2015
My best friend Jaime gave me a Perpetual Disappointment Diary for Christmas. She wrote, “It did seem a little counter-intuitive to start a new year with its impending disappointments in mind. But I suppose as long as you make new expectations, there will be new kinds of disappointments.”
Here’s the first: I expected to write a TinyLetter in point form (God knows I am long-winded) before 2015 ended, but wound up working on this for a few days and it’s now here on Medium.
My memory of 2015 really started in mid-July when a family friend passed away from leukemia. He was going to turn 21 in August.
It’s fucked up.
And the rest of my year could be summed up with “My friend died young, so YOLO.”
I didn’t think his death would affect me as much as it had. It was cancer and he has been hospitalized for a few weeks before. I thought I was ready. I cried in the shower the night before when my mother said he would not make it, but the aftershock still took me by surprise.
He passed away on an early Friday morning. I remember dreaming that he still made it another day, jolted awake at 6am well before my alarm, woke up again to a message from my mum saying he’s gone. I think I woke up around the time he passed.
I remember what a obnoxiously great summer day it was. I went to work, left work early because there was nothing to do, and I went to watch Magic Mike XXL. I laughed and cried at how ridiculous it was that the movie began with a fake funeral. At night, I went out drinking with friends, the next day I helped another friend with a MV on a roof and took this, and then we went out and I crashed at Melissa’s, the following night I had dinner with some friends and there was a part of me that thought I was being insensitive — I don’t usually go out this much, and this is right after and my parents were helping his parents with the funeral and I was out all the time. I thought I was handling it, just because I wasn’t crying in public. But the following week, I lost my appetite. I couldn’t eat and I didn’t want to and food just wasn’t appealing, and then I realize that was probably my body grieving.
The following Friday, a week later, the day before the funeral, I went to shoot Warped Tour, where two things happened that changed the rest of my year. I was not in a good mood that day — it was raining on and off and I was sad and stressed and running on adrenaline, thinking that rain was 7 days late and everything sucks and why was I even at Warped Tour? In my head I kept reminding myself I had two things to do and the rest (bad weather and situations) didn’t matter. I went to see Adam Elmakias (not a band) and Red Handed Denial (a band).
Adam Elmakias is a music photographer and a mentor of sorts, we first started talking when I interviewed him for a high school assignment in 2009. We kept in touch and I help him with things here and there. Adam was the first person who trusted me enough to pay me to do things I would do for free, and that was an important lesson to an 18-year-old. Our paths haven’t crossed in 2 years, and short story short: we caught up, he needed help and I got a job again. To be motivated and doing things again were exactly what I needed, but most importantly it keeps me on my toes.
After a couple years of orbiting each other, I officially met the members of Red Handed Denial, a local band that I’ve kept tabs on since I first saw them live years ago. Despite our mutual friends we never met until Warped Tour, after that I kept shooting their summer shows and shenanigans. I haven’t done much concert photography the last few years, so it was fun getting back to it, but especially getting to work with a band directly and document their growth. They welcomed me with open arms and I’m super grateful that happened. And I can’t wait for 2016 because they are amazing.
The next day I took photos of the Funeral, it was not the first funeral I’ve photographed. But it was possibly the hardest thing I’ve done, and no parents should bury their child. Until then, my parents and I have been focused on the logistics of the funeral and have not talked about it. I had a feeling we were going to break down at the funeral, and I did when I saw my dad hugging my friend’s father. Two men weeping by the casket. My dad came around and I embraced him and bawled. When you think about how it could have been you.
There were so many young people attending, and I realize none of us would look life the same way anymore. If you zoom in close enough and focus on groups of his friends, all dressed up, it almost looked like they were groomsmen, not pallbearers. The eulogies were beautiful, I wish I had gotten to know him as the young man he had become. Instead, he would always be that little brother I hang out with when our parents have dinner parties. My loss.
I’ve wanted an industrial piercing for a while, especially since I had my side-shave/Skrillex/Natalie Dormer almost four years ago. In late 2014, I finally walked into a studio, signed the form, only to have the piercer looked at my ear and said I couldn’t have an industrial because I don’t have enough tissue (or something). I was so sad and left. I only wanted an industrial.
I wanted a tattoo. I’ve thought about it, had a few ideas, and then I thought I would never get one because I remember everything, so why would I need a permanent reminder?
The Thursday after the funeral, I was itching for the needle that I’ve never felt. I wanted a tattoo. But I thought I should start small, I should get a piercing first, if not to test the pain then to ease my parents into seeing body mod. I went to a different shop (never going back to the first one), asked for a helix — I didn’t really care. But I brought up the industrial, the piercers said it was doable.
Sometime in August, Jaime was booking a flight to Berlin to visit a friend studying abroad during American Thanksgiving. She said I should come with. I was tempted. I’ve never been to Europe, and the timing wasn’t perfect, but I also knew if I didn’t go this time, I’d keep putting it off waiting for the “perfect” time to do the Euro trip. So I booked a ticket to Berlin for 5 days in November. Only Twitter and a handful of people know about the trip. And I successfully tricked most on Facebook to think I’m a spontaneous person.
It was after the Paris attacks, our mothers tried to deter us from going. We only planned to be in Berlin, no multi-city trips for us. Just chilling in Berlin without a real agenda (which we now regret, but it is now a reason to go back again). The only concrete plan Jaime made was booking a tour at Sammlung Boros, and the next day we followed the art guide and went to Szczecin (Poland!) for a few hours to artist Alicja Kwade’s opening reception. It seemed crazy to waste an entire day in Berlin to go to Szczecin for an art exhibition, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. And then I remember that it’s not the first time I’ve travelled somewhere for an art opening and then leave. And I don’t even like art that much?
I didn’t know much about Berlin and deliberately left it that way. Everyone else I talked to were more excited about the trip than I was. It didn’t feel real until I landed in Charles de Gaulle for my transfer and got excited by Ladurée — and I’m not even a macaron person.
Turns out, Berlin was a dream I never knew I had, like saying yes to a date with a guy you met on the street and it was surprisingly smooth and spontaneous and you enjoyed it even though nothing happened afterwards. Berlin was like meeting someone who is familiar in specific ways that make you wonder.
I loved looking at the posters in Berlin. With the words “lunch time tattoo” the ones for White Trash Fast Food and its studio took my attention. I half-joked to Jaime that she could scribble something and I would go get it tattooed, cause I used to say I would tattoo something she has written, but I didn’t know what. We went to the Arena Club and our biggest mistake was walking past White Trash without going in.
Before I left for Berlin, I emailed an artist about getting the piece I had planned on my back. He said he could make it happen soon. Too soon. After I came back, for a day, I wanted to get “gotta let it happen” from Paramore’s Last Hope on my ribs. I prefer handwriting over scripts or letters, but I didn’t have an idea of what kind of handwriting I’d like. At the same time, I was obsessively looking for this nice thing that Jaime has written about my writing, and started rereading our correspondences and her posts. I landed on “Letters from the Shore”, and knew I wanted “It started as a myth and ended up like a dream.” Three days after I asked her to write it out and scanned it while she still had access to the office scanner before leaving for vacation, I had it done.
I wasn’t really going to tell anyone about it, but I called Melissa after I made the appointment because I was in her area. She wanted to go with me. I didn’t expect to have any company because I didn’t think I needed or wanted it but I’m glad she was there.
The tattoo artist said I sat like a pro.
If 2014 was a revelation, then 2015 was spent practicing the lessons that I painfully learned. I didn’t do a lot of things I thought I would, but I did do a lot of things I didn’t think I would. One perspective is better than the other.
I got a lot of books this year, only finished a few but I enjoyed them all, especially Sarah Hepola’s memoir Blackout. I learned not to be guilty about the books I didn’t finish and know it’s because I’m not meant to read them yet. It’s another year I haven’t read Chris Kraus’s I Love Dick, sorry Jaime. I did start watching The Good Wife in March but stopped when midway through Season 6 when it was making me dread. I stopped watching The Vampire Diaries and Shondaland when things too busy in 2014 and haven’t picked it up since. I miss Hart of Dixie, my happy show. But The Mindy Project, iZombie and Silicon Valley make me happy, too. Transparent is a magical experience and UnReal is so fucking good. I still haven’t seen any of the True Detective or listened to Serial, but telling my friends about Gimlet Media and its Mystery Show was one of the best feelings I had this year; I listen to the Source Code episode whenever I need a pick-me-up.
The most serendipitous musical discovery was Adna, she is so good and young that I want to be selfish and keep it to myself. I was suddenly fascinated with Halsey the last two weeks of 2015. It’s been awhile since I have enjoyed new artist as I did her (new as in new to me). I have pretty much been listening to the same bands and music since high school. Who knew Spotify’s Deep Dark Indie would be my favourite playlist?
I read a bunch of articles, Pocketed too many longreads and subscribed to too many newsletters. My favourite is Larissa’s most recent Nerve letter, which came right when I was considering my tattoo. The first few days after I got it, I think about it and it makes me smile. It also reminds me to be more patient with my mother, except just now when I wasn’t and I had upset her again. I don’t know how to tell her it’s not her fault that I can’t love her the way she wants me to.
I officially confirmed that I am incredibly allergic to dustmites, and I live in a fully carpeted apartment. I took a few yoga classes and I still don’t drink enough water and I lost weight unintentionally. I got a bike that I don’t use enough. I’ll try taking better care of myself. I still have a huge backlog of photos I owe people or have never posted. I’m still working on it. I saw some of my closest friends found their partners and seeing them happy makes me happy. I’ll be third-wheeling a lot in 2016.
I’m too good at being alone. Being an only child and having best friends in different cities perfected that skill. I became great at long-distancing: we message each other daily and we share minute details and long rants, holiday cards and surprise gifts and occasional trips to see each other. But typing is not the same as talking or yelling at someone, and overanalyzing an encounter via iMessage does not replace having a person you could count on to show up at an opening reception you’re part of. I needed people to do things with IRL, and letting people in and reaching out take practice, but it’s a lot easier when your friends are generous and forgiving. Asking is being vulnerable and saying yes to company is a gift to you and them. People want to love you, let them do it.
My childhood friend and I took our first road trip (!) to Montreal to see a band that was playing 15 minutes away from me the next day. I can’t drive and she was game. I wouldn’t do half the things I do without these adventurous friends.
But maybe this year I’ll finally get my driver’s license.
I asked a friend who works at a children’s hospital, how does he deal? He told me to live the life they can’t. I didn’t like that. This was too presumptuous, too grand a notion I’m too selfish for. I don’t want to live a certain way because of anyone, dead or alive.
But I suppose the point really is to remind one to be productive and take more control of their lives, but that sounds like hard work to live up to, I think I’ll just do an Adam Elmakias and “live in the now.”
