Can I Be a Matisse Too?

(Tuesday, March 25, 2025)

Last night, I went to the movie theater again to see Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy—the newest and final Bridget Jones movie.

I loved it. Not because of the familiar gags or the new hot guys she dates, but because it captured something real: the struggles and joys of adulthood—grief, vulnerability, messiness, and the courage it takes not just to survive, but to truly live.

It’s marketed as a rom-com, but it’s really a tearjerker.

I was wiping tears throughout the whole film, while bursting out laughing at Bridget’s awkwardness and Daniel’s eternal devotion to flirting. Oh, the British—somehow they always manage to make me cry and laugh at the same time.

I once read: “Sometimes the healing hurts more than the wound.”

We learn how to survive, but that’s not enough. At some point, we have to re-learn how to live.

I’ve gone through that journey once already. Maybe the second time is just around the corner, the clock ticking. Am I ready?

Or maybe, before that—do I even know how to live?

When I was a child, my art teacher used to encourage me to add bold, contrasting brush strokes to my paintings. But I was always too afraid. I preferred small strokes, gentle transitions, gradual shifts in color.

Ironically, one of my favorite artists has always been Henri Matisse.

And last night, I realized—if Bridget were a brush stroke, she’d be one of Matisse’s.

At first glance, it may not make sense. It doesn’t conform to traditional beauty, it feels too loud, too messy, too raw. But then—its awkward, overwhelmed, neurotic existence starts to win you over. It speaks to the thoughts we keep buried deep in our minds.

The absurdity makes sense. The mess feels alive. The painting becomes more honest, more human.

More liberating.

Can I be a Matisse too?