Wong Kar Wai’s Happy Together is a masterful study of framing the queer experience in film. Admittedly, I am quite late to the party— having been born six years after its initial release— as its acclaim has been longstanding, deservedly so! Its inclusion in the first and recently concluded Metro Manila Pride Film Festival is a testament to its sustained acclaim.

I am just in awe and want to rave about the film! Please bear with me. I write as if I speak, thus, the many em dashes. Here is the messy thought dump:

Throughout the film, there was no pressure to come out. There were no parents to be afraid of. No secret letters or rendezvous. From the onset, there was no conversation about fearing society. The conversation was centered on fearing each other, and how romance can bring the worst in us.

Throughout the film, albeit being migrants in Argentina, Lai and Ho’s love affair is not framed by the migrant dream— in pursuit of a better life— but, framed by their youthful recklessness and romance.

Throughout the film, there was no sense of ownership. There was no man or woman in the relationship. At times, Lai and Ho felt amorphous as they equally treaded the lines between abuse and comfort. They both could be friends and foes. Their love’s fluidity is further emphasized by their distant departure.

Throughout the film, there was no need to identify. Albeit having shown the undertones of queer politics at the time, such as the uproar of bathhouses and Ho’s entry into sex work, it was not meant to be a grandiose narrative tackled by the personal, but simply a narrative inherent to the personal.

Oftentimes, as queer people, we are exposed to tropes that have pigeon-holed us into boxes of relief, oppression, or the secondary. As Filipinos, we are overeducated by the American Dream. As lovers, we are expected to fulfill roles— that entail power— such as masculinity within expression and sex. And as viewers, we are expected to be grateful for representation— just for the sake of it.

Wong Kar Wai’s Happy Together finds its beauty in its ability to decolonize love. A form of love that starts with acceptance— wherein we need not resolve the societal grief placed on queerness. A form of love in which centeredness is not defined by power nor ownership, but simply by our ability to bear witness to each other’s vulnerability.

A form of love that is not meant to be universal— love that is not meant to be explained. For most of the film, especially during instances of abuse, watching it felt invasive. Leung, as Li, and Cheung, as Ho, embodied their roles to the point wherein privacy seemed necessary to offset the reality of the pains in which they portray. Feelings of invasiveness are made even more emergent by their relationship’s fluidity.

I am just really really really inspired to love and be hurt by it. To conclude, the film just reflects the freedom that genuine— and oftentimes, painful— love provides. A form of loving not conditioned by status nor defined by empire. A form of loving that fearlessly touches the scariest and most beautiful parts of the soul. A form of loving that is truly representative of the queer experience, wherein we are deemed as humans first.