Day-to-Day

This piece was weird to write and I still don’t feel like I expressed exactly what I wanted. You may ask “Why post it?”, to which I’ll reply “Why not?”

Growing up, I never had much of a rebellious phase against my parents. They always backed me up. Not always approved, and never gave an “out of jail free” card. The result is that I pretty much did whatever I wanted – within my reach – and dealt with the results on my own. For example, I crashed my car three times – two of these were my fault and none of them serious – and it was my money paying for the repairs, I was the one to call insurance and reach out to the other driver involved. Anyway, this post is not about telling how awesome they are, but how I never questioned some of their values because I never had a reason to do it.

Fortunately we share the same opinion about many many things and, among these, my mom and I have this “thing” against common sense, like a rebellion against standard responses or “how you do things” and for me, this was always justified with “I don’t care about what others think of what I am or do”. To illustrate this matter, here’s something I did when I was… seventeen (?). I can’t quite remember why – probably a stupid dare – but I decided to shave off half of my hair. Not like a mohawk cut, or something cool, it was just the left side – and before you say “pics or didn’t happen”, check below. The result was bizarre and indeed attracted a lot of suspicious looks. What I thought to myself was “why should I have a regular haircut like everyone else when I can have this unique experience from my own volition? I’m NOT like everyone else, I don’t give a damn about what they think of me” – the following sentence wasn’t clear at the time, it wasn’t clear until early this week, when an email from my mom sprung it to light – “I don’t give a damn about what they think of me, as long as they reckon it’s out of the ordinary“. To prove my point, that this philosophy actually guided me, when the hair on that side of my head grew back, I shaved THE OTHER SIDE. You can visit https://www.groenerekenkamer.com to check out men grooming ideas online. One of the most common comments I heard back then was “dude, I don’t know how you had the guts to do this, or to go out like this” to which I just chuckled and said “I lack to see any problem with that!” and on the inside I was like “hell yeah, I’m awesome and brave! Nobody would dare to do this!”.

This was an example that reflected directly on my looks, but I have countless situations when EVERYONE said I should do “A” and I decided to do “Z”. It’s almost a matter of the question behind my actions. While most people ask “Why?”, I ask myself “Why NOT?”. This got me on harm’s way a few times but I was lucky enough to avoid it (luck is definitely what saved me in these situations). I admit that I love when someone says I can’t do something. I’ve taken on the stupidest dares – in 2005 New Year’s Eve my sister dared me to stop drinking soft drinks, that’s why, to this day, I don’t drink anything but juice and water, in 2006 I promised that I would walk from the city’s historical center to home, on the outskirts, newly developed condos if I passed the test to the university, that’s a 20 miles urban walk without sidewalks for the most of it and some pretty busy avenues, needless to say I walked it under a massive storm.

The same principle applied through my journey at University of São Paulo, when I just kept pushing for an unorthodox technical approach to all the projects I worked on – you name it: going digital, hating film, low light madness, experimental anamorphics, skeleton camera crew, the list goes on -, and until now. At VFS a lot of people said I would have to drop some of my reel’s shots, that it was too much and all that. The point is not that I was able to complete it, but at what expenses? I had never stopped to think about this irrational rebellion that dwells inside of me, that rebels against things just because “it’s the way every one else does it”. I’ve been going over this tirelessly for the past few days and starting to make peace with the idea that just because most people are going about something in a particular way it doesn’t mean it’s stupid, or meaningless. It might really be the easiest way of doing that, I don’t have to re-invent the wheel for every single challenge, because that’s what I’ve been trying to do so far.

Of course, this doesn’t mean I’m going to accept anything without questioning or avoid adding my own twist to something if I feel like so. Starting every time and everything from scratch is downright exhausting and mostly unnecessary. Besides, it feels good to blend in. I still have my all my weirdness and unusual skills but at each passing day they’re more of my own and less to impress, a flimsy balance between the “whys” and the “why nots”, carefully choosing between them for each different situation.

Recently I had a housing experience different from all my previous ones. I’ve lived alone for a long time, I’ve lived with my parents, with May, with my sister and, for a while, with random people. I had friends living with me, but their stay was temporary, and until then I had never experienced the other way around, being a kind of guest at friends’ place for three weeks.

Before VFS I didn’t know Fernão neither Maísa even though we studied in the same university, lived in the same city and kind of worked with the same thing. We met at VFS. At first just Fernão since we we’re in the same class, and then Maísa after she arrived. Things clicked right from the start and I don’t think I ever developed a bond as strong as this one in such short time.

Fernão and I never officially worked together in any VFS project, but after Term 4 we were lucky enough to be neighbors in the studio. Before then we always had each other’s feedback regarding assignments and help whenever one needed it. Let’s skip some time here, otherwise this post will be endless.

When my parents left Vancouver, after graduation, I decided not to stay home alone – for reasons that don’t fit this post – and asked for refuge at Fernão and Maísa’s. They accepted me and we even had a nice walk around to talk about house rules and stuff – I was gonna be sleeping on the couch, so it was not like I could hide in my room and nobody ever saw me me. Before he went over the rules, Fernão said this one thing which I still can remember, even though all the rules are now forgotten. “The only reason we’re talking about this is because our friendship is something I value”. Our main goal was that neither they felt I was intruding their lives nor I felt they were intruding mine – which is something a little hard to achieve when you sleep on the living room.

Day one, they get me a height-adjustable table because we agreed working on the dinner table was gonna make things hectic. What no one expected was that this tiny table was gonna be so awesome. I could level it to the couch – aka “my bed” – and work from there, without requiring chairs or extra space. I packed all my stuff on the corner under the table and just reached it when necessary, in an attempt to contain chaos to that corner of the living room.

They knew I was on a strict diet and they were about to start one of their own, a lot crazier than mine. So there was this initial common subject: food. We chatted a lot about it almost every day. We had meals together – usually I was crashing in their meals, or eating something they couldn’t and making fun of it.

Besides all the food stuff, we talked a lot, about everything. That was the thing which I liked the most and never actually experienced. I knew them alright, but there were so many yet unheard/untold stories that we never ran out of subjects to talk about. It’s different than living with someone in your family – you have YEARS together you know what movies they like, books, what they like to do on their free time, which shows they’re watching and their general behavior, like how they’ll react to things.

Reactions was also something awesome. At one dinner we were talking about reading, then it shifted to reading on phones/tablets, then we showed Spritz to Maísa, then I mentioned I always wanted to learn speed reading but never actually got to it. Minutes later Maísa is sitting at her computer, watching speed reading classes on youtube, Fernão is looking up Spritz and I’m looking into apps that integrate that in an android phone. The three of us agreed that would be cool on a kindle. Minutes later, we all disagreed on our previous agreement, stating that it would make the kindle pointless.

The more I write, the less I feel like I’m capturing the essence of what I want. I guess it’s a recollection of small chunks of memory that boosted these two from “great friends” to “lifetime friends”. Watching them go about life so closely taught me things I can’t put in words and there isn’t one single moment I can think back with an awkward feeling. It was like taking a break from seeing every day as the one before. Vacations from what I thought of myself. By the time I left, I was different, maybe not too much outside (just a few added pounds) but definitely on the inside.

This is my public “thank you” note to you two.

I wake up in the middle of the night.

I mean, I’m aware I’m home, lying on the bed and facing the pillow.

It’s been a weird night, waking up every ten minutes feeling cold, then warm, then cold again, maybe there’s something wrong with this damn weather, maybe there’s something wrong with me.

Anyway, I’m awake again but, before I can move, this time I feel there’s something or someone watching me. Not through the window, not from far away. Someone is standing in my living room right behind me and watching me.

“Shit”. I don’t say it out loud. I don’t know if the stranger knows I’m awake. Now that I think about it, it MUST know I’m awake, I’m pretty sure I’ve made a sound, moved somehow, blinked my eyes.

“What can I do?”. I start to plot a plan. Turn around, see who’s there, scream for help, I’m scared as hell, there’s a fucking unknown person INSIDE MY APARTMENT WATCHING ME SLEEP. I try to turn my head towards its gaze, maybe it’s someone I know. No, it can’t be anyone I know, this feels way too strange. My head doesn’t move, anyway.

Actually, I can’t move at all. I’m not tied or anything, but my body simply won’t obey. I know I’m awake, I know I’m home, I can see the little green leaf pattern on the white bed sheets, I feel the pillow under my head and the blanket I grabbed when the cold feeling started.

I try to yell at this person, anything to scare it away, to let it know I’m awake and I’m angry there’s someone here that shouldn’t be. Maybe it will leave in a hurry, knocking down the bike in the hallway. This is still my place and I’m the one in charge.

Just as I can’t move, I can’t make any sound either. Not even a muffled “hmmmmmm” in my throat. I’m trapped inside my body, being watched by some unknown thing behind me.

The anger and strategy turn into fear. I’m definitely NOT IN CONTROL of this situation. I keep running a thousand questions about who is this thing or person here. Why is it here? Why me? Why now, dammit? What is it going to do with me? Is it going to do anything to me? Is it gonna reveal itself? Come closer?

Suddenly I can move again and I roll towards the table, towards the stranger’s gaze. For half a second I’m lost, I mean, I was facing the bed, turning towards the bed, but I end up seeing the opposite wall, with the tree decal and the photographs. No time for messing up with where I’m looking at. I jump from the bed and hit the light switch. There’s no one here. I felt the presence disappear around the same time I got movement again. Just to be sure I check the locks and every room (including the bathtub).

“Fuck”. Was I dreaming?

That’s what he said to me when I greeted him once I got out of the garage.

The building we live in has a very strict rule about bikes. There are several signs on the front door: “No bikes through the Lobby”. That leaves me with the garage as my only exit. Sometimes I go days without even taking a look at the Lobby, but always know what’s up for grabs near the garbage bins. Ever since I got my bike and started using that route, I saw this man outside, sitting on the ledge right beside the entry/exit ramp.

When I biked to VFS, I met him every single morning, around 8am. He always greeted me, either with a nod or a brief “good morning” with one of the deepest voices I’ve ever heard. He had this tiny shade of smile while establishing this contact. Then I stopped using my bike for a few months and just left home through the Lobby. I almost forgot about him. Finally, as abruptly as I stopped, I got back into cycling, but without the need of waking up early for classes or following any sort of schedule. Slowly I started to wake up earlier and get out earlier too. It didn’t take long so we met again.

One of these mornings, around Pride week, I was coming out and had the camera tied to my waist. He struck a conversation. Asked me if I was a photographer. I told him I was more of a cinematographer, with a degree in film, but was trying to get back to photography as it was something I enjoyed and had sort of abandoned after some time. I introduced myself and asked for his name. William. We shook hands. He connected with the “film degree” bit of my chat. Said he had an idea for a short documentary.

If I had a dollar for every time someone told me “hey, I have a great idea for a movie, why don’t you do it?”, man, I would be fucking rich. This time was a little different, don’t know exactly why. I decided to hear him out, skeptical, but trying to really listen instead of trying to end the conversation in a politely brief way – “I gotta go, dude, sorry! Maybe some other time”. He went on about how some years back there was this director who shot a bunch of stuff about the people like him, who lived of what they could find on the streets. Interviews, day-to day footage, followed some of them around, as her characters. He told me about all his friends who were a part of it, how things were different back then. Trailed off a little bit. “Every one of them is gone now… The city used to be kinder. They just, you know, didn’t make it”.

By this time the gears in my brain are saying “Fuck, how the hell am I supposed to reply to that?”. Lucky for me, he doesn’t ask me anything. He finishes with “I think you can have a really strong documentary with this, very strong characters in it”. I just look at him and nod. “Yeah…” is all I can manage. Guilt kicks in and that politely and coward feeling kicks in. “Listen, man, I gotta go, I’m running late, but I’ll think about it, ok?”.

During the Pride days I was out shooting some tests at Davie and met him as security for one of the clubs less than a block away from home. It was the first time I saw him some place else than in the back alley. We chatted. He asked me to take a picture of him there. No way in hell I’d refuse that. Picture taken, I show him on the camera. He says “here, get the name of the club in there too!”. I take another one, he likes this one better.

I never get back to him about that idea. After a few weeks I stop seeing him around every morning. A couple weeks go by. I’m bitten by that conversation every single day I go out and he’s not there. Then he’s back. I swear I never thought I’d smile just to see someone I barely know, if I know him at all. While I hop on the bike I blurt “Haven’t seen you in a while, Will!” in a playful tone. “Even I need some time off every once in a while”. I smile, I’m really glad he’s back and he’s fine. He smiles, “good morning”s are exchanged. “See you around, huh?” “Yeah”, he answers with his deep voice and a tiny smile.

Now and then that most meaningful conversation comes back into my mind. I want to do that film. I think he’s right, for all I know he’s my main character. And I’m fucking scared to hell to take on this ride, scared of how it could develop, scared to fall short and let him down. If it was something I don’t care about, sure, not a problem, but he’s right, this IS a strong story, one that deserves to be told. I keep telling myself I’m no director, that I’m no good scriptwriter, that this is too much for me.

I hope to find my courage anytime soon.

I was looking back the past couple of weeks and came to the conclusion I didn’t get ANYTHING done in that time. Days seem to fly by and time rushes through every occasion. Then I started to pay more attention to how I was going about my days. Waking up at 9h30, seawall until around 10h30 or 11h, then lunch with May, then back home around 3 or 4 and… nothing. Wasting time on facebook or watching irrelevant stuff on Netflix up until 1am when I decide it’s late and time to go to bed.

As of this week I’m starting my new personal schedule. It starts with going to bed at 11pm at the most, so I can get proper 8 hours of sleep and get up healthy at 7am. Then seawall, two laps, back home around 8h30-9h. Then I can read something decent instead of pointless websurfing and meet May for lunch. After getting home, working on something. Writing, compositing, whatever, and then some more reading or maybe watching something but, if so, not for longer than one hour.

It’s about time to learn Python. Why? Machine learning consultancy experts expect this trend to continue with increasing development in the Python ecosystem. And while your journey to learn Python programming may be just beginning, it’s nice to know that employment opportunities are abundant as well and maybe get back at that Harmonica I mentioned several posts ago – not even sure if I did it in English. That’s it. I already failed miserably on Monday, by not being able to get out of bed at 7, nor 8, but only at 9. I succeeded at sleeping at 11pm, though, and read an entire book during the evening. Today I managed to wake up at 8am and hit the seawall in time. Then home, lunch, home again and some cleanup I need to get done in the next few days.

I had the weirdest dream tonight, by the way. Struggling against a stupid old computer that refused to obey even my most basic commands. Woke up angry about it, jeez.

This is a subject that has been at the back of my head ever since I created my Instagram account and exploded during last week, while I posted my demo reel there. Then it bounced back with a thousand thoughts about what I write up here and the several times I considered turning this blog into strictly “work”, or “what will they think of me if they read this and that post?”.

Soon after arriving in Vancouver I thought of going full-english here. Then I held back, it was a strange time and I wasn’t confident enough on my own to fend off anyone who thought this whole blog thing was ridiculous and 15-year-oldish. Guess what, yeah, it started around that time (more towards 18, actually), but to keep on writing constantly for eight years now took a lot more effort than just telling what happened on each day. Some posts here literally speak for me and reading them back after some time makes me understand myself a lot better – and usually think how life was simple back then.

At VFS we have several classes that talk about digital footprints. It’s important to be the first result when googling your name, it’s important to not have embarrassing photos, it’s important to look professional, do you know what an employer will think when reading that?, I haven’t hired someone because of this and that, and so on. When I google my name, going ten pages down everything still points back to posts here, or videos I worked on, so, yeah, googling me will give anyone A LOT of information about me. Do I worry about it?

If whatever content linked to my name made its way online, there’s a great chance that I’m aware of it. I do post a lot of “professional”, “workey” stuff about lenses, reviews, tests, my process and all, but I also have very personal posts up. Crap, it seems like I’m going in circles not finding how to really hit my point here.

I guess the problem start when someone says “they might not hire you because of this”. I have some serious issues regarding restricting information online, specially information that I WROTE MYSELF, ABOUT ME. I get the game where everyone pretends to be cool and to know everything but I think that’s utter crap. Why is that? Because when you hire someone or consider someone for a job, we’re talking not about a machine but about a fucking human being and, as much as any other human, we all have quirks and problems, usually balanced with something for a good side.

Sure I could’ve tried going through my year faking all along that everything was fine and never said a word about it but, you know, people connect much more when we’re down on the dirt together. I cannot translate the amount of replies and people sharing their own sad stories when I wrote a post that will eventually get me OUT of a job interview – “no way I want this nut working here!”. The reason why that happens is because suddenly you’re not just some guy sitting at a chair in a dark studio. You’re a real person just like you reading this, with just the same amount – and even the same type – of problems, and that’s the main reason I never gave up on writing this blog, not even when I had like 3-4 visitors a day.

Sorry guys, but the reason I write here is not for your entertainment – sure, sometimes it is, but it’s as much fun for me as it’s for you -, the reason I keep on writing is because I HAVE to. I’m not too keen on talking, not even to my closest friends and this blog is sort of a public journal for anyone who wants an insight of what I am. Along the way I work on applying a few lessons I learned from my parents such as never bringing anyone down and avoiding giving up my full address!

Also, another reason for keep on writing is so I don’t get so full of myself and start to think I’m better than anyone! I’m always open to new conversations, helping anyone I can with questions – cameras, lenses, anamorphic, compositing, bring it on! – talk about the hard times in life, asking for help and such.

Back to Instagram and posting my reel. The moment I started posting I had 588 followers. By the time I finished posting the 5 clips (less than ten minutes later), that number had dropped to 580, meaning that eight people were absolutely pissed by those clips and didn’t care about whatever I could’ve posted in the future. Sincerely, I’m glad they left. Yeah, the higher number was cool, but I don’t mind losing people that don’t care about what I post. I think the most valuable ones are those who are subscribed to my posts not because I write about lenses and have pretty pictures of that, but because they like the whole package of what I represent. That one day I’ll have something with visual effects in it, another day might be a lens review, or something I was happy about doing (like hanging out with May), and that kind of thing. And now we’re back at the title, which finally makes sense.

I am a content creator, yes. But more than that, I’m a person with ups and downs. I do some cool stuff but I do shitty stuff twice as much. Not everyday of my life has an amazing discovery or a breakthrough technique. If someone doesn’t wanna hire me because of that, I’m fine with it, I’m fine to the point of writing this post trying to encourage you to think the same way. And with that cheesy last sentence, I’m signing out for today.

Watching a good movie in bad company will never come close to be as entertaining as watching a bad movie in good company. That being said, avoid “We Are Your Friends”, save your money for something better (which is easy)!