let lemons be angry

My dad and I spent the night watching old home videos. He cringed at his kaypoh video narration ("Wow you have a very nice smile! Did you just go to the dentist?") and I cringed at my kaypoh seven-year-old-ness. I wasn't one of those doll-like cute kids. I was too smart to be cute, and full of dramatic lines. "I am Julienne! The famous actress!" My bangs were severely short and I hadn't learnt to frame my round face with wisps of hair. My smiles were gummy with tiny teeth. When I grew older, my potential to look better was hampered by round, colorful glasses that reflected light.

My parents were so proud of me though. In the videos they put me in nice dresses and made me play all my piano examination pieces, though they probably had had to listen to them thousands of times before at home, mistakes and scales and all. My mother was always smiling and affectionate in the videos. She wore darker lipstick and was surprisingly obliging in all my dad's directed shoots. They filmed a couple of my birthday parties, and my friends were all cute in their miniature versions of themselves. But you could tell that the camera looked for me wherever I went.

Sometimes we need to see things from afar, like in old home videos, to see this kind of love clearly. I think we need to make more home videos.