(Dohhh-ho-ho, this is only here because I thought it was the end of the month. The next 24 hours are a beautiful, unexpected gift. The feeling I used to get from waking up at 4:40am before school and being able to enjoy animating and chatting with friends to start my day instead of, well, shh’ool.)
This is a very teensy part of a retooling of an improvised film I participated in last year– I’m having a blastula being extra-detailed and writing in rewarding details that are meant only for those who pore over paused frames. It’s a joy to be able to retroactively tie together improvised moments into cohesion, and it honestly feels like I’m not even writing it. All I’m doing is witnessing the silly things we did, paying close attention, and finding out what was already implicitly there. That’s a big part of my creative process, I retain and collect ideas, then, I step back and witness. With enough time, any two story-particles can collide and create something that wasn’t remotely there before.
Another reason this letter came so easily is because my brother Rey’ is playing the character this letter’s intended for. That’s all it takes. That’s why almost all my videos involve my fAmily in some capacity. It is a simple cause-and-effect: They exist, and my brain and heart are full.
—
My Mivah:
I always wanted my son to be cool. You know well that I was not a cool child, inasmuch as one’s having of ‘Cool’ is determined by your peers. I’d do exorbitant favours FOR cool kids. I’d host the BEST parties in the school district, all for them. I’d spend hours on a slippery vinyl mat playing DDR in my house, learning confidence through dance, as well as learning the mysterious musical art of getting people to dance at a dance. I’d attempt to endear myself to them through my quirky sense of counter-cultural fashion. (And let’s be real, everything counter-cultural in fashion BECOMES cultural SOME day.) But I knew that they were not really my friends, for no one would ever ask me to hang out– only ask for my help. No, I wasn’t cool, and I only knew I didn’t want my son to grow up having to know my pain.
Well, it turns out I had the wrong want entirely. Now, this isn’t due to some ironic moment of parental hubris where I realized that in spite of raising a cool son, I am anything but cool still, thereby condemning me to a life where every time I look at you, I am made aware of my own insufficiencies. Every parent sees their own insufficiencies in their children, but that’s part of what makes my love for you so pure, so I’d never remove that feeling. Instead, I had the wrong priorities altogether. I got a son who is cool. So cool. But what I really should’ve wanted is a son who is so happy. Mivah, I am sorry. I’ve done you a great disservice in life, making you THIS cool. I know it has been a heavy, handsome, hunky cross to bear.
Here lies the real irony: You and I have practically collided at the exact same feeling from two different vantage points. We both have known a life of only feeling valued when you’re being taken advantage of. No longer. I had friends who were true, and I didn’t realize I should never want for more. I’ve lost all of this precious time on work I thought would make me cool (ah, vanity of vanities, etc…), but in a twist of fate, my work is what you will use after you read this letter to reset the course of both of our destinies.
Yes, ThatAweSomeBlog 