REMEMBER ME

I don’t often consider myself superstitious; but, since accidentally emptying an entire sack of M&Ms on the stoops of the New York Times building, those infamous brown, lustrous candy bags remain token signs of auspicious omens.

THE NEW YORK TIMES BUILDING, CIRCA 2018 - PHOTO BY ANA LEMA

It’s a lifetime’s tale to discuss even the small-scale events that conspired during my childhood. But, it comes with little option but to accredit my decision to pursue creative opportunities to my long-lived passion for video making. I was nine when I was given my first ‘big kid’ camera, following months of whining, rooted from an abstract thought I, as a half-witted fourth grader, had: that every hopscotch-loving, television-obsessed child owned a Canon point and shoot camera. Still, my convictions worked on my father, who bought into my desires; though, he recalls the event to have been a voluntary transfer, succeeding the discovery of my skills— but, after revisiting my ancient iMovie projects, I find that difficult to believe. 

I moved schools three times— which made the establishment of a ‘community’ an abstract idea to me. My teacher for the Language Arts was an avid reader, aiding me to join the book club. The entire experience minimized the conflicts I had with myself— ones that often circled my fear of judgement. The book club held quite calm at a time when I felt the world become more deafening— the truest sign of progress when time felt as though it had been traveling backwards. 

I loved philosophy, and still, lacked motivation to write even the simplest ideas. For the entirety of my eighth-grade graduation, the only thing my mind could focus on was a critical remark left on my English paper prior to the moving on ceremony. I felt a skewed door within me reopen— I felt under assessed, the one thing I had always feared. I feared that writing would become something I condemned, an avocation that resulted in tear-soaked essay paper and intrusive late-night reflections. And, for a while it did— I was stuck in a battle with my emotions and words, things I felt existed separately. 

I have little assurance that any one thing re-sparked my interest in storytelling— though, I know that the thought of it never really left my mind. Writing was the one thing I couldn’t go a day without thinking about; and as a pattern somewhat unbeatable, my mind worked faster than my sentiment, and I joined my school’s yearbook. Shortly after that, I got involved in my community center’s literary magazine.

Halloween day, 2022, I opened my computer after many months of arguing against it. I spent the entire evening re-reading all my past work. By the end of the night, I made a randomized collection of personal stories I long protected. The hours I dedicated to the task were compensated by a bowl of candy I was meant to hand out. It was at that moment, before I closed the computer screen, that the double M letters on the candy’s wrapper solidified their supernatural ability.