I already grew up at this point. I’m newly 19. Anyway, I’ve always been interested in film and media. At the young age of 3, my parents gave me my first digital camera because of my fascination with taking pictures. Before I could even speak coherent sentences, I would have tantrums, and when a camera was pulled out, I was suddenly silenced by the urge to strike a pose.
I created throughout my childhood. Photos. Vlogs before YouTube existed. iMovie trailers turned into short films. Babysitters were harassed into starring roles. Documentaries were crafted throughout middle school. I embarked on a pandemic documentation process for a film the day school shut down for COVID. I never stopped creating. However, all of my hard works were erased by the accidental hard drive malfunction resulting in loss of an iCloud library.
I have distinct memories of all my past works. They showed my progress. My thought processes at the time. I mourn for the loss. I had to have spent thousands of hours on the projects, and that is no exaggeration. Film was my life. I wanted to be a director/producer/editor/cinematographer when I grew up. I wanted to do it all.
College applications came around, and dreams were crushed. Film just wasn’t a particularly plausible area to go into a career for. Besides, I learned that you didn’t necessarily get a leg up if you had a degree. I feel sad for my past self. A part of her was deleted along with the hard drive. I wonder what her future could have been, because she was damn good at what she did.
P.S. May get back into more film this summer? With age came loss of inspiration. I have filmmaker’s writer’s block. I miss childhood wonders and the ease of storytelling abilities. I wonder at which stage this natural creative dynamic leaves most people’s lives as they emerge into adulthood.
