Why do people think Turning Red is about periods?

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Because we portray periods as the single most important change in a preteen girl’s life…and there isn’t a lot of media that shows otherwise.

Calling all cringy girls

When I think about movies I've watched, there are a few where boys are shown as awkward and strange and interested in the girls. Although Rated R, Superbad is the first to come to mind. Teen boys can have desires, be unsure of how to behave, not know anything about periods… and it's fine? I can't name a specific movie, but examples of boys' voices cracking as they grow up are normal. We all know that's a thing—we don't need movies that spell it out.

Meilin and her friends aren’t so different from that. They pine for the singers in 4-Town, pretending they’ll all be married someday. They ogle the clerk at the local corner, and Meilin draws imagined scenarios of them together. Her heart beats faster when she sees her classmate, and she doesn’t get what’s happening to her. I mean, did any of us?

Portraying puberty for girls shouldn’t need a period to make a point. If periods were treated like cracking pubescent voices, would it be as weird?

Straight to high school

In the 1990s-2000s, there wasn’t age-appropriate media that showed the onset of puberty for girls. The movies available in my youth were sanitized of it. No pads, no training bras, nothing. Outside of books, nothing existed to say crushes and imagined romantic scenarios are normal for a 12 year-old girl.

High school comedies were funny, though mostly focused on romance… so where were the ones for girls like me?

Mean Girls was my first, and most memorable, movie on female adolescence. It paralleled parts of my middle school experience, and it was funny! Romance is only one conflict in the film, not the entire plotline. The themes of authenticity, insecurity, and friendship are all present, and this film's impact on pop culture is unquestionable.

But as much as I like the movie, it's not about the onset of adolescence… Where girls are still more like children than adults.

God, it’s brutal out there

Preteen girls have it rough. Liking boy bands is juvenile, but having a boyfriend is grown-up. They have bad taste in music but are the trend setters for, like, everything. They're too young to have desires but old enough to be desirable. Our current portrayals aren't enough as these same portrayals tell girls they aren't enough.

There’s so much fun in the messiness of growing up.

If we don’t acknowledge their imaginations or curiosity or awkwardness, we’re telling girls that they should jump neatly from the box of childhood to adulthood without any mistakes or any experiences. Another unrealistic expectation in an already long list.

Girls should just be. They should be cringy and goofy and weird without whatever hangups and expectations others have of them. Turning Red is a story that loves them for doing just that, and reminds us that we should too.

Big feelings, great expectations

Some people might turn red when they have big feelings, but Meilin turns into a red panda. It’s her first time dealing with intense emotions… Excitement about 4-Town! Fun with friends! Embarrassment by parents!

It’s a lot to figure out, but it sure is fun to watch.

Turning Red isn’t about periods—those are just one part of puberty after all. The film is about redefining your relationships as you grow and learn new things about yourself. It's about loving yourself through all the changes…And trusting that your people will love you the whole way through. I’m hopeful we’ll see more like it in the future.

At least that way, we can stop assuming movies for preteen girls are about periods.

Avatar: The Last Airbender and the Legend of Korra

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Avatar: The Last Airbender recently hit Netflix, and unsurprisingly, it's a major hit. I finally watched it, in order, after years of only seeing the season one finale and series finale. The world-building is so strong, the characters are so charming, and it's just really fun to watch. Despite the underlying themes of genocide, war, and trauma, it was always balanced out by what's good and kind about the world. That, and Aang was so damn charming.

He's unlike many protagonists in a lot of the media I consume. Sure, he's probably the most powerful being in that world, but his first instinct isn't to be combative. He's compassionate and kind. He's also 12, so he's fun and playful too. Despite his unwavering optimism, he  has a lot of inner conflict. Some episodes focus on him reconciling his duty to the world with his own selfishness. What kid wants to save the world instead of spending time with the girl he likes? I mean, at 12 years old, he had had to make the decision on whether or not he would kill a man to save the world… Not an easy task to do.

I related so much to Aang's levity and cautious approach that I had the hardest time watching Korra, the next Avatar.

When the The Legend of Korra came out a few years ago, I tried watching it… And I was so bored and irritated. Korra was brash and headstrong, and she didn't care what anyone thought. She asserted her power as the Avatar constantly, and didn't consider the consequences of her actions. I felt like she was a characteristically "male" character in a female protagonist's body. I felt like I was being pandered to and upset that there was this person who wasn't me. I was looking for a strong female character that was different from male protagonists we usually see.

This week, I gave Korra another chance. The world building in the series is so strong, I wanted to see more of it. I tried to go in with an open mind, but I still had a strong disdain for Korra. She just didn't solve problems creatively, didn't listen, and won by brute force all the time. She was so rude to her friends and mentors, and I was just annoyed. I begrudgingly got through season one and kept watching.

The beginning of season two was the same. I could feel my chest fill with annoyance when she treated her friends poorly. I couldn't watch someone make thoughtless choices over and over again. Fortunately, the expansive world-building let me focus on other things. I watched this universe's history grow and other characters grow with it. My problems with Korra popped up again in season three, but I tolerated it better this go around… Mostly because I finally watched her lose.

<spoiler alert>

Korra almost died. By the end of season three, she finally understood what it's like to be powerless. At the start of season four, she was hesitant, coping with the feelings of being unneeded. What do you do when you've always won and had power, then have it taken from you? How do you reconcile who you thought you were and who you showed yourself to be? What do you do when your purpose is unclear? What do you do when the world moves on without you? She was finally grieving the loss of her mentors and her identity as the Avatar.

It took four seasons, but the Korra's story paid off. In the first three seasons, she dealt with problems the same way and didn't consider the cost to other people. She was brash, irrational, and didn't care about the long term consequences for her decisions. Korra clung so stubbornly to her title that she was inflexible. She won external battles but lost opportunities for internal growth. Her near-death experience and separation from her previous incarnations finally gave me a fuller and more holistic Korra. It took some time, but she became more thoughtful and compassionate. She understood that power doesn't win everything and was more empathetic to the humans behind conflict.

Understanding the Avatars’ journeys

It took a while, but I realized this. Korra isn't me, I'm not Korra, and that's ok. We don't deal with our problems the same way. While it's frustrating, it's ok too. She's also not Aang. Korra had different problems from him. The world she lived in was more complex; I don't think any of past Avatars could have helped her with that. She finally embraced her limitations and weaknesses and used it to grow. She also gained humility, learning that she doesn't have to be all solutions for all the conflicts in the world.

There were a lot of people who hated on Korra, solely because she isn't anything like Aang. But Aang didn't have to go through these challenges. He already rejected earthly titles and possessions; his challenge was embrace that his duty to the world and his own spiritual needs. Aang recognized his duty to the world doesn't negate to his spiritual needs; he needed and met both. These weren't Korra's challenges or her journey. She needed to learn that her way isn't the only, or best, way. With all her power and all her winning, she thought it was the same thing as being right. It wasn't. 

Korra reminded me that hard lessons take time. People don't always learn them the first time, I know I don’t. Mine just don't involve the fate of the known world. Making hard decisions and being compassionate takes practice… We had to watch Korra keep practicing, no matter how much it hurt to watch. 

Aang's story was perfect when I was younger and more innocent; where anything bad fades away to the golden feelings of youth. Then, the Avatar's story grew up with me. Korra reminded me that as we mature, the stakes are higher and there's more to lose. Our decisions don't always have safety nets, but hopefully, if we're open to change… we can learn and become better people. This series and franchise is excellent, and I highly recommend it to everyone. Just go in with an open mind.

Weathering with You

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We watched Weathering with You last week. In the movie, we follow Hodaka as he navigates a rainy and gloomy Tokyo. He eventually meets Hina, a girl who has a mysterious ability to change the weather. The animations were beautiful, to be expected from the man who brought us Your Name in 2016.

 The movie was gorgeous. Tokyo was portrayed exactly as I experienced in November. It felt so real that I could almost pinpoint the exact neighborhoods even though I was grasping at their names. And yet, we left the movie unsure of how to feel… It was clearly a love story, yet I felt frustrated leaving the theater.  If you haven't heard of this movie yet, here's a trailer.

Spoiler alert

The movie I watched felt disconnected. I felt like I was watching two different stories.

 Through Hina's story, the rain was a metaphor for her grief. She found happiness through helping people, but it was unsustainable. It required that she give more and more of herself until she had nothing left. She was willing to do it though, since it meant a lot of people would be better off. When she chooses herself, she's essentially adapting to her grief. It'll always be there, but it doesn’t always have to consume her. It's ok to be a little selfish for your happiness. 

Hodaka's story seemed like one of selfishness and survival. In a city where everyone fends for themselves, he learned to adapt. He, and many other people, were looking at Hina to help them create happiness. When she chose to sacrifice himself, he reversed it, choosing his own happiness and "survival" over Tokyo's as a whole. The city pays for his choice, eventually succumbing to the rising ocean. Sometimes, you can't help that the world is crazy and the things you can control are a type of security. It's ok to be a little selfish for your happiness.

 One could say that Hodaka's story is a one of escapism. Instead of confronting his problems, he ran away, looking for easy fixes. He could have made sacrifices and lessened the burden on others, but chose not to. Those choices made everyone pay for the consequences. The world's crazy anyway, sure, but that doesn't mean we add to it and keep letting it be crazy… Especially if he could choose differently, even if it was difficult.

I've seen analyses of the movie talk about its allusions to climate change. Though on a larger scale, it felt like a story of clinging to some need or addiction or fixation so desperately… there's no choosing otherwise: Loving in spite of tragedy, the innocence of youth, and the desperate fight for what you believe in.

 I suppose when people are teenagers and growing up and becoming adults… You are selfish for your own happiness. It's part of the growth. I suppose in that sense, it is realistic. I guess… I walked away from that movie feeling like there were two different, but codependent, stories. I didn't love it… But it wasn't bad either.

Terror: Infamy

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Finally watched the season finale of Terror. It’s an anthology where each season deals with different kinds of horror. This season followed a family through their wrongful imprisonment in an American concentration camp during WWII. I’m taking a page out of George Takei’s playbook, he refuses to call it Japanese internment camp because it’s not the Japanese who made them. He also was a consultant on this.

What’s fascinating to me is that there are people out there that don’t think that this season is as scary as the first season. I don’t really want to see or need to see the first season because scarier isn’t that important to me. The story is so beautifully intertwined between history and myth that it doesn't matter that it isn't true.

[spoiler alert]

Throughout the series, there’s a yūrei haunting this man, Chester, and his family around the start of the war. Everything that’s happening seems to revolve around him. It turns out, his parents… Aren’t really his parents. The yūrei following him around is his real mother and she wants to bring him home. Except home is the afterlife where she’s trying to build a paradise for her lost children.

Of course, this gets further complicated when he gets his girlfriend, Luz, pregnant and he chooses to prove his loyalty to America by decoding Japanese poems/tankas. They babies (twins!) are stillbirths, and the pair go through some horrible stuff. Then, as they try to protect the new baby the yūrei tries to take it again.

The second big twist is revealed at this point. The wonderful life that Chester’s mother had in America was meant for the yūrei, her sister Yuko. Yuko was pregnant when she arrived to America, and the man she was meant for no longer wanted her. She was living on the street and couldn’t support her children so she gave them up to be adopted. Of course, this incites new rage.

Chester’s father ends up sacrificing himself to save Chester and the new child from death. Chester, in turn, helps Yuko find peace in the afterlife. He tells that by taking his child, she’s robbing herself of the future. In that future, they could honor the choices  she made so that he could survive.

Duty and sacrifice

Looking back at the series now, duty and sacrifice two overarching themes throughout the series. Chester clashes with his father because he so often takes the easy way out. He wanted Luz to have an abortion, left Luz at the concentration camp when he served the US, and ran away to find Luz when he returned. His father wanted Chester to be a man and embrace his responsibilities, but not at the cost of his duty to his family.

Yuko tried to fulfill her duties, to her promised husband and her children. When her husband beat her and turned her away, she made a huge sacrifice. She gave up her children to ensure they had a life better than the one she could provide them. In her death, she unleashed her rage at the circumstances that made her unable to provide for her family.

In the final conflict, duty and sacrifice converge. When Chester and his child are put at his, his father protects them at the cost of his life. While he never would hear his kid say I'm sorry for the things I've said, he did what he needed to do he could save him. Chester is finally realizes his duty and promises Yuko that he'll honor the sacrifices she made. He also names his son Henry, in honor of his father.

At a talk I attended, George Takei said that this is a love story… And it was in the way I didn’t expect. These parents' journeys were stories of love. When Yuko found peace in the afterlife, it was before she left for America. In this moment in time, she was full of hopes and dreams for her children… And that's when she was happiest. Chester's father was similar. In a flashback and a visit, his father shares that he named his boat taro, for his firstborn son. He chose that name because holding Chester gave him the same feeling as the ocean: peace.

The real terror

The conflict was catalyzed long before Chester was born. His adopted mother chose to sacrifice her sister to avoid an awful situation. She knew how awful the man was and sent her sister to that hell anyway. She could have chosen any number of things, but she chose that. This is only a micro example of the real terror; what we're willing to do with each other. We saw it repeated in how Yuko was beaten by her husband, how the nuns treated her when she gave up her children, the heartless supervisor at the camp, the murder of one girl's brother… The list is endless. A particularly poignant scene is when George Takei's character dreams of a friend from childhood… But his friend is accompanied by his entire family, all of them killed in the Hiroshima bombing.

The story of Chester and his family is horrifying, but is only one story set against the backdrop of the concentration camps in America. How Americans were willing to treat other loyal Americans was horrifying, and even more so when you consider that it's being repeated today. The stories in our own lives may overshadow what's happening in the background, but that doesn't mean you should look away. Our actions have consequences, and we have a duty to do right by each other and be kind. Chester's adopted mother had to live with the consequences of her choice, and while she wasn't evil by any means, it just underscores the tragic realities for many at the time. While her loved ones found peace, she was haunted by her own choices for many years after.

This season was so clearly an immigrant story, and how willing we are to commit atrocities to people who aren’t like us. People who seem different, but aspire for the same things as we do. It was also one where we saw Chester embrace his own heritage and others that exist around his, like Luz’s own Mexican traditions. Though Yuko was terrifying and powerful, her desires were as human as the real horrors committed through the years of the show.

Redemption and remembrance

Despite the horrors our characters faced, there were small kindnesses too. Chester's teacher watched the family's car while they were interred, his commanding trusted in his abilities, Luz's family took him in despite his illegal presence in their house. Chester's forgiveness of his mothers' crimes, and even the conversation with his father, helped him find peace. It doesn't change the past, but it gives us a chance to learn and move forward.

The last scene ends with the Obon and a lantern floating to honor the dead. It's similar to setting up an ofrenda, and it's a beautiful way to see how cultures honor their ancestors. While we live with the consequences of the people before us, we're not doomed to their mistakes. Terror: Infamy was so much about the things we do to each other, but also a story of loss, redemption, and how our stories weave together in the past and future.

The sound of water

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For me, listening to music is an active activity. I can’t really be doing anything else, unless it’s painting, exercising, or something with my hands. Music is a very consuming experience and I just like what I like. When I listen to music, it’s important to get a sense of the composition, and especially the lyrics. In the past few years, I noticed that water was a theme in a lot of music I like.

I mean duh, it’s an easy metaphor to use. What a strange piece thing to notice. What could I possibly do with that information. So, I challenged myself to make a complete narrative with water as the main theme. Does the story have love? Loss? Betrayal? Who knows? I didn’t.

The kind of music I listen to is lyric heavy, so I began composing this story using what I knew. I initially wanted the whole thing to be a conversation between a man and a woman. While adding music, I found that I couldn’t find an even ratio of people singing about different sides of the same coin. While you’ll see it in the case of Cry Me a River by Justin Timberlake and River of Tears by Alessia Cara, it wasn’t the norm. I found that women were more likely to sing about the transformative and healing powers of water, and a way of signaling a rebirth or cleansing. Men sang about water as a way of just jumping in, having fun, starting something new, and as an obstacle to a relationship. FASCINATING.

I was limited in scope to the kind of music I like listening to. I had to expand it. I mean, if you’re here reading this, you may already know I asked Facebook what their most loved/favorite water themed songs are… And I specifically excluded Moana. Although, listening to the playlist now, I could probably include Moana. I’m open to more suggestions, but I’m actually really digging this playlist.

If you’ve made it this far, great. If you just scrolled down here for the playlist, well. Ok. What do you think? Should I do it again? Am I missing essential songs? Let me know in the comments!

Into the Spiderverse

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“You’re the best of us, Miles. You’re on your way. Just keep going.”

This gem of a quote came up when I finally watched Into the Spiderverse. Aside from being a creative and innovative addition to animated films as a whole, it starred Miles Morales… Possibly the most popular version Spiderman to date. He’s a mixed race kid growing up in the Bronx, with all the hopes and dreams of his family riding on his shoulders. Then he has to be Spiderman? Talk about pressure, you’re reading about it from someone who stays in bed for hours when possible.

Though, the reason that quote struck out to me mostly because… Well, I guess I get it. I gained a lot of perspective this year. Earlier in the year, I made a friend who grew up in the ghetto. Her friends and family know her as the one who made it out. She’s one of the more resilient, persistent, and kindest people I know. Her love for people is bigger than her, and if those things aren’t the best in people… Then I don’t know what is. Each of those people from her neighborhood root for her everyday, and will support her and her continued success.

Reflecting on her story got me thinking about my own and how they parallel. What her friends and family want for her are not much different from what my parents want for themselves and for us. Immigrants and their families share my friend’s story and Miles’ story. If they moved on their own, it’s to continue their family’s story in a new place. Many others moved their families here so that their kids could have the best chance at life. Some of them moved away from dangerous areas, poverty, sickness…. Or they moved closer to their dreams, safety, and peace. For parents, each hopes that their kids embody the best of them, and fulfill their potential.

Being the best you isn’t such a unique idea. I read something recently that I loved. It was that each time we looked in the mirror, we should think our faces are our heirlooms, handed down from our ancestors who chose to keep going. Our faces, our color, our voices, our stories run through each fiber and DNA strand of our beings. Kids nowadays are lucky to see their dreams reflected onto screens in characters like Miles. The successes and struggles of our parents and their parents and even theirs are stories that are seen as valid and celebrated. Look how marvelously far we’ve come with sharing our histories and ourselves.

Many of us are on our way to whatever is next in our journeys.

I’ve had a wild, beautiful, crazy year, and I couldn’t be happier. Some downs, but mostly ups, and I’m incredibly grateful. Everyday, I lay in bed and think about how lucky I am that I’m surrounded by loved ones, met great people who challenged and supported me, and was readier than ever for every opportunity that I ran towards. I feel like each year I find different levels of personal accomplishment and inner peace, and I hope to continue that with whatever life throws my way.

For my next year, I hope I can continue to see wonder and joy in the world around me. I hope for health and happiness for the people I love, and that they find success in all their endeavours. I know sometimes the world is awful, but I hope that passionate disagreement and empathy can create something productive. I’ll look for new adventures and exciting happenings. Together, we’ve accomplished so much and we’re all working towards our best.

Miles resonated with me because his parents’ hopes are my parents’ hopes. His story wasn’t about accepting the responsibility of power, but instead about accepting the power in himself. Who we are and what we have to offer in the world is valid, we just need to uncover it and polish it. His character charmed me because of the earnestness and enthusiasm that he approaches the world with. He’s a teenager that captures the challenges of growing up and the pressures of his family’s hopes perfectly. While I don’t have to deal with being a Spiderperson myself, I hope that I can capture his attitude in my everyday next year.

We’re all getting there. We just have to keep going, and appreciate the magic and mystery of life as it comes.

Happy New Year everyone.

Musings 28

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This month, I started reading Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain. I've been wanting to read his book since his suicide a few months ago. Only in the past few years, did I realize his genuine appreciation for the world around him and his ability to observe without judgment. Between his first and last works, there's a sincerity under the outrageousness that very few people can emulate. Through his anecdotes, I'm able to hear his voice and his humor, and I'm certain many other fans feel the same. It's a shame I didn't appreciate his work until now. So why am I ruminating about it?

Recently, I was consumed by another book in a completely separate discipline; Factfulness by Hans Rosling. Hans Rosling is a renowned public health scientist whose final book aimed to highlight how much better the world is than we think. Though much of his book is data driven, there are several personal stories strategically placed to highlight the misperceptions people have of the world.

Rosling's work highlights the biases that many of us in "developed" countries have. Many of us are under the impression that if other people don’t live in countries like the US or the UK or Sweden, we're living in some primitive undeveloped world. But, like everything else in the human experience, development exists on a spectrum. Despite what we're lead to believe, many countries are slowly implementing benefits to their society. Who knew something as simple as being able to access clean water easily can impact the ability to get or finish a solid education. Simply buying a cheap stove can improve a family's food quality and health.

On his website, Gapminder.org, Rosling lays the foundation this spectrum of wealth. The wealth of countries spans from Level 1 to Level 4. Level 1 includes countries whose citizens only live with$1 a day, while Level 4 has people who live with $100 a day. Connected to his website is another project, DollarStreet.org where people volunteer access into their homes to demonstrate how they live. Without direct exposure or tools like this, how you able to get access to that perspective?

At first glance, Bourdain's culinary explorations and Rosling's public health research couldn't possibly overlap. Despite this, both their works revolve around the same theme: the human experience. Rosling's work showed that the world is getting better. That despite the challenges that each country faces, people are still inspired to be enterprising and courageous. The cycle of poverty is a difficult one to break. Sometimes, as Rosling's own stories showed, we make poor decisions because of our fear or overconfidence. Despite that, people still choose to live the best way they can.

Bourdain's work, like in Parts Unknown, captured these authentic perspectives. He found people whose lives mirror those on Dollar Street or those who are finding happiness and growth, in spite of their living situations. His work complements the story that Rosling's data tells us, that the human spirit continues to move despite and in spite of everything. Bourdain's gift, however, is not in telling the story himself, but allowing these people to tell their own stories.

On Sunday, Bourdain's final season premiere showed. He took W. Kamau Bell to Kenya and exposed him to the dynamic and colorful lives of the people there. With each person, he only asked questions to create more depth or context for viewers. Each perspective shares was uniq.

It's crazy to believe that these people from different disciplines would have work that would overlap. Consuming each person's work reinforced how connected our experiences are. As I watched the Parts Unknown premiere, I was constantly awed by the human spirit and how beautiful it becomes when faced with difficult. As I watched different women talk about their enterprises or motivations to educate children around them, I was reminded to check my biases, as learned from Rosling's book. 

Both these men are dead now. Through their works, I'm pleasantly reminded by the uniqueness of people. No matter how disconnected we seem, there's always going to be something that connects us to each other. Bourdain and Rosling have seen or experienced the worst of the world, and could have chosen to be cynical. Instead, these chose hope. They chose optimism. It seems silly, but I do believe there's magic in the world. The awe I feel just seeing people tell stories of creativity and endurance, and compassion is just one of them.

The premiere closed with a finale narration from Bourdain. As much as I respect the man, I respectfully disagree. While he spent much of his career telling his story, he somehow found ways to give others a chance to share theirs.

Who gets to tell the stories? This is a question asked often. The answer, in this case, for better or for worse, is I do. At least this time out. I do my best. I look; I listen. But in the end ― I know ― it’s my story. Not Kamau’s. Not Kenya’s or Kenyans.’ Those stories are yet to be heard.

Musings 24: In-Between Duality

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A few month ago, I tried penning a blog about the value found in opposition; particularly addressing the current political climate. I couldn't finish it. It felt forced and unnatural, and it continued to separate the whole of us as a country. Then I started listening to Hamilton: An American Musical. I think I finally found my words.

Whether or not you like musicals, this one does a good job of bringing several different genres into a single work. The influences range from rap, classical music, rock, and "traditional" musicals. It uses different motifs from each genre to accompany the scenes, identify the characters, and really… It's just a smart musical.

Music aside, the most interesting part of the musical is the narrative. The story immediately juxtaposes the story of Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr, his friend turned rival. Their stories are the same, both of them are orphans and alone. The way that they choose to address their obstacles differ greatly, and the musical follows how they approach the changing political climate through and after the American Revolution.

Hamilton has his brain, and Burr has nothing else but his name. One man goes for it seeing that he has nothing to lose, and the other has nothing to lose but the fame he has yet to gain. They both succeed, whether if it's out of dedication or obsession, hope or desperation… It's up to the audience. It also depends on what your perspective is on either man, good or bad.

 

But that's all it is, isn't it? Perspective.

 

Hamilton and Burr state clearly what they think of each other, and occasionally how they think of themselves. Depending on what you value, you might love one character more than I do, solely because different values and traits speak to us. Obviously, the play has a slight bias considering the protagonist. Neither man really had any reason to succeed considering their backgrounds, but they did anyway… Through the help of their friends and indirectly the people who opposed them… And challenged them to be better.

Opposition is important because it challenges our current modes of thought. It demands that we think critically about what it is we believe, and why someone else might not agree. The history of our nation is one that is built on the backs of [religious] refugees and entrepreneurs. It's built by the deaths of the rebellious and the hope for new life. It's one where we take as much as we feel is taken from us.

That's all dependent on who you ask, and what part you want to focus on.

Often times we focus so much on the stories and facts that resonate best with us, that we don't ask what resonates with other people. That's a problem. Both sides have terrible and awful and beautiful and great stories that need to be shared. How else can we learn from each other?

This country succeeds because of our adventurous and determined spirit, our investment in our minds and investment in the soil. The brave are successful because we've built and valued communities that are ready to welcome us back if, and when, we fail. Sometimes we're better at protecting our own interests, and sometimes protecting others… Sometimes our goals are the same, but approach is different. We aim for the best, but occasionally miss. Without feedback, we can't improve our stance, and give ourselves the best shot.

One of my favorite songs is Dear Theodosia, where both men sing about joy and for the safety of their children. Despite the rise and fall of each man's career, relationships, and eventual lives… They hoped for safety and the best things for themselves… and especially for the potential of their families and children in this nation. Isn't that what most people want?

There will never be a right or wrong way to go about complex problems. We're full of greatness and contradictions. We need to accept the duality in ourselves to accept it in other people. Oversimplifying someone else robs you the chance of being seen as something other than simple-minded. We're the heroes in our own stories, and the villains in others.

Despite our differences, we need to learn to live in the middle and share the space with each other. We need to recognize that someone else's experiences and hopes and fears are equally as valid. Both sides are awful at certain things, and amazing at others… But you can't see it unless you stop being dismissive and listen.

At the end of the day, we all want to make America greater. We value it for different things, and none of those things are more or less significant. More than anything, our loyalty and love for our country binds us together like the fabric in our flags. We weaken with holes in the seams that we choose not to repair. The world is wide enough for all of us.

We just need be better bridges.

 

 

Musings 23: Storytelling

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I'll try not to spoil it too much but… I recently watched Moana and I loved it.

I don't have the conversation around modern female protagonists often. If you have had this conversation with me, then you'd know this: I hate most of them. Especially the ones in movies. I often feel they're one-dimensional and only are interesting if they're in a love story. They often exhibit traits like strength and stubbornness in a way that a male traditionally would. They're not allowed to be smart and likeable at the same time. There are tons of videos on YouTube about this, so I won't continue to rant about it. My issue with it is this:

Most of them don't appeal to me because they are not me.

But that's where Moana comes in. She is, in a nutshell, how many of my friends and I have grown up: full of love and cognizant of the life outside of our supportive homes. Coupled with her curiosity and resourcefulness, she's a really solid character. None of these traits are as important as the fact that Moana is ready to learn and grow.

That's where the story takes us.

But the story goes there with a lot of care and authenticity in researching and developing a story outside of the traditional Disney story arc. They consulted scholars in the Pacific about the cultures they've studied and continued to actively through the story making process. Some story elements were concepts that my friends and I recognized as part of our experiences.

The mythologies were reflective of the region without being a retelling of a story that already exists. 

I've always had a fascination with mythology. Like most people, Greek and Roman mythology was my genre of choice, and I have read multitudes of their stories since childhood. There were often overlaps in the anthologies I had read, but I studied anyway. You know, just in case I had missed a small story on the side. I moved onto Norse mythology after college, but finding comprehensive collections continued to be an obstacle. The difficulties I faced in my search nagged at me, but it also saddened me.

The old gods and old stories are dying. It's an idea that explored in reading of American Gods by Neil Gaiman. The idea is this: We’re replacing them with media that is more easily accessible and readily consumable than reading or talking. The specifics of our stories are disappearing, as are our histories, and consequently our traditions.

If you think about how stories got passed down, it was first often through oral tradition. A community comes together and learns and shares the stories with each other; from elder to child, teacher to student. The responsibility of preserving this oral tradition is given to someone equally capable of doing the telling. Once a written language is introduced, the story gets told on paper. You no longer need the community to share the story, just someone who can point you in the proper direction. With the advent of movies, you don't even need that. It's just a screen where you can passively engage with a narrative.

Think about when your friends do something, anything. They tell you, their captive audience, their experiences. Some of your friends are decidedly better at telling stories than some of your other friends, but it's ok. Storytelling is a communal experience; it's shared and savored with all its participants. It builds bonds and strengthens relationships as we invest our time in each other. But storytelling takes practice, and sometimes we need to give each other that.

 

Most people don't know the old stories, so maybe they're not as invested in it. Think about when your friends repeat the same stories; "I heard this already" is the immediate response. You don't want to hear old stories, especially if you already know them. Hollywood does this a lot with its multitude of remakes. Movies are fun but also predictable. People like stories that keep them engaged and encourage them to ask questions.

 

Disney went to those linguists and anthropologists and practitioners and choreographers and became their captive students. Each shared their own stories and objected when necessary. Instead of retelling the stories, they created a new one together. They made it right where it needed to be and took liberties where they could. Storytelling is a way of connecting with people now and with generations past. It's a way of experiencing a perspective that possibly may have been unknown to us before.

Moana didn't have a love interest, and she didn't have to. She realigns with her cultures' traditions to grow and move forward. Disney did the same. Sometimes, we have to look behind us in order to forge ahead. It's hard to find the way without conversations with people who know differently from us. These conversations are important if we ever want to get them right. I hope Disney continues to take this direction with its movies; by continuing to consult people who are immersed in the preservation of their histories. Hopefully that inspires people to see how truly wonderful other cultures and their stories are.

 

Imagine where we could go once we recognize how far we've come.