I listen to the Memoirs of a Geisha soundtrack and carefully pick out the peculiar twang of the shamisen strings, the oriental twist on the haunting violins and the heart-thumping drums for my music class assignment. But what we are not asked to do is picture the story behind the music. But yet I find it second nature to envision the beautiful geisha plucking the shamisen she has tirelessly worked on. Stolen from her home at a young, tender age and forced to work her way up to the top. Her alluring mask painted thick over her soft face and her bright red mouth kept nonchalant and calm as she entertains her guests.
And I can't help but envy the girl I've created in my head. She's not real but she's more than I'll ever. To have her guests fix their eyes on her and focus all their attention on my geisha girl is something I long for. They do not love her, but only want her company Nd beauty. She is more beautiful than any statue in any Italian museum.
My imagination can get the better of me.
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