Thahabu

I’m so excited. I have to shoot a scene that resembles earlier films made by the Lumière brothers for my history class. It’s nothing fancy. The shot will be 30 seconds and I’ll only be shooting from one angle, but I’m just happy I get to create a film in general. My old advisor swore up and down that I wouldn’t like being a film and screen studies major, and that I wouldn’t get to do any hands-on work if I transferred schools, but look at me now. Joke’s on him. I’m having trouble finding actors for it, but I’m sure one of my friends will pull through this week.

I keep seeing all these lukewarm reviews of Frank Ocean’s (other) album, Endless. I’m falling in love with it in the same way that I feel like I’m in a hazy, sad but victorious dream when I listen to Blonde. It just took me a little longer to build that same affection with Endless. I wish there was an actual album for it so the video didn’t kill my battery. The song “Alabama” reminds me of tumultuous yet funny moments in my childhood that affect the relationships I have with people today. I feel way less alone and crazy when I listen to both of these projects. If Blonde is a foggy dream surrounding my being, Endless feels like my emotions dripping down my face in the form of sweet honey.

I’ve been praying even though I’m not sure I believe in God. Between police shootings and the bomb that went off not to far from my dorm, I’ve been crying for the past two weeks. I worry about my family. I worry about myself. I worry about my friend who slightly resembles the suspect that appeared on my phone through one of those tri-state area alerts. I texted him reminding him to be aware of his surroundings and to be safe. It almost sent me back to being the person I was when I was 13. I promised myself and others that I wouldn’t open up that chapter of my life again. So I pray.

Anxiety quietly sneaks into bed with me in middle of the night to harass me in the morning. These aren’t things I can talk about with a therapist. My worst nightmares can’t be washed down and silenced with prescription drugs. I don’t put sugar in my tea anymore unless it’s black, is that a sign of true adulthood? I apologized to past lovers for not being open enough or “shut off.” I was just trying to protect them. I still struggle with not seeing myself as anything more than a problem, but I’ve gotten much better at it. I do think I’m worthy of respect and love from friends, and I accept compliments with a smile. Now I’m listening to Endless again, crying to “Rushes To,” and I don’t know how I’m going to feel tomorrow or next week but I do hope I find some middle ground in all of this. ♦