My name is Terry and this is my blog. 
10/10/2005: "Atonement"
mood: coming back slowly, yet surely
I know it's been a while and I really have no excuse except for laziness, which is a lot harder to combat than I thought. I promise you that what was lost in time will be made up with emotional intensity.
So, two weekends ago I went to RESFEST LA at the Egyptian Theater in Los Angeles. I got the all-access RESPASS, so I tried to go to everything that time and logic would allow. In the end, I was able to see all the programs I wanted to see and was quite impressed with the programming this year. The Traktor Retrospective, Triple Threat and By Design were some of my favorite programs. The two programs that really stood out for me and touched me on a more personal level were Two By Mike Mills and Ginga, a documentary about Brazilian soccer.
For today’s blog entry, I will discuss the former program.
On the festival’s Friday, my friends Mike and Keith joined me for the Two By Mike Mills program. The two films were The Reassurance of Architecture and Not How, What or Why But Yes. I won't go into too much detail about either films, but I will say while neither films was entertaining per se, they both raised questions I had myself about life and my current situation. The first film, The Reassurance of Architecture, followed a confused suburbanite teenage girl as she wondered aimlessly through what seemed the perfect California suburb. To sum it up - we find out that not all is perfect in suburbia (surprise, surprise). All in all, a very subtle film with a couple of laughs. Growing up in the suburbs of York, PA I guess I could relate to what was going on with the girl. There was a time when I listened to The Smiths and hated my parents. But those days are gone . . .
The other film, Not How, What or Why But Yes, was an art installation piece in which Mills questioned over a dozen people about what 5 things they would do given that they knew they had a certain amount of time left on earth. Mills started off by asking what they would if they had 3 months to live, then as the answers progressed he asked what they would do if they had one week and at the end he asked if anything would change if they only had 24 hours. Though Mills pulled from a semi-diverse pool of people, the answers/responses showed the commonalities of people in regards to their values/lack of values in the wake of death. Most everyone said that they would try to spend more time with their family and make amends with those that they’ve wronged. The same people also said that they would like to get laid and go on drug binges. The best response was from this guy in his mid-twenties, who given 3 months to live, would plan a political assassination.
Obviously the film makes you question what you would do given the circumstances. The moral of the story is that life is short anyways, and that you shouldn’t have to wait around to be given your last orders to do the things that you really want to do or say the things you really want to say.
Funtime: What would Terry do if he were given the notice that he had 24 hours?
I don’t deal well with hypothetical questions, but the film really made me think about the wrongs in my life that needed to be corrected and the voids that needed to filling.
I guess the first order of business would be with the parents; I’d tell them that I did my best to make them proud and I’d apologize for my decision not to go to law school, as I knew that it would have made them very happy. It sounds stupid that I have to make such an effort to please my parents, but given all they’ve done for Francis and me, what they sacrificed in terms of putting us through college, I feel like I’ve been a major letdown. At times I feel like I’ve squandered what could have been a brilliant career in the sciences or other lucrative prestigious occupations. I know I’m still young and that time is on my side, but if it all came crashing down for me tomorrow, there’s no helping the feeling that I fucked it all up. Ultimately they know I’m doing my best out here and are happy as long as I am happy.
Second order of business would be with Francis. Long story short, I think I failed to be a better older brother to him. I can remember a day when we were best friends. Somewhere along the way he stopped looking up to me and somewhere along the way I stopped caring.
At home in Pennsylvania is an old address book that my parents still use to manage their contacts. They’ve had this book since the day I was born. I know this because in the “Notes” section of the book is my father’s journal entries of the days after I was born. It’s written in Vietnamese and before I die I would have those pages translated. I’m curious as to what my father had hoped for me.
Fourth order of business would be to say goodbye to all my friends. I don’t have too many.
This is really fucking absurd, you know. I should have done all of this by now. My parents are a phone call away and I just talked to Francis last week. I could easily have Francis photocopy that address book, as I know a few people who could do the translation. Quite honestly, I’ve stared death in the face before and I never thought twice about this kind of thing. Let me elaborate: A few years ago while I was living/working in D.C. I had a wake-up call. I had been going to the gastroenterologist for some problems, and for the sake of brevity, I had to have a small polyp removed from my colon. For a few months I seriously thought I had cancer. Colon cancer, which is serious business. And the most that I did during that time was go to the doctor’s to get it taken care of. In hindsight, I didn’t want to freak anyone out. I only ever expressed the fear of death to one person at the time.
I remember now, the night before the surgery, calling you and telling you that I was afraid. Telling you, in wordier and lighter terms, that I was afraid of the possibility of not existing. I remember you telling me that I would be around “for very long time,” and that you too would be around for a very long time. I remember your voice, quiet, yet solid.
You can’t imagine the relief, to have the anxiety of death taken away. I didn’t get to thank you at the time, so I’m doing it now.
Make that the last thing. Number 5.