Filmmaking and figuring it out

Lights, camera, creative rut

I hit a creative wall lately, the kind that makes you question if you’re deplete of ideas, energy, talent, the will to exist… As a self-proclaimed film buff (my taste leans less straight man canon and more horizontal sing-a-longs; less Godfather/Goodfellas and more Mean Girls/Mamma Mia), I’d been itching to get back into filmmaking since I made some short films in college. In fact, it’s now a full-body rash, courtesy of my quarter-life crisis.

In a fit of equal parts impulsive ambition and existential panic, I made it known to everyone in my orbit that I wanted to be involved in more film projects. I became that person, wedging “I used to make films” in conversation lulls at dinner parties, like a deranged TED talk. Eventually, a friend connected me with Jasiel, the director behind the experimental queer comedy short “Wake Me Up When You’re Ready.”

The film’s premise was very “Euphoria” meets “Don’t Look Up”: it follows Jay, a messy, non-binary sad sack convinced their life is over – until their best friend, Elle, throws them a psychedelic-fueled 25th birthday party, all against the backdrop of a politically-horrifying world. By the end, the characters find just enough life force to fight another day. When I first read the script, I felt what the characters were going through (Though maybe at 1/3rd of their hotness, and “fight” feels too noble; “survive” another day is more like it). I love being part of art that provokes, that makes you stand in the bathroom at 2 a.m., staring at your reflection, wondering what the hell you’re doing. Working on this shoot was one of the most creatively fulfilling experiences I’d had in a long while – like I’d cracked open a window in a toxic, stuffy room and finally exhaled.

A BTS pic from the short, with a fun, fitting caption to match: There's a place I know if you're lookin' for a show / Where they go hardcore and there's glitter on the floor / And they turn me on when they take it off / When they take it off, everybody take it off - Kesha

Here are some random new things I tried and took away from working on the film, in no particular order:

1. Short films are scrappy art projects held together with delusion and sheer willpower. With so few hands on deck, no one is above any task. Case in point: despite being in the crew, I somehow ended up acting (Two whole lines!). Shoots ran deep into the night, everyone locked in. Sleep? Optional. Commitment? Non-negotiable.

2. Somehow, I found myself working in G&E (Grip & Electric), which, if you’re unfamiliar, means playing adult Lego by assembling lighting rigs. One night, I found myself perched on an 8-foot ladder at 3 AM, clutching a pipe that stretched across the ceiling. It cracked something open in me. I learned how light and shadows dance, how the right glow can elevate a scene. There’s real art in it – sculpting spaces where characters can thrive – and now I have a religious respect for the people who do it, those quiet architects of feeling.

3. This experience led me to meet a mix of artistically and politically engaged people. Here, I got to articulate thoughts that had been half-stewing in my head for months. In the end, only community (the kind that knows the best bar bathroom for a crisis cry, so hidden it’s not even on Reddit) can pull you out of a creative rut. I had so many knowledge gaps, but they were quickly filled because, as it turns out, 95% of what I didn’t know was already living rent-free in someone else’s brain, the other 5% on Google. It truly takes a village, even if that village spends time debating whether Spindrift or LaCroix has the superior bubble-to-flavor ratio for craft services.

I saw a TikTok recently about the idea of being a “villager.” This woman shared how, when preparing for her baby’s arrival, she didn’t need to buy a single thing because her village showed up, showering her with gifts and love.

@rachellovely5“Everyone wants to have a village but no one wants to be a villager” 🤍 #advice

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I thought about how precious that kind of support feels, especially now, when the world seems to take more from us than we have to give. Like in the plot of “Wake Me Up When You’re Ready,” leaning on our people is the only way we crawl out of the political mess we have on our hands. Grassroots movements bloom in cracks left by chaos; they start with neighbors turning their living rooms into assembly halls and asking “Hey, you good?” We show up, messy, imperfect and hopeful, not just because this economy demands it, but because our souls do.

I think part of why I lacked inspiration for my creative ambitions was because I didn’t know enough people who’d actually done it, who’d chased something and made it tangible. Working on this film was exposure therapy; it reminded me that dreams aren’t some distant, glittery illusion – just plans that someone had the guts to follow through on. My own imagination was now something I could reach out and touch.

I’ve been reading Julia Cameron’s “The Artist’s Way” lately – a book that essentially assigns you homework (can you tell I’m a child of Asian parents) on how to believe in yourself and your craft, and exercise that belief until it sticks. Doechii has a series of old YouTube videos documenting her journey on working through the book, and you can literally see her confidence expand in real time, her affirmations getting louder and bolder until she states them like indisputable facts. (Lowkey, written affirmations are nice. That’s why I like writing – it makes you recalibrate what your interests are, what you care about, and where you want to go, even if that changes every five minutes.)

Self belief feels like a weird thing to manufacture; it’s an emotional manipulation, but self-inflicted and consensual, rather than at the hands of a narcissistic sociopath. I catch myself hesitating all the time, convinced I can’t start something because I don’t have enough – money, connections, confidence, insert-excuse-here. But someone on set told me, “Just make the thing first. The rest will follow.” The starting point isn’t having perfect external resources or validation; it’s the mental commitment to back yourself first, even if your inner voice shakes.

So consider this my public accountability statement: I’m done hoarding in my Notes app like I’ve got classified intel. I keep circling a few film story concepts – I tell myself they’re too good to share but also too good not to, and that second thought keeps winning out. Here’s to letting ideas breathe and hoping they land somewhere good. If you steal one, at least hire me to help out, because I’ll be torn between a) being deeply flattered and b) suing. Possibly both.

1. They work for a budget airline – the kind where the emergency exit sign is duct-taped to the door and passengers smuggle rotisseries in their carry-ons. They are underpaid and overtired. When another round of pay cuts is announced, they stage a coup to overthrow their shitty management.

2. The slightly incestual road trip with that one hetero friend group. Everyone’s secretly kissed each other and no one’s quite sure who’s dating who. Their tangled web of crushes isn’t a love triangle, it’s a hexagon. By the end of the trip, they’ve fought, cried and maybe ruined their friendships for good.

3. She’s a stay-at-home trad wife who’s spent years perfecting the art of the passive-aggressive smile. Her partner never notices the quiet sacrifices or the rage simmering underneath. One day, she snaps. What started as a well-deserved scream turns into a crime scene and cross-country run from law enforcement.

4. Tiger baby was raised to be exceptional: flashcards before he could walk, piano lessons before he could talk. But then? He starts a YouTube channel. At first, it’s just another extracurricular to pad the college apps. Before long, he’s making more money than this parents, funding their lifestyle, and flipping the power dynamic on its head. The parents who once pulled the strings are now dancing on them. But if he learned manipulation from the best… who’s really in control?

In the meantime, we are continuing to fundraise for our short. No pressure whatsoever, but if you do decide to support, just know I’ll be eternally grateful. <3