There is none of the comical bartering for cheap knockoff watches in a mall. They don’t let you film anything. There isn’t even anything of me eating bugs. It was a fancy restaurant, and I remember not wanting to be the guy whipping out a camera. (Now I question those decisions and will certainly be investing in more batteries and gumption in the future.)
As I work my way through, the chronology of the events gets muddier. Things get ordered and reordered now by theme or similarity in content instead of how they actually happened. Emily is walking in the airport. CUT. She’s walking in the street. CUT. Riding down an escalator. Time is crunched and stretched.
The end result will not sum up the experience; it will be nowhere near as rich and complete as the memories I have of being there. It will, however, be a time capsule of a completely unique series of moments, moments impossible to live or capture again.
I think that’s why I like making movies.