This blog post was inspired by a conversation we had in the lounge at Aquila Private Game Reserve after our buffet dinner. We gathered around the fire, intending to pass the time. It was the last night of our safari, the final excursion of our program, and we were determined to make the most of it. As we sat together by the fire, we began brainstorming games. What should we play? Mafia? Contact? Something new? Then someone made a simple suggestion: “Why don’t we just talk?”
Over the previous few weeks, whenever we had a moment of free time, we instinctively filled it with games. Mafia became our favorite way to pass time. We accused one another with dramatic confidence, overanalyzed the smallest changes in tone, searched for microscopic facial expressions, and convinced ourselves that every nervous laugh or stutter revealed the hidden Mafia among us. Defending yourself while everyone had already decided your fate was frustratingly thrilling. There is a distinct benefit to using idle time to play games. However, what we hadn’t really done, at least intentionally, was resolutely seek out information from one another. Sitting and questioning each other (admittedly, with some silly questions being tossed around) brought a level of connection that games alone cannot provide. It forced us to open up, sharing our intricacies and the things that made us who we are. I think that this space of vulnerability showed a different side of the people I thought I had gotten to know well enough. Beyond questioning was the gaining of the willingness to answer honestly. Whether it was our most embarrassing moment, deepest regret, and joys, the largest barrier to true connection is the assumption that we know enough.
I hope that as we begin meeting the people who will become the subjects of our documentaries, we carry this principle with us: no matter how clear our vision for the documentary may be, we should remain open to discovering stories we never anticipated. This is part of why we resist scripting, it is so we can remain open to those unexpected, sometimes just a single line, that stay with us and make us reflect on the privilege of health and access. By crafting thoughtful and deep questions and listening with curiosity, we can bring the hidden emotions and perspectives of our characters’ to life.
While it feels silly to blog about conversations, I think it important to me to reflect on this in light of the promise that I made to myself before this program. I wholeheartedly want to get to know and learn about each and everyone in the program. After returning from Aquila, I read a Substack essay that reflected on quantum entanglement as a metaphor for human connection. While the comparison is philosophical rather than scientific, it gave me a new language for thinking about the conversation we had around the fire. I don’t suddenly believe our relationships could be explained by quantum physics but the metaphor somewhat captured something I had been trying to reflect upon and that each conversation we have with one another has a way of changing us long after they have ended. Quantum entanglement describes particles that become so deeply linked through interaction that they can no longer be fully described independently. Even after they are separated by vast distances, they remain correlated. The people we encounter leave traces within us. A single conversation can challenge our assumptions. A story can reshape our understanding of the world. A deeply personal interview can leave us with a lingering sense of inadequacy, fearing we cannot capture the true scope of the interviewee’s experience. While we may never speak to some people again, we continue carrying pieces of them with us. The memory of their laughter, such as Alya laughing at her own questions before she had even asked them, along with their worries and their vulnerabilities, is what will shape the sense of unity we continue to feel with people who might be miles away from us.
I think there is a lot for me to think about as I finish this post. I want to use this reflection to guide the rest of my time in the program, both in the relationships that I am building and in the professional sense as well as I continue to meet and create bonds with those that will contribute to the documentary. The moments I exchange that cannot be undone and that do not disappear with distance, but rather become a part of who I am. This is the closest human equivalent to entanglement, not instant influence across occupying the same space, but the quiet persistence of connection across time.
P.S. Thank you, Alya (I think!), for your suggestion that night which became the foundation of this blog post. I also loved that one of your questions made you laugh before you even shared them.