Imaris
Auto-translated
If we talk about less serious things...
I cried terribly – no, I wailed – when I read "White Bim, Black Ear" by Gavriil Troepolsky in my childhood. It seems that this was the first time I cried because of a book/movie/some kind of plot. It tells the story of how a dog went from good hands to bad ones, and then its life turned into a series of torments. In the end, unable to bear the cruel world, it died.
I also cry when I watch "The Lord of the Rings." And not only when something bad happens. I am simply amazed by the courage, the qualities of these people, their ability to inspire, and so on. When Boromir is killed, it's not just that one of the heroes died, but how he continued to fight with three blades in his chest, taking many enemies with him. It's a powerful scene in which Théoden tells the Rohirrim that they will all die now, then the Riders shout three times "to death!" and rush "to death" without thinking about retreat. When the will of Frodo, who has gone through an incredibly long, difficult, and agonizing journey, finally breaks just a step away from the end, all hopes are shattered, when the realization comes that everything that the two hobbits did, everything that the leaders did, sending all their forces to the most hopeless battle at the Black Gate, that the death of Boromir and many other people was in vain, when the realization comes that it was all useless...
In the same category are tears of happiness: when friends meet, when something good and sweet happens.
Just a lot of sentimentality)) And this is despite the fact that I am generally not a sentimental person, and many "good" qualities don't matter to me. Sometimes I ignore my heartlessness and coldness in order to enjoy myself, to have emotions.
But when I read Tolkien's epic for the last, or rather, the second time, there were no tears. Perhaps because the film is better than the book in this regard, as strange as it may seem (this is just my opinion), or perhaps because I read it in small excerpts and at inappropriate times. When I read it the first time, I might have cried, but I don't remember, it was a long time ago. But I couldn't tear myself away from the book.
I cried at the end of the well-known film "The Bridge to Terabithia." And maybe in a few other films, in books, I don't remember.
Sometimes, when good music is played at the right time, my eyes get a little moist, and I immediately feel good, it seems that everything that is not this music is irrelevant, it is not needed, it is stupid, tasteless, and useless.
If we talk about more serious things...
Of the events in this section, the most painful was not one of the three deaths of my grandmother that I experienced, but the loss of my dog. Old age took its toll. I don't think there's much more to say about that.
Second place is again not my grandmothers, but the events that happened about six months before the dog's death. It turned out that she had been poisoned with some kind of food. More precisely, she wasn't poisoned, but there was vomit in her bowl. And no one had fed her that food. My parents weren't home until the evening that day. I was completely unaware, I was just a kid, and I still don't know much, I'll just say that as a result, I was given a choice: to give her an injection or not. If she had eaten that stuff, then give her the injection. But if she hadn't eaten it, the injection would kill her. On the other hand, if the injection wasn't given, but she had eaten that stuff, she would die. That's what my dad said. This decision was up to me, and my dog's life depended directly on me. The situation was terrible. I don't remember what I decided then, but she lived.
And then come the grandmothers, as strange as it may seem. The first, on my mother's side, was a very kind person, and she died when I was in the first grade. I don't remember the feelings very well.
The second, a cousin, also on my mother's side, was very mean and unpleasant, but she loved her relatives, especially her grandchildren, and she severely punished anyone who did them wrong. Only relatives came to her funeral. I didn't cry much, and some old, silly, cheerful song was playing in my head.
The last one died less than a year ago, but I didn't cry much. Because by that time, I had, let's say, changed myself and had already become a "bad guy."
However, forget it, everyone always understands everything about the death of relatives. I am more interested in the things from the section "less important," as I wrote at the beginning.
Arandor
