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the child of a dying man
Update: I deleted this post a week after publishing it and after people had left wonderful comments. I felt shame for writing something so vulnerable. Too exposed, perhaps. I’m not sure why. But what I know and understand is that it is all part of the process, the evolving emotions and how we deal with them. So, I am proudly reposting it because I don’t want to wipe any part of this complicated and beautiful journey I am on. It’s all mine and is leading me to the place I need to be. Being human is hard, but, man, am I ever glad I get the opportunity to be one. Three…
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something just like this
When I quit my job with six months’ notice on October 26th, I knew I had made the right decision because I woke up the next day without a holy-hell-what-have-I-done hangover and zero regrets. However, because smarter people than me care about my well-being, the quitting was short-lived and instead became a one-year leave of absence. To say that I am blessed would be absurd; it’s so much more than that. To avoid my coworker finding me slumped over and totally dead at my desk, I knew it was necessary to step away. He had to walk me to emerg once before, and I couldn’t bear the thought of him…
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perfectly out of place
On the first day of film school, one of my teachers took our class out for dinner, a get-to-know-each-other bonding event meant to unite us in our pursuit of the arts. He tossed out the question, ‘What is your favourite movie of all time?” Immediately, mine came to mind, but as the answers flew around the table, it was clear that film school was not the right choice for me and that I did not belong. (That sentiment was confirmed the day the Director of Photography of the movie I was working on casually asked if I was into Voyeurism. I was like, yeah, being a peeping tom is my…
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everything is not fine
I don’t know what the hell is going on anymore. I’m about one media story or a bit of bad news away from walking into the sea with a handful of edibles and a bottle of whiskey, where, ideally, I’ll be immediately swallowed by a whale. Sometimes after reading a thing even more disturbing than the last deranged thing I read about, I’ve considered faking my death and moving to a cave to ride out the final days of Earth. Not a solid plan, however, since I don’t eat meat and, to sustain my solo cave-life, would be forced to forage for berries that would no doubt cause me to diarrhea…
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a brutally beautiful life
As 2020 drew to a close, much was being written about renewed hope, a fresh start, and a year ahead that promised to be different, better. As though with the flip of a calendar page, we would shake free from the clutches of a turbulent year and move forward like everything was once again ‘normal.’ As though the trauma would astonishingly disappear. Our memories wiped of what had altered every aspect of millions of lives and taken so much. While reading all these hot-take articles and essays, I thought, what a load of shit while seething at the suggestion. LOOK AROUND, I wanted to scream. What a farce to assert…