Empathy and Heroes: A Tribute to Those that Mean the Most to Me
"What does it mean. . . To be a Hero?"
I have always wished to speak at a TED Talk. At my old High School, every year, they would hold an event known as TEDx, a program in the spirit of the original TED Talks, allowing for people of all different backgrounds to bring forth their ideas that won't necessarily change the world, but it's more than likely that their ideas and messages will resonate in the hearts of those who listen and watch, I first watched a TED Talk in my 7th grade English class, and instantly fell in love with sharing what you want to say to the world in a meaningful and powerful way. Yet, I never got the chance to stand on my former school's auditorium, and say "Thank you for listening to my TED Talk." I was swamped in work, or had to take up tennis responsibilities in the short interval of time where people auditioned for TEDx.
In addition, I myself had never been one to be able to stand up on the stage and deliver any sort of proper speech. Nerves and a sense of fear pervaded through me whenever I had to present for History or report my 20-Time project in front of English. I wasn't sure I could ever get up on that stage, and present myself to the world. I still went to these TEDx talks, though, and there was one in particular that I won't soon forget, one that lives on in me.
Rhetoric is most certainly a word that has been spiraled around copious amounts of times within the High School curriculum, especially ascertaining to the oratory or written art of persuasion. It is a skill that dates back to Ancient Mesopotamia, in which Princess/Priestess Enheduanna's writings displayed use of exordium, argument, and peroration. In the writings, there also showcased perhaps the earliest uses of the three fundamental core blocks of argument and rhetoric, those being Logos, Ethos, and most pertinent to today, Pathos.
Pathos is an inexorably vital portion of our daily conversation. The essence of pathos is that it is an emotional appeal, but its roots in the Greek language indicate that it is more appropriately translated as "suffering" or "experience." Experiences are something we all have, and that's why Pathos is often singled out as the most powerful tool out of the three, even when it is the least rational. Yes, one can have a soundproof argument with credibility, but at the end of the day, we are all human. We've all experienced the game of life through various forms and circumstances, but it's certain that we all have shared commonalities and journeys that we can talk over, that we can bond over. So when we use pathos, we're not simply appealing to our emotions, we're appealing to our hearts, to the fact that we're human, to our very souls. Pathos is a strong weapon, when used disparagingly, but when used to help others, it can deftly weave together the story of everyone, of shared experiences, and we can come out as stronger and better people.
The emotional appeal of pathos is a current that has run through millenia, surviving throughout different forms, such as musical lyrics, literary works, the opera, theatre, films. It just about permeates everything. The most tangible legacy of pathos, however, are the people we interact with. Yes, humans are emotional and full of life. We are living proof of how we can make each other better people, or help society as a whole. My most cherished way to see how that pathos and emotion can affect us are in the role models in which we choose to idealize or look up to. Whether fictional or not, the main idea behind a role model is that they are a person that we strive to be, that inspires us to do better.
Movies have been there for me, always comforting me whenever I wanted to have an enjoyable time, and more importantly, trying to find solace in their messages, and seeing my own identity within these films. My favorite types of films or shows are those which I can relate to, those which part of me is reflected in them, where there is empathy and a sense that, "Yes, I see you." These are the type of media which make me happy, which empowers me, because I know that if they can do it, so can I.
So what does it mean to be a hero? Well, that is a question with complex answers. As with anything rhetorical or subjective, there's many lines of contemplation here. Well, if you're following along, heroes to me are the role models of my life. Yet, the question today I'm more interested in exploring are why these people or characters are so personally affecting, and why my role models are, in my eyes, my heroes.
So, welcome everyone. My name is Matthew, and it's my pleasure to guide you through some of my most treasured pieces of media in order to pay tribute to those who have helped me and inspired me to be the best I can be.
Let's begin, shall we?
Part One: I Wanna Be a Superhero!
When I was two years old, I dressed up as Batman, the Caped Crusader of Gotham, for my birthday. I believe I still even had the photo placed away in one of my parents' many photo albums! What a funny sight. I never had any real affinity for Batman beyond perhaps his aesthetic choices, but I did enjoy seeing him any time he was on the screen of my house's living room television. The same went for any superhero, whether it be Superman, Spider-Man, Iron Man, or the Teen Titans.
As a child, one never thinks too critically about the deeper ideals of being the hero who fights for justice. Oftentimes, many are simply enamored with the spectacle of explosions and superpowers, flying colors gracing our screens while we jump around attempting to mimic these moves which we saw as cool. Another point of interest may be that heroes wear cool costumes, and we think that we'd look cool in them as well. The basic truth, however, is that even from a young age, we know one thing about heroes. That they do good. They fight to save the people and protect us from bad guys. The dichotomy of good and evil is so easy to grasp, and even if it's innately, the show of altruism is moving to most, and that's why Superheroes stick with us, not for their action scenes, but for their humanity. They're optimistic, and they give me hope. They make me feel happy.
Something well known about the superhero genre in film and television is that they weren't always the biggest thing in the world. Originally frowned upon as a niche subculture for people who were either slightly more eccentric, or spent their days playing Dungeons and Dragons. At the very surface, the most well known characters like Hulk and Superman and Wonder-Woman were acceptable, but treading on past those characters meant veering into "weird" territory. But that isn't the case nowadays.
I've explained before that as a child, my interests never quite overlapped with others, and how I felt like an outsider at times. Well, I grew up in the midst of Generation Z, meaning that in my teenage years and now going into my college years, the Marvel Cinematic Universe was at the height of its popularity. These films were one of the few concrete connections/interests in which I could share with my friends.
Our first stop here would be Spider-Man. Although only vaguely, my first encounter with Peter Parker occurred while I was a child, with the Tobey Maguire incarnation of the character, and specifically, Spider-Man 2. I barely remember any of the other trilogy, but one piece of iconography stuck with me. It's a famous scene. In that scene, Spider-Man fights the nefarious Doctor Octopus aboard a New York Train, all while trying to ensure that bystanders or train passengers are not injured by the crossfire. The aesthetics of brooklyn (I think) are captivating, with the liveliness of the city and the passengers adding extra urgency to a very close-quarters battle. Ultimately, what I remembered most about the battle wasn’t the battle itself, but the resulting repercussion, in which Peter must stop the train from falling off the broken rails by halting its momentum and stopping the train. Although it takes his entire strength, he still pushes through, stopping the train at the last moment, right before collapsing. However, the passengers catch him and pull him back inside the car. Everyone lends a hand in carrying him, and at this point, no one knows his true identity, and are shocked that Spider-Man is “Just a kid.” One even remarks that Peter is “no older than [his] son.” Peter awakens, and is startled, but the passengers promise to keep his identity a secret. The kids on the train pass Peter his mask, and he dons it once more, as Doctor Octopus appears once more, but this time, the people of New York stand in front of him, inspired by Peter’s act of heroism, before it is quickly defused by Doc Ock.
Of everything from my childhood that I had seen yet haven’t revisited, this is the only one in which I remembered it vividly. I cry at this scene while rewatching it. Superheroes have always been cool, but for me, they’re at their coolest when they save people. This is a prime example of that. Inspiration is something which Superheroes are the greatest at, and one of the few things that can make me break into pieces isn’t a terribly tragic end, or a character death. Sometimes, I cry because of the optimism, the rose-colored view, when people band together to do something amazing. Altruism isn’t all that common in the real world, but it’s inspiring whenever I see someone perform an act from sheer goodwill. The good of humanity makes me cry, the passengers promising to protect Peter’s identity, standing up for him in the face of adversity, a community standing strong together, it’s a beautiful sight. That’s why this scene resonated with me so much, and likely why it has stuck with me for all these years.
It’s hard to be optimistic when you so clearly see that there are many odds against you. It’s easy to give into defeat, to feel as though you’re no good at anything that you do. And it hurts more when no one believes in you or sees you. Enter My Hero Academia.
My Hero Academia is a long-running manga, which was adapted into a television anime, with its first season premiering in the spring of 2016, after my first semester in 7th grade had ended. I had just gotten into anime with the show One Punch Man, and, seeking an escape from the difficulties that I was facing at the time, I watched the first two episodes of the show, which had just premiered. I cried oceans of tears watching those two episodes. The main character, Deku, doesn’t have a superpower in a super-powered world. He was bullied for trying to make it in a world which seems so unjust and pitted against him. I saw myself in Deku, and his feeling of being alone, of isolation, and heartbreak that he may never be as good as everyone else is, it pierced my heart. It was the first time in a long while where something had said, “I feel you. I see you. I understand how you feel.”
Now, that’s usually enough. To be seen by something is to recognize its struggle, to feel as if you are not alone. But My Hero Academia has always been the story about an underdog, and as such, it means so much more to me. Not only does it recognize me, but it goes further, in trying to inspire me. While powerless, Deku possesses the will and soul of a hero, willing to go out of his way to save his classmate from impending doom, and is recognized by his idol, All Might, as worthy of becoming a hero. Beforehand, I was never easily assuaged by the “you can do it” motto. Yet, in 2016, I was at my lowest point. And as Avatar Aang once said, “When we hit our lowest point, we’re open to the greatest change.”
I was so affected by All Might’s words. If Deku, someone with little perceived value and under constant harassment from his peers, could make it as a hero, why couldn’t I make it in this new school that I had just entered? There should be nothing that is stopping me, no limit, to who can prevail at school. I just needed to work five times as hard as everyone else to be where they were. Messages are nice and can be meaningful, but to those who have been there, they are even more powerful.
Heroism isn’t defined by the villain, but what you can do for at least one person, even a little girl. My favorite arc in all of anime is from My Hero Academia’s fourth season, one I call the Overhaul Arc, and is, in my opinion, the perfect distillation of what it means to be a hero. In it, Deku and his new friend Mirio Togata must work together to topple over the Yakuza’s secret experiment, and save one little girl, Eri, from the abuse she’s faced at the hands of one Kai Chisaki, head of the Shie Hassaikai group.
Shie Hassaikai isn’t memorable for the action beats, or for subversive the story twists. It is breathtaking for its character moments, for how emotional and empowering they can be. In particular, Mirio’s resolve is what touched my heart. He is a character who, similar to Deku, was frowned upon as a child, deemed as having a useless power that was actually harmful. Yet he pushed through it, and he made his ability the strongest it could be, and now he’s at the top. While fighting Chisaki, he sacrificed his quirk to save the little girl, and even afterwards, he didn’t give up the battle. He fought Chisaki for a full five minutes without his power.
Most superheroes have powers, and that’s what allows them to do amazing feats of strength, and is often what people see at the forefront of these amazing people. But to me, that is not what defines a hero. A hero is defined by his soul. Mirio, he never gave up on Eri. Even after he lost his power, he continued on, because he wanted to protect Eri at all cost, and even if he lost his powers, he was still Lemillion, his hero name. The resilience and perseverance of a true hero’s soul strikes me everytime. High School was not an easy time for me, and there were many times where I simply wanted to just break down and give up, because I felt like I could never keep up with my classmates. They were all deftly moving through topics, while I was in the back, spending hours trying to figure out those same things they understood in minutes. I never gave up, though. I kept working harder to try and understand topics to the best of my ability, always striving to be the best I could. If anything, Mirio’s character is an empowering reminder, that just because you’re not there in the eyes of many, when you think all the cards are down, hold steady your unwavering resolve, because you can be amazing. Just, never give up. That’s the mark of a true hero.
If empathy is defined as being “seen and heard,” then cultural representation is perhaps the most empowering of all. When I was a young child, all I wanted to see was someone who looked like me on the screen. The closest I ever got to that as a kid was Avatar: The Last Airbender. While in other grades, there were likely Vietnamese people, in both elementary all the way to High School, I was one of maybe five or less Viet kids across my entire grade. While I very much enjoyed the company of them, it was hard to brush the feeling of being alone, because of the lack of Vietnamese kids.
One day, in February of 2018, I was in the ER, being treated for Gastritis, and I saw a commercial for Black Panther, the latest from Marvel. I asked my dad if I could go watch the film the following Monday, and he said I could. I went to see it, and I was absolutely blown away by it. As I arrived at school in the following days, I drew a more mixed reaction from my peers, who claimed it was “overhyped,” or that it “wasn’t as good as I thought it would be.” While I could certainly understand the complaints, I didn’t care.
When I saw Wakanda, and how vibrantly it shone, I was in awe. It was truly beautiful how much Ryan Coogler, the director, and the entire team, cared about bringing positive cultural representation to African audiences. Some may brush off the importance of cultural visibility in a film like this, but I once read a comment on a Youtube video. Oftentimes, in Hollywood, the inclusion of Black characters are as token characters, as comedic relief, or in dramas in which their historical struggles are explored. The commenter was overjoyed that there was a film that was unabashedly proud of the culture they came from, that never portrayed African people as beneath, but instead as heroes.
It’s not representing my culture, but I grew very fond of this film, and I appreciated the large step it took in trying to expand the positive racial representation amongst a generally very White Hollywood. It was a door, something that could open up to even further possibilities, maybe even one day seeing my culture positively represented on the screen. I’m not alone, because I know that there’ll be people who see me and my culture, eventually, even if I have to wait.
Yet I was attached to one more thing, or rather, person. Chadwick Boseman. I first saw him in Captain America: Civil War, and his arc of overcoming the need for revenge was a very solid introduction to Chadwick’s take on Black Panther. In his solo film, he continues to hold an air of regality, not in a pretentious manner, but in a way that made him seem admirable and important. T’Challa, his character, is shown to be very caring about his community, a trait that I genuinely respect from him. He is gentle and understanding to those from his country, only wanting the best out of them. Chadwick had an introspection about him that made T’Challa interesting, as if there was a doubt in him, something which is exploited by the villain, Killmonger, and by the end of the film, T’Challa proves he is not just a great King who looks out for his people, but is a great man, who will go and try to help anyone and other nations. It’s hard enough to care about your own people, but to go beyond, and try to aid others who you don’t know, and change their lives for the better, that’s beautiful.
Chadwick wasn’t just like this on the screen, but he was truly a hero off screen as well. He was always supporting cancer charities such as St. Jude’s Hospital, and maintained contact with Youth Outreach. His donations to Youth Clubs spurned Disney to donate to Boys and Girls Clubs to advance their STEM programs. He spoke, in one interview on SiriusXM, of how two kids were trying to hold on until Black Panther came out onto screens, but they passed before they had the chance to see it. Hearing those words, Chadwick said that he wanted to work extra hard to nail his role as Black Panther, because he realized how much T’Challa meant to everyone.
Once, I think I read something about Chadwick Boseman. I’m not sure where I read it, but it stated that Chadwick was always meticulous about the roles he chose to play. He never wanted to take on roles that antagonized or made his culture look bad. He was always trying to be the person who empowered, who was a beacon of hope for those who saw themselves in the roles he played.
But beautiful things always seem to fade, do they? On August 28th, 2020, Chadwick Boseman passed away from colon cancer, a private battle which he never disclosed to the public. I’ve never cried over the passing of celebrities. But I finally did.
On August 27th, I recall heading to go and buy dinner, remarking that I had a hankering to watch Black Panther once more. Those sentiments meant even more as the next few days passed. I contemplated writing about Chadwick’s impact on my life when he first passed, but I didn’t have the words to properly honor his legacy. I still don’t, but he means so much to me. He was representation in a time where there was essentially none at all. He showed me how to hold yourself up, how to be strong, that your heritage DOES mean something, no matter what anyone tells you. He was kind, he was noble, he was a great man. Chadwick, if in spirit, you are ever reading this: Thank you so much for everything.
Part Two: Meet me at Grandma’s House on the 25th!
When my mother was six years old, she, along with her four siblings and my grandparents, escaped to North America, leaving behind what was soon to be a fortune long gone, and left without as much as a penny. Yet, even through all of that, they stuck together, because they did have one thing to fall back on: Family.
HaHaHaHa yes it is virtually a meme that family is an overblown trope, especially with the unintentionally comedic use of it in a CERTAIN franchise who’s protagonist’s name rhymes with Tominic Doretto. Yet, to many, family is an integral part of our lives, whether it be chosen or biological. As long as we form bonds and hold them together tightly, you have a strong connection to always lean back on in times of trouble.
In about two months, I will be leaving for college. Once I’m there, I won’t be able to see my parents, my brother, or my grandparents for a while, as my college is quite a ways away. But I am in debt to them for how much they’ve helped me along the way, to become the way that I am.
My grandmother and grandfather (maternal) used to live in a small cramped house, with my mom, and my aunts and uncles all living together under it. They didn’t have much money, so they had to scrape together to make money, looking out for each other. But who ever said that money equates to happiness?
Within that small house holds so much history. My cousin Justina used to come over every day to swim in the backyard while my grandparents took care of her for the afternoon. My uncles and their friends played plenty of football in the front yard. My parents met, fell in love, and got married in that very house. Until I was about six, that house was the spot where everyone visited for family gatherings. However, even after moving, new memories never ceased. They simply moved to a new, larger house, and they now live within me.
I have eight first cousins spanning my mother’s side of the family, and these are the family that I’ve spent the most time with. I’m the third eldest on that side, and there’s a considerable gap between me and the two eldest of the family. I’m not sure that my cousins really like me all that much, but that doesn’t matter. My family gatherings are some of the most wonderful times of the year. Generally, we only reconvene on holidays or special occasions, but those times, we are loud. Very loud. And it’s the best thing ever.
I mentioned that my cousins don’t particularly like me, and while that’s mostly a joke, I have a hard time conversing with them, and they often ignore me. It doesn’t help that my interests don’t overlap with theirs. I often found myself sitting with the adults, just listening to their stories, and them asking for updates on my life. From them, I picked up several manners, such as saying Mời mọi người ăn cơm before every meal, being polite to everyone around me, and being strong-willed and courageous.
There have been many depictions of family in the media throughout the years. From the nuclear family prototype of 50s Sitcoms, to the brothers-in-arms type bond that permeates throughout many of the coming-of-age type films ala Stand By Me, and yes, even in the Fast and Furious franchise. My favorite depiction of family, though, comes from a 2009 anime film directed by Mamoru Hosoda, titled Summer Wars.
Summer Wars concerns one boy, Kenji, as he must pretend to be a boyfriend to Natsuki, a popular girl at his school, and come to her family gathering for a few days. There, he meets people of all kinds, and sees what it means to have a real family. If that summary sounds cheesy, it is, but even if it is, Summer Wars is one of my all time favorite films for how much it values the bonds we form with those we are biologically linked to.
The family, while not as developed as many would like, are brimming with personality. There’s the tech-savvy uncle, the aunt who is on the couch rooting for a sports team, the old-fashionedly misogynistic older members who get on your nerves but mean well, the annoying 5-year old cousins, and my favorite of all of them, the grandmother (or in this case, great-grandmother), who is the matriarch of the family, who everyone respects.
My Grandma values her family deeply. On her 50th anniversary with my Grandpa, she cried while giving a speech about always staying together as a family, to never turn your backs on one another. She sacrificed a lot to give my mom and my relatives the freedom they could pursue in America, but it never was in vain. Although she herself never possessed much that others would value, she built an entire family, a loving, caring thread of people, from almost nothing, and that’s already amazing. Through her life, she’s met many, had many friends come in and out of her life, and she’s used all these experiences to provide for her family, and help out others she cares about too.
I saw much of that reflected in Great-Granny Sakae in Summer Wars. There’s a sense that she’s lived through so much, but also that she still loves her family deeply. When I first watched the film, the first of three times in which I cried was at a scene called “Sakae in Action.” In it, everything is going awry in the outside world due to a malfunction in the digital world, and Sakae, choosing to help other families in need, uses all of her connections to ensure safety for the people around her region of Japan. Similar to the superhero themes that I discussed before, there’s a sense of selflessness and altruism that just makes me tear up, further bolstered by the idea of a life long cherished. It’s not the idea of old age that makes me tear up, but people living a fulfilling life that does. When these two ideas of selflessness and experience mix, I just started tearing up at how wonderful it was to see someone do this.
Another one of my favorite scenes is close to the end of the film, where the stakes are at the highest, with a satellite about to crash into earth, and the Jinouchi family is the only one who can stop it. First, they must defeat the villain and take back everything. Yet, the family still chooses to sit down and have a meal before heading off to face their biggest challenge ever. Although illogical in the grand scheme of things, it’s wonderful, as it shows the bond of the family, it’s something that can’t be severed. It’s not the apex of the scene, or that emotional, but it’s a good moment that reinforces how important it is to stick together.
Death is something that I have a hard time trying to deal with, not because I’ve experienced the loss of someone, but because I haven’t yet had to handle one that’s personal. Yet, if Chadwick’s death is anything to go off of, it will not be easy for me. I think that, when we lose someone, the pain doesn’t come from the death itself. It comes from missing the person who is no longer with you. In Summer Wars, at the halfway point, Great-Granny Sakae passes away. It takes a tremendous toll on the entire Jinouchi clan, as they mourn the loss of someone integral to the family. Sakae leaves behind a letter, encouraging the family to sift through their differences, and work together to overcome what may happen.
The part that got me comes way after, right before the family heads into the final battle, and I recall one of the aunts saying something along the lines of “Please Granny, look over Natsuki for us.” My family believes that no one is ever really gone, and that they live on in spirit, watching over us like guardian angels. I don’t want my grandparents to leave me, but I know it’s inevitable. So when I heard that line, I was tearing up immensely, as I could only wish that when my relatives pass on, that they continue to be with me in spirit, and that even if they’re not here, I’m not alone. Great-granny Sakae was no longer with the family, but everything they did after that point, they did in the name of Sakae, they did it for her. It made her actions and what she lived for feel real, and now they are living and trying their best to honor her memory.
Finally, the last scene which absolutely wrecked me emotionally was the infamous 150 million miracles scene, in which miracles happen. Natsuki is on the verge of losing, when suddenly, people from around the world hear of Natsuki’s efforts, and lend her their accounts, asking her to protect their families. As the angelic choir swells, Natsuki is emotionally overwhelmed by how many people entrust her to protect the families all over the world. She uses the avatars to sway the odds in her favor, eventually winning against Love Machine, the antagonist of the film, while the film cuts between the entire world and the Jinouchi family cheering Natsuki on.
Even if it doesn’t seem like it, family is a universal concept, which is why I think it’s so easily relatable. Good family relationships are built on trust and love, and although there are many relationships that are volatile, we strive to protect the loving bonds that we have woven in our lifetimes. Somewhere, in someplace, someone matters to another person. The 150 Million Miracles scene encapsulates everything I love about art. It’s gorgeous, moving to the human soul, and can be a universal thread, both within the story, and outside of it.
However, it’s hard to acknowledge the healthy family relationships without acknowledging those bonds which become toxic, are severed, or were never very strong to begin with. I’m very fortunate to have been raised in a lovely environment filled with people who accept me and want to be with me. That’s not the case for everyone, though. There are often people who are rejected by their biological families for one reason or another, and others who never have the time to be together.
Such is the case with Kenji, the main protagonist of Summer Wars. Initially a stranger to the Jinouchi clan, they slowly begin to accept him, and love him just like family, even if he wasn’t one at that moment. When coming up with the concept for the film, director Mamoru Hosoda stated that he wanted to make a film for those who had a family, and those who did not.
Family is not simply the people you’re related to by blood. It is the friends you made in your life, the pet you take care of everyday, your significant others, the safe spaces in which you can be safe from the dangers of the world. Whatever it is, a true family, whether biological or chosen, will love you unconditionally, and we protect each other no matter what.
Mamoru Hosoda is a filmmaker whose films are heavily intertwined with the concept of family. Wolf Children is often touted as his magnum opus, and his other works are critically acclaimed, with his latest (as of writing), Mirai, having garnered an Academy Award nomination for Best Animated Feature. But Summer Wars is the one which strikes right through my heart, the one that resonates with me and tells me that my family is amazing and worth cherishing. And I love it for that.
As I head off to college, I’m glad I was able to grow up in such a wonderful family. I’m glad my aunts and grandma and mom were strong and showed me how to be compassionate and persevering. I’m glad my dad and my uncles were always there to talk to me, and always ready to check up on me. And even though my cousins likely don’t think much of me, I hope that me going off to college and trying my hardest to succeed inspires them to do amazing things in their own paths of life.
Part Three: Always Remember Us.
I remember the first time I ever saw her on that stage. Confidently walking in with her best friend on the other side. The duo's presentation resided chronologically somewhere in the middle of the conference. Her topic wasn't the flashiest of any of them, and wasn't the most emotionally charged of all. Yet, the way she conveyed herself, the confidence, the manner of speaking, it awed me to no end. While the content of the presentation is light, the way she delivered these concepts and ideas moved me. I don't remember any of the other TED Talks, but afterwards, I remember saying to myself: "Man, I want to be as cool as Nhi was on that stage."
English was never a subject I truly clicked with in Middle School to tenth grade. As such, I was never much of a writer either in those days. My thoughts were pedestrian at best, and derivative and wrong at worst. English was a subject that I enjoyed in 7th grade, but due to different teaching styles in 8th and 9th, I found myself even falling out of favor with reading, a pastime that I had once enjoyed. I was also leaning heavily into STEM subjects at that point, having decided I wanted to pursue something within the STEM field.
Who says you can’t enjoy English and the arts, though? At the same time, one of my growing pastimes was watching and analyzing films. While it is great to watch films just to get some enjoyment out of it, I found myself entranced with YouTubers such as Nerdwriter and FilmSpeak, who broke down films on a technical and thematic level. I gained new insight and perspective from looking deeper into film. Say watching a movie at face value is akin to eating a good piece of steak. Analyzing film was like sucking all the marrow out of it.
Once, I had another film blog, in ninth grade, which is probably lost now on some random publishing site. On it, I wanted to review films, to explore art like those who had so clearly inspired me, but it was almost nothing like it. Surface level critiques were applied to films, with nothing more than “story good, cinematography eh” being applied. I had watched those YouTubers, aspiring to write like them, but I just ended up crashing down again.
Yet, at the TEDx Talk in the Spring of 2019, something in the way Nhi spoke affected me so greatly. It was almost like an electrifying performance for the ages by your favorite actor. I had never met Nhi before seeing her at TEDx 2019, and I would not properly meet her for another year or so. However, I knew that from that day forward, I wanted to be able to talk like her, to write the amount of heart and soul she put into her speech with her friend.
I attended a school which, to many, was considered a top institution within my state, and as such, the pressure felt overwhelming for a majority of my time there. Sometimes, I would get so wrapped up in my studies that I didn’t have time to ask any of my friends if they wanted to hang out, as I was always under the gun, trying to make sure I could keep up academically.
One of the films that had circulated around my radar when I was in 9th grade was a film entitled Dead Poets Society. It’s a film with a very simple premise. In an elite institution, one teacher, played by the late Robin Williams, changes the lives of some of his students, by telling them to think creatively, to enjoy life, rather than conform to the brutal realism which is forced upon these students. It’s my second favorite film of all time.
First semester of 10th grade was especially hard on me. While I had managed to get by in 8th and 9th grade, once I stepped foot into Mr. Bender’s chemistry lab, it felt like my worldview had shattered. While for many, I’m sure the transition wasn’t very difficult, I felt like I was suffering, as I kept failing over and over at school. My math grade had suffered once more like in 7th grade, Chemistry was a subject that moved at too fast a rate for me to keep up, and almost daily AP Psychology quizzes were making me feel dumb and helpless.
It wasn’t all bad, however. At the same time, in English, I had a teacher, Mrs. Hunter, who was a wonderful English teacher. She was almost always excited to bring us the latest lesson on Macbeth, or just jubilant to see what we were cooking for the Canterbury challenges we modeled after the famous tales. The texts that we read never felt like chores, because Mrs. Hunter’s enthusiasm within the classroom was infectious, creating a joyful and active atmosphere, with camaraderie aplenty. A great teacher, to me, isn’t someone who has an intricate knowledge of the subject inside and out. The teachers that stand out inspire a passion within those that they teach, they make them excited to learn. Mrs. Hunter was a great teacher. I was excited to learn from her, and it was one class that made my 10th grade experience a little more bearable.
A similar experience occurred in my Junior Year of high school. For my third period class, I had a Math teacher whose name was Mr. Ou, and he taught our precalculus class. He was more uptight than most teachers I had to that point, but he absolutely loved what he was doing. His energy during his lectures were infectious. I can still hear his snaps every time we’d get a question right. His passion for teaching math inspired me to look at math in a different way as well. I found that I could do quite well at math, and I started to fall in love with the subject, and knew from that point forward that, yes, I do want to become an engineer. Mr. Ou, as a person, always seemed to care about others a lot. In his farewell message to us, who were going onto Calculus the next year, he wished that in life, we would live for others. In essence, be selfless. Mr. Ou was always a selfless person, and even the profession he chose, teaching, is sometimes a thankless job, but to those few people with the spark in their eyes, these teachers are the world. They are often in our lives for maybe a year or two at most, but their impact is extremely important to us.
I saw all of that in John Keating, Robin Williams’ character in Dead Poets society. He is an intentional foil to the other instructors at Welton Academy. He’s a fan of the romantic era of poetry, while it’s established that the others at the academy often gravitate towards the realist perspective and angle. Yet, if Welton is to be believed as a reflection of the realist perspective that is trying to be drilled into its students, what a dour life that is. There’s a conservative nature to it, a resignation of living only to be the “best,” never to actually live life. There’s no joy in it, no happiness, it seems. With Keating, it was different. It can easily be noticed in the cinematography, which swaps from cramped academy rooms and halls, to green forests, sunsets, and just a variety of areas, which feel far more liberating.
Most of the students at Welton initially had a disdain or lack of enthusiasm for the subject matter at hand, but they changed with the teachings of John Keating. Not everyone was enamored with the manner of teaching, but like all great teachers, he was able to touch the hearts of at least some that he taught. He inspires one kid, Todd, to think freely, to overcome his fear and shyness, that he has a great mind within him. He also encourages his students to delve into hobbies and activities they wouldn’t normally do. Neil in particular is taken by Keating’s words, and pursues his passion for acting, despite his parents’ rejections and anger.
The pressure and scrutiny which the students at Welton face was quite extreme, but it’s also indicative of the box which pressure can place one in. It causes people to think narrowly, and focus only on success, rather than the journey there. Yet, there’s so many other options.
After seeing Nhi up on that stage, I had tried to refine my way of writing, both in essays, as well as trying to put just as much passion. I slightly improved at public speaking, and branched out a bit further for my extracurriculars. The biggest change in my life, which I am grateful for, occurred in December of 2019. I had always been interested in representing my culture, and I was able to join the Southeast Asian Student Association at my school and do so, but I never felt really close. After the December meeting, one of the members, Anh, came up to me and asked if I wanted to volunteer to participate in the club’s talent show.
As it was something new to me, I felt compelled to try it after having a whole new year of different experiences. Couldn’t let my High School experience be boring, you know? I told her that I would volunteer, and fast forward to a month later, our club is at the local library practicing our dances for the talent show auditions in February of 2020. I felt so happy practicing with them, they were a community that deeply cared for me, and like some of the Welton students, I found that being inspired to try something new isn’t so bad.
It was also there that I formally met Nhi for the first time, and she is a great and kind person. Somehow I always managed to make myself look like an idiot in front of her, though. She was really confident, and I was inspired by how much she seemed to really care for the club. On her facebook page, I saw that she, in addition to being well-spoken, was a masterclass of a writer. There was a raw power to them, it felt passionate, it was entrancing.
I think about March 13th, 2020 a lot. It was the last true day of high school for me, and also the day that SEASA performed in the talent show. After the show, we all went out for dinner at the local Islands restaurant. Nhi and I decided to save money by splitting a burger. However, I thought I didn’t have enough money, but Nhi was kind enough to cover for it. On the way home, I found that I actually did have those seven dollars I needed to pay, and I told her that I have to pay her back soon, but she told me not to worry about it.
When we talk about people that are not famous, we rarely talk about their legacy, because apparently, only famous people can have a legacy. Yet, everyone can have an impact. The best teachers’ lessons live on in our hearts forever, and our friends and our memories can stay with one for as long as they live. Everyone has a legacy, and these effects can make a person’s life better in many ways.
I’ve never told anyone why I started writing this blog. It was because of Nhi. I wanted to create something that helped me improve my writing abilities, and could be something which I could say was great, just like Nhi’s writing and speaking. I aimed to create something out of love and passion for an art form, and while it is certainly nowhere near her, I hope that one day, I can be where she is, and create writing that is as powerful. Nhi, Mrs. Hunter, Mr. Ou, they are all my John Keating, they helped me, they motivated me to improve myself, and I’ll always remember them with great fondness.
I’ve still never given a TED Talk. I’m not sure if I ever will. But these blog posts, they are my TED Talks. Through these, I can give to the world my thoughts on what it means to live, to love. Although my ideas aren’t revolutionary or transcendent, I do hope they live up to the motto of TED Talk, in that my ideas are ideas worth sharing.
Empathetic media is so important to us because they are optimistic, the rosey-colored lens which we need in order to see life in a wonderful and beautiful manner. They tell us we aren’t alone, they can empower us to do things, and they make us happy. When I wrote that first blog post over a year ago, about Howl’s Moving Castle, I wanted to tell everyone that it helped me feel happy in a deeply saddening time, in the midst of the pandemic. Even a year later, that still stands. Happy films are necessary, in my opinion, and we should always try to look on the brighter side. I was never big into the idea of deconstructions of heroes, as it always tried to conflict with what I thought heroes were: inspiration and the best of humanity. Though I’ve never met a superhero in real life, I do have my heroes. Chadwick is my hero. My family are my heroes. Nhi and my teachers are my heroes. And I’m so grateful for them.
To Chadwick: Thank you for everything, I miss you so much.
To my family: I love you all, please don’t worry about me while I’m gone!
To Nhi: Thank you for inspiring me so much, I still have your seven dollars :)
In Memory of Chadwick Boseman (1976-2020)
Author’s Note: Hey everyone, it’s been a while! I hope you enjoyed reading my ramblings. I’ve made quite a few friends since the last time I wrote a post, and so to you all: welcome, you’re all great! I’ll put trailer links down below! Also, I was going to write about Mitchells and the Machines in the family section of the review, but I only just remembered that existed, anyways, go on netflix and WATCH THAT FILM it is so good
Summer Wars Trailer
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