25 January, 2020

I recently found a film that I made when I was a teenager (so, last year… just kidding… or am I?) I had titled it, “Evanescent.”

The description I wrote back then was:

“My film will explore the journey of goodbye through its challenges and realisations. Primarily my inspiration for the topic is my fear of time passing, understanding that the present will never come again, that situations and relationships are essentially temporary. I fear the thought of anything becoming like it never happened at all. Relying on my own memory scares me. I find great comfort in documenting my surroundings, emotions, relationships-whether through written word(diary entries, poems), photographs, film.”

“Each of these will be hand held films, created with no original aim to be added into a production.” When I read this, the voice in my head remarked, “I’ve been doing the same thing my entire life.”

It’s interesting, last night someone asked me what I was like in high school. I said I was exactly the same. Over the past few months I’ve been in so many situations that are just other versions of the same patterns.

I drift. I’m an outsider. I see a problem and I point at it. People are super taken back.

Yep, same old shit.

Of course I would write that description of the film differently now, but I like to hear this other voice. Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to be the only one who ever reaches me.

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Watching some of the films I made back then, I hear myself say, “You could have become a filmmaker.” To which I reply, “You still can. Shut the fuck up.” Then I cackle.

I took a roundabout way to it, but it’s true. When I watch the films I made when I was a teenager I realise, this is what I’m meant to do. And I happen to be in the perfect city for it. I can see. I can sense the through-line.

I was also just a better human when I was performing. When I was writing and producing.

It really helped. Those fears of time passing, I came to terms with them all those years ago. I wonder if making a film about it was the catalyst for my peace.

It was cliche as fuck, but at the end of the film I wrote ““When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.” and I remember actually, actively choosing to subscribe to that idea. It was this film, plus something my Principal said to me, “When you leave here, you’re going to do all these things that you didn’t even know were possible.” I wasn’t scared at all after that, and to follow were two years that continually topped themselves.

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