I don’t like writing about how I felt when someone I loved died. The reason for that is I want to look back one day and be able to read my old blog posts without touching the memories that hurt. As if life had been amazing the whole time. I think this is why I love watching old movies so much. The movies I watched for the first time when I was kid, I mean. I don’t remember the context and I don’t remember what was going on in my home. It probably sucked. But for a moment, me, my mom and my dad were together, watching Eddie Murphy come to America for the first time and all I remember is how hard they were laughing at jokes I didn’t quite understand at the time.
Every movie sends me back to a moment in my life when I felt very safe, even though I probably wasn’t. Even though I probably have things 1000 times more figured out at this point of my life than my parents ever did, I still refer to childhood memories as my safe space. I worry that I give my children the very same sense of security so they can feel recharged and peaceful when they grow up every time they come back home, just like I do.
The movies slow me down, calm me down and help me think straight. Sometimes I just want to sit here and write about whatever it was that I watched last. But the truth is, people still died.
