yielding to the chaos

communion on the dance floor, content addiction, & the film look back

“Next month, I’ll chill out,” is the lie I’m happy to tell myself. The word “no” apparently evaporates from my lexicon when it comes to making plans. But I don’t really mind now. Optimizing my schedule for maximum creative output might have been my top priority earlier this year, but I find myself more willing to participate in spontaneous shenanigans despite the perpetual lack of sleep.

There was so much dance in September: at weddings, by the pier, in the chaotic confines of the club. We shimmied at all hours, from broad daylight to 3 am on the curb. No matter how tired I am or how much I fret about making a social faux pas – as soon as the music washes over me, I shed my exhaustion and leave the snakeskin of my former self behind.

I thought turning 30 would be a good time to “retire” my feral dancerat persona. But the draw of the dance floor is too powerful. It’s simply better to surrender to this perfect swell of emotions than fight against it. Everything feels more real and raw. Partaking in this communion with my loved ones, I suspect, is the closest to heaven I will find on earth.

AKA I just want to watch Justice again.

Back in February, I applied to a 10-day program where people read and talk about literature, work in the gardens, and immerse themselves in the slow life. Eight months later, I’m nestled in a grimy corner of JFK Airport at 6 in the morning. The train that will take me up to the mountains doesn’t arrive until closer to noon, and I have no desire to brave the autumn chill this early by myself.

After going full throttle for the past few months, it will be interesting to watch my life grind to a deliberate halt. As though I were back in college, trying to pound out an essay before the deadline, I can see grains of sand fall away as I hastily type out this post, trying to get it out before I have to forgo tech for the foreseeable future.

The last time I spent any length of time without being tethered to the screen was when I followed the reading deprivation exercise from The Artist’s Way. Effective to an unsettling degree, reading deprivation makes me reflect on how and when my craving for endless content grew insatiable, almost physically so. The descent into boredom proved to be swift and painful, and I wanted to laugh at myself for struggling with such a simple task. For someone who’s always dreamt of becoming badass enough to slay mythical creatures, I fall awfully short when it comes to defeating my phone. By imbuing a few devices with such power, I perhaps reduce my self-resiliency. No way that 2024 me could function as an adult in the pre-smartphone era. The thought of going back to physical maps makes me shudder.

I’m curious about what the next two weeks will be like. I’m the kind of person who doesn’t let a situation sink in until I arrive at that moment. It won’t even dawn on me that I’m taking a train to somewhere I’ve never been before until I’m sitting down, staring out the window, and watching the red-golden trees whisk by. When I expressed this to my friend, he told me he was the opposite: that he lives in the future where endless possibilities reside.

It must feel nice to think of the future like that. The sea unfurling, reaching toward a horizon that has no beginning or end.

🌊 this week’s wave brings you

There’s only one thing on my mind.

🎬 Look Back directed by Kiyotaka Oshiyama

Adapted from the oneshot written and illustrated by Chainsaw Man mangaka Tatsuki Fujimoto, Look Back packs an insane amount of emotional depth in its sub-hour runtime. In short, Fujino and Kyomoto, two young girls who are polar opposites in terms of personality, forge an intimate, complex bond over their desire to draw manga.

I love Look Back. The manga never fails to make me bawl my eyes out, and the film adaptation lived up to that expectation and more. Director Kiyotaka Oshiyama, who intended this film to be a “tribute to creators,” remains faithful to the source material while adding his own flair. His exquisite attention to detail is apparent in his choice of seiyuu and composer, the artistic techniques employed, and how he expands on certain sequences. The end result is visceral, tapping into emotions I thought were long lost to my faded childhood.

Aside from friendship, Look Back is about the creative process and how unforgiving and lonely the grind can be. Objectively, it seems insane to forgo hanging out with your family and friends and having fun just for the sake of art. And God forbid you’re that weird otaku who just stays inside all day and draws art that even your loved ones might find “average.” Oftentimes, there appears to be no immediate or apparent benefit to sitting at the desk, going through the motions, and churning out draft after shitty draft. And as you stew in frustration at your lack of improvement, you begin to wonder:

What’s the point? Why am I doing this?

The answer of “Why?” is different for every artist. The answer may be closer for some than others, or easier to uncover. But as we stack sacrifices on top of one another like the countless sketchbooks piled in Kyomoto’s hallway, we grow to accept the fact that only by entering the maw, getting chewed up and spat back out, and diving back in does the answer reveal itself over time.