An eternity later (which were after a few hours, in reality), I woke up thinking of Rose and Jack and their love story in Titanic. Why? I don’t know, but I just did. I thought about it as I brushed my teeth and washed my face. It was only a love story, although fictional, that had me crying over it, over and again. I was thirteen when I had watched the movie for the first time. A father’s princess who used to live a life of fairy’s; I was deeply affected by the movie. The bitter truth of life’s fragility was too much for me to take in. For my tender imagination—the Titanic was a reality. I was a naïve girl who used shudder while thinking of the sinking ship and for weeks my father had to coo me to sleep for, I denied leaving his sight too afraid to part from him thinking I might slip away.
