I have left my Safari Youtube days behind. I am now a Spotify user.
Starting from scratch. The songs from my many years on this Earth that have captured my interest are found all over again, accumulating in my Liked Songs playlist. Curating this list has provided me with time, time to listen to each song in its entirety, sit with it and reflect. Eras, images, memories come flooding back with each listen, nevertheless, getting a new twist once they have reached the forefront of my mind. A subscript of my nineteen year old thoughts are added to these somewhat hazy rememberings.
Three Little Birds by Bob Marley gets a listen. Some of my earliest memories with my Dad include Bob Marley’s music. Reggae. The calm of the beat alongside my Dad’s presence, a presence that I cannot imagine a life without. My Dad is one of my biggest inspirations, motivations, supporters — the list trails on. However, this listen specifically brought back my conflicting thoughts on his waning passion. Passion in humanity’s virtue.
Brought back the time when I laid in bed after a one sided discussion with my dad. It all started to make sense. It made sense that he mindlessly listened when I talked about my leadership council meetings where we tried to find the middle ground between opposing viewpoints. It made sense that he abruptly ended a discussion about bringing political stability to Ethiopia with his very doubtful remarks. It made sense that he asked if I was feeling like attending Culver City equity and human relations advisory meetings to improve race relations was the best use of my time. I believe it was at that moment where I could see clearly that my Dad had lost hope in change for the future. An odd feeling settled in the pit of my stomach, a mixture of nervousness and disappointment. How can someone who I look up to feel so detached and indifferent about efforts of change, as if trying is futile?
This cast doubt on my attempts. Can I make a change as an ordinary person? I wondered if I would end up like my dad hardened by life experiences. Participating in many protests to see the same injustices unfold right after. Trying to engage in local politics, nonetheless, seeing politicians bought out by corporations and leaching lobbyist groups. Live through the continuous cycle of anti-immigration rhetoric spreading so blatantly.
This is so in contrast with Shirley’s never ending passion that seeps out of her in every exclamation, conversation, every word. I think my nervousness in working with her, especially the uncertainty these past few days, impeded in my admiration of her being, her devotion to South Africa that grows as each day passes. I have come to terms with the fact that uncertainty lies all throughout filmmaking per Jonathan and Paul, therefore extracting this uncertainty about our project is allowing me to focus solely on Shirley’s radiate passionate energy. She is admirable.
So now that I have parsed through several thoughts, my nineteen year old subscript on my Dad’s waning passion is clear. My Dad did not ever lack the passion necessary. More so, his passion has become subdued because of his understanding of power structure. I honestly, wholeheartedly know he still believes people are inherently good and that because systems are made up of people, systems have the capacity to be just and equitable. He believes that the capacity exists but is more unsure about whether society will be able to reach or even exceed that capacity. Therefore, his spark has not extinguished, merely it is holding on. However, with more thought, I think the spark will never be ignited because of his set and rigid understanding of the world and people.
There lies the duality, subdued passion compared to the ever pouring passion, existent in those I admire.
replica of cover image of Bob Marley’s album that we have at home