The sweeping brushstroke of the master, daubing on the canvas while the women gently weep. A celebration of womanhood, family and life, loss and love. It’s 2:30AM with a blanket wrapping around as I watch the raindrops drip, tip-tapping on my window pane. It’s been two hours and Roma just left me reeling in the glimpses of lilting sadness, reflectively looking out in the dark like how Cleo always looks out her window, lost in thoughts as the hailing rain whooshes in. The coarse melody of the heart when broken and how it is timidly composed when being healed. Euphonious sounds from the leaking tap into the kitchen sink; the broomstick’s movement across the floor; distant airplane above the open sky; the footsteps; different dishes prepared on the dinner table; the communal laughter; shared tears; breathtaking beauty takes in the shape of simplicity.

Mexico 1971, how could I forget the authenticity in the monochromatic vision? The old, tumultuous times captured. Every day is bared through the lens of Cuarón and his naked mirror of reality. Task after task of hard work but Cleo still stands strong in spite of her unblinking sorrows and personal tragedies. How she is isolated when all she needs is a man to love. Then what she thought was love had betrayed her and the little one inside her. How life can strike as ferocious as sea waves clashing against the sand. Lyrics can be found within the frames, lyrics can be found in her actions. One long take, one woman who takes on the roaring currents for a soul-crushing experience - A selfless decision because she loves her children. Serenity comes after the storm, and just like that, another day begins with complete modesty. Are you finally at peace?