There are few people who can change the world through a seemingly simple act. Their talents go beyond the isolated existence the rest of us live in. They create a new world for us. They transport us into a demention of our own emotional body we can only temporarily visit. And forever we will continually be inspired by their work.
This is the type of person my brother is and after nearly five months of traveling around the world he is returning home to finish working on the project world citizen.
I knew from day one I had the ability to make this project work…I also knew without my brother, this project would end up another boring travel film. It has been his personality that defines the movie and it will be his artistic genius that makes it.
Every time we filmed I was in awe of his ability to capture a moment on camera. He is truly a film maker and everything he touches turns beautiful porno besplatno.
Stay tuned as the editing process moves forward.
I invite all of you to click on the ‘trailer’ link in the navigation bar to view a short teaser created by a close friend Mitchell Rossit-Lavigne.
It was still dark out, and 8 other people around me slept soundly. I laid awake on the bottom bunk, staring blankly into the nothingness.
My alarm was set to wake me in 3 minutes…I had been up for hours.
It was the last 3 minutes before I took a cab away forever, and it felt like the last 3 minutes of my life.
The building was an old victorian mansion adjecent to Presidents home in old town, Panama City, also know as Casco Viejo. As I stepped out of bed the floor boards creaked. I wondered if everyone knew I was leaving. I wondered if they knew why I was leaving and what my brother and I had been through.
My bag was already packed.
There was only one thing left to do, and it made my throat swell up like in the moment before we cry.
I woke brother sleeping in bed above mine. He knew what I was doing.
In a week he would go to live in England to work, not ready to leave his greatest adventure. He was what I was only two year ago…on his own now, in the world.
I stuck out my hand and his hand grasped mine. He looked me in the eyes, through the early morning gray and said, ” This is not over…we will go on”
I felt the creak of every step down the stairs like a shooting pain through my heart. My backpack weighed heavier on my shoulders than it ever had. It was worse than a break up.
My thoughts were of everything my brother and I had been through. No one would know…but for the rest of our lives we would have these memories to share with each other. And every experience was better because I shared it with him.
For many many days, it was ignorant, but it was complete wonderment that I found the inspiration to write about experience.
The business like process of making a movie isn’t that of wandering through a timeless and ageless desert. But it is a honest process…and really, what else do we have?
Everyday, the ambitiously inspired and cautiously reserved engage in this, honest process we call life. They send me emails or share with me over coffee the dreams they dare to dream about the experiences they want to have. They are me, and I am them…and together we are the world.
All that we can do now, is figure out just how, to make this honest process something of a life experience.
Something we will tell our children about, and write about, and sing about, and know forever that we chose to live that process.
Today I am not in the Jungle…and as I stare up at the virgin marry there is no AK-47 pressed against the side of my head…but today I am alive. Today I have friends. Today I have everything that I could have. And if I never make it to tomorrow…all I can hope is that I lived my today. Here, there, anywhere, and everywhere.
My biggest struggle was not learning to be some sort of eclectic citizen of the world, it was learning to live here. It was learning to actually find peace in my day to day existence, and not to be living in the fantasy of my next adventure. My adventure was now, no matter how mundane or insane it was. I am here.
And this project will continue on.
My heart felt weaker than it ever had. It weighed so heavy in my chest, holding my head up to look anyone in the eye took motivation. Thinking about the project felt like trying to breath when the wind has been knocked out of you.
That feeling resided deep in me for weeks and I avoided anyone and everyone I could. It was not that I ever thought I was invisible…I just thought I had to be for everybody to believe in what I was doing…that or, “I told you he wouldn’t last”.
Maybe all of it and none of it is true.
I didn’t need to dwell on it, I just needed to experience it. I needed to feel the pain so I could always remember what this felt like. And I always needed to remember, because if I forgot…then I’d forgot where I’d come from.
And this was so much more to me than the geographical distance between Mexico and Singapore.
Three months ago I walked along a beach road in Mahahual, Mexico. A Hurricane had passed through just months before, leaving the paradise a near waste land of destroyed dreams. I knew I would have to survive my own Hurricane before this was done.
For whatever reason I ended up at home,I don’t know and maybe never will, BUT, I will make the most of it. I was working within 72 hours of been home, and as I put the pieces of the project back together I will be trying to raise the funds to get back down Santiago…and begin exactly where I left off.
And as the forever believer George, of Mahahual, with his bare and weathered hands, puts his Beach Hotel back together, stick by stick: So I will begin putting the (over) 600mins of footage we have already shot together and planning my journey back into ‘The World’.
There is a long road ahead and I have no idea what to expect…and that, well, that makes it all the better.
When we try to hard to understand why something happens, we can loose sight on making it right. Sometimes the world moves us to places we never expected to be. And sometimes the place you never expected to be was home.
It is when we are faced with a challenge that we find out whether we truly believe in what we say – or we just preach it in blind ignorance.
Such was my fate as my plane landed at YVR some 8 months too early – some 20 countries shy – and to top it all off…alone.
I sat cross legged, flipping through my journal, while eating a Spanish Omllette in the Panama City Airport, trying to remember what had just happened. I wasn’t even sure if it had…and as the last remains of the Spanish Culture faded away around me I wasn’t even sure what was happening this moment.
I used to lay in bed late at night, listening to music and imagining what this journey would be like…I never imagined a moment like this.
Business people, some families, a few other backpackers, and this lonesome film maker marched solemnly onto the plane. My head was low and I had to watch my feet board the aircraft to really believe it was happening.
I was flying home. Cheated multiple times, robbed, and with a camera that barely lived to tell the tale of its tragic fall some fifteen feet down onto the desert ground. It was a remarkably unfortunate ten-days that led me here…
¨God does not rest the night on the soft clouds in the heavens above, but on the white sand beaches of San Blas¨
Paradise is a place that has nothing – and makes you feel everything. I had fallen asleep on the white sand as the tide tickled my toes and the sun sizzled my face. I heard nothing except the waves dancing gently with the shore – a perfect sound. When I opended my eyes I was blinded by the sun and the sand.
As I adjusted I sat up – I could see through the palm trees to the other side of the island – one hut – and not another soul except my brother and the family that lived there.
A man worked on his tiny boat, his son cutting coconuts for juice. The mother must be inside the hut avoiding the hot sun.
O´neil paces the shore, wading ever so slightly in the turquoise blue water. He was reading a book.
I began to remember how I got here. Driving toward Columbia, on the last miles of the Pan-American Highway – a sharp left turn up a steep dirt hill. Cross a river, and over a mountain to the shore of the carribean sea. On to a small boat to the first island you see.
Don´t forget…otherwise you could get stuck in Paradise.
It is hard to discuss the Panama Canal without spitting facts at you like a 9th grade science lecture.
When we talk about the Panama Canal we are talking about one of the wonders of the world, were talking about political history and the independence of a country. But what it really represents is so confusing, I wonder about the wonderment it actually possesses.
We stood four stories above the structure as massive ships cautiously floated through the chamber with only two-feet to spare on either side. All the while a recording spoken in English is played over and over again in a mechanical voice.
This is the Panama Canal this, and that, and this, and that and on and on like that – like listening to the arrival times at grand central station.
I was pretty impressed with the overall engineering feat of such a construction, but all the while I was perplexed by a lack there of…something I couldn’t quite pin-point.
On an on the mechanical voice went “75,000 workers, 10 years, 12,000 ships a year…cargo…number one…fastest…shortest…more cargo………”
We move in inches. All we really have is the step in front to front of us. But for how we see, well, we see a thousand miles ahead.
For me, that was having a glass of Red Wine in Chile. Why such an absurd goal, I don´t know. But as I sat at the street side cafe in Santiago sipping a glass of Camenére I felt a deep feeling of fulfillment. Having wanted to so long to do this, and having covered so many inches…
I doubt Red Wine had ever tasted better.
We are staying in a Victorian era house, with large winding oak staircases. After the desert trek and travel through Chile, I welcome the comfort.