see it for fear of embarrassing myself in the cinema. When I went to see the amazingly brilliant Italian film Life Is Beautiful I was still sobbing when we got back to the car park.
My sisters and I didn’t spend our formative years in the UK. When we were particularly young we often lived in areas with no English speaking television. This is where our pirated videos came into play. We would watch all sorts of stuff. Repeatedly. On loop. If it was a cartoon, my mother sat us down in front of it. She didn’t realise Japanese Manga wasn’t all that child friendly. We all laugh about this now. My absolute favourite animated film involved a boy committing suicide to appease the dragon Gods and then coming back from hell to reek his vengeance. Honestly!
Funnily enough these were not the films that upset me. No, what caused the real trauma was…. Dumbo. I will never get over watching Dumbo’s mother rocking him to sleep with her trunk through the bars of her “Mad Elephant” prison. *sob*
Come to think of it lots of “family friendly” movies are tearjerkers. When Simba returns to his rightful place on Pride Rock, when the spirit of Littlefoot’s mother guides him the safety of The Valley, when Bobbie spots her father on the train platform and don’t even get me started on the horse-in-the-swamp scenario from The Neverending Story.
As I type this, my daughter is watching Pixar’s latest offering Inside Out. If you’ve seen it, you’ll understand when I say that Bing Bong has just made his entrance, so if you’ll excuse me… *sniff*