A few days ago I decided to watch “Struck by Lightning”. Just because I watch a lot of movies. And I cried for an hour. It’s like “Garden State”, just a little simpler in form, but on idea as deeply. Sincere, genuine, good movie. By writing honesty Chris Colfer is matched only by Josh Thomas. Very real movie. Dialogues, the idea, the lack of a love story. This is totally my thing.
“Don’t you get it?
You don’t get to aim the gun at me
Not anymore, not with your shaking hands
Not with your narrowed eyes;
I have fought without a weapon
I have been bleeding behind your back
My hands may be a little scarred
My balance may be a little off
But damnit, I am a fighter-
I sat in that doctor’s office
And nearly cried at the idea
Of you being at my side
When it was only ever me
Who got me through-
Don’t show up for the fight
Like you played a role
Don’t cheer like you taught me best
I will finish this without you
I will bandage my knuckles
And stand as I always have:
Ready and waiting for the next attack
I will bite the bullet if you fire
You know that”
I am at the airport waiting to board a flight home.
My dad has been in and out of the hospital twice in 2 weeks with a reoccurring small bowel obstruction. He has had so many tests, a PICC line, TPN feedings, 4 NG tubes, endless CT scans and uncontrollable vomiting in addition to a 20 pound weight loss.
My heart breaks for him. It feels like it’s scattered into tiny little pieces all over the airport floor as I am writing this. He has cried on the phone with me and in my 24 years, I have never seen my dad cry.
He has all but given up on himself.
In two years he has been diagnosed with a very rare type of sarcoma, underwent an incredibly risky surgery in which his heart stopped twice, spent 20 days in a coma and a month in the hospital. Then came the diagnosis of
Polycythemia Vera in which his blood clots too much and is too thick to transfuse his organs. For that, he has to have blood-letting every two weeks. Then came bilateral pleural effusions, vocal cord/breathing issues due to being on a breathing tube for so long.
He lost his job while he was in a coma and woke to find that everything he worked so hard for was gone. Then came the PTSD and anxiety and depression.
My father has struggled so greatly and at this point he is at the point of surrender. As a nurse, the physical distress doesn’t scare me but the emotional distress is devastating.
I am spending the next four days by his side as he undergoes yet another surgery. I would give anything, do anything, SAY anything to make my wonderful father better. And it kills me that the most I can do is hold his hand as the next battle ensues.
Please pray for my dad, or maybe even just send some positive energy. I cannot live without my best friend. He still needs to walk me down the aisle and see his grandchildren grow up.
Please wish for the best and I will do the same.
Thank you to all from the bottom of my heart xoxoxo
I’m a very ordinary girl writing to an amazing extraordinary person and I don’t know how to start this little letter because my sincere love and huge admiration to you, as a person and actor, are so big that I don’t know if there are enough words to express my feelings. The first time I saw you on screen, I was so mesmerized and fascinated by you that I couldn’t sleep well many nights thereafter. You brought a sunlight and pure happiness to my life in my darkest period. I’m a 19-year-old pianist from a small country, struggling with the problems that money cause and fighting to survive when nobody sees and notices me. I have a problem with my right eye, and I have always been the weird girl with crossed eye. But you are the person who deeply inspires me every second of my life to continue fighting because it’s worth it, life is worth it, we are worth it. And we are gonna win, everything that is out there and troubles us, we will fight and we will win. Thanks to you and your few mentions to me on twitter, now I’m more confident with myself, and I can think about a better future and I can solve my problems, not letting them to haunt and destroy me. You are not only my favourite actor but my favourite person. And I know to you I’m just a fan, there are millions like me, loving and admiring you, but to me you are the only one, you are special and unique. And I love you for everything you are. I don’t know if I’ll be able to meet you in person one day but this is my biggest dream, and I believe that dreams come true.
Be forwarned; I never cried about Monty, until reading this. It’s easily the most emotional piece of writing I’ve ever read, but it’s very important.
Keep Moving Forward:
At some point in your life, there’s a chance you’ll find yourself spending a different sort of time with someone. Maybe it’s a night, or a weekend. Maybe it’s a little longer; a couple weeks. A year. Sometimes it can take a decade to really decide, to know your true feelings and commit.
When two people enter a marriage, the underlying agreement is a mutual desire to spend the rest of your life with that person. To wake up every day tangled in their warmth and kick them out of bed when they tickle you awake. There’s something about the soundless language between two people who resonate so singularly with each other that every movement is like a rhythmic dance, from squeezing around each other in the kitchen and unloading groceries to the tooth-brush-sink tag-team; picking up where the other leaves off, all without missing a beat.
Something happens to you when you share yourself so wholly with another; they hold a part of you the way you hold a part of them, and slowly, over time, you start to lose a sense of yourself because everything becomes us. Because you share the most intimate moments, the loudest frustrations, and the happiest accomplishments in every aspect of your lives together.
As many messages I’ve received have started, I first found out about Monty through his Dead Fantasy animation in 2007. The only way to explain what I was witnessing was realizing I was fluent in a new language that I had just found out about, and that this person who put this together could communicate perfectly with me if given the chance. The rhythm, the camera, the choreography; each of that in itself is impressive, but as a package deal it sparked something in my mind.
When I was 5, my father let me pick out movies from Blockbuster. I watched My Neighbor Totoro about 17 times that weekend, completely enthralled with something I couldn’t fully understand yet.
Maybe it was my conservative schooling, or where I grew up, but I found very little support in pursuing a visual arts career. So I found myself turning towards literary and performance arts, creating binders worth of fantasy worlds, escaping all of the, “You can’t”s and, “That won’t work,”s that reality kept slapping me in the face with.
But it stuck with me. I found myself going back to his works in first year, approaching my film professor and receiving a grant for an animation school. I thought, “He did it. Why can’t I?” By no means did I have any plans of becoming Monty or following in his footsteps. It was his drive, his passion and determination that I wanted to embody. It’s very easy to believe there are things you can’t do when you grow up in poverty; you learn quickly how hand in hand money goes with opportunity.
During my year of thousands of drawings and crinkled papers I made friends with a RoosterTeeth fan. I would often roll my chair over to her desk whenever she’d literally laugh out loud, trying to explain to me something funny they were talking about on the podcast. I didn’t understand what the point of podcasts were at that time; too many more important life matters popping up. Or so I convinced myself.
Being in a class of 21 students with only 3 of us from Canada, she was hellbent on getting me into RoosterTeeth. She saw her opening after I commented on the 2D concepts she’d printed out that were done for RvB in 2009. I’d played Halo when I was younger, but I never had a taste for First Person Shooters; not enough story. She didn’t let that deter her, though. Had I heard of RoosterTeeth? Well that’s a dumb name; what do they do?
Cue Season 8 fight.
I had not seen any RoosterTeeth content prior to that date. I didn’t know the premise for RvB, what machinima was or why people liked it. But the moment I saw Tex enter the fray, the chatter of the classroom fell to a low buzz behind me and I’m sure I felt my eyes dilate, even if just a little. I watched maybe a minute before I asked her, “Does a guy named Monty work there?” She was so confused; how could I possibly know of Monty without knowing RoosterTeeth? It baffled her.
I spent the next year unemployed, shotgunning resumes to malls and restaurants while barely scraping by on freelance illustrations. I was beginning to feel so defeated; a failure, doomed to never escape the situation I had been born into. I decided to google Monty Oum. I found his blog, read about him, investigated where he was now. “I’m not him. I can’t do this,” I thought. The industry in Vancouver was over saturated; I was 5 years too late, too young, too inexperienced.
I was convinced I needed more schooling, so in 2011 I returned to learn 3D. Since I had spent my 2D program focusing on effects and animation, I decided early on to focus on modeling and texturing along with rigging. Thoughts of Monty were far from my mind now; everything was riding on how well I rubbed elbows here, and how much I was able to take away. While my classmates would leave after class for beers down at the pub, I would deafen myself with a song on repeat while I remained unblinking in front of my monitors for hours on end.
The summer after I graduated was an arduous one, finding myself repeating the same downward spiral of self doubt. I’d spent thousands of dollars and hours on my education, and yet there were still no jobs to be had. Oh, but that RoosterTeeth fan? Her studio had an opening! I thought, “I’ll prove myself here. Once my foot is in the door, I’ll show them what I can do.” Within the first two months I was being told to slow down. I told them I didn’t know how to do that. My coworker overheard and had the idea that she wanted someone to talk to about these funny Minecraft videos that she was watching.
That’s how I found myself getting into RoosterTeeth. My eyes wandered over Monty’s name, something about RvB keeping me from clicking. Good for him; he still works there. Must be a nice accomplishment after everything he’s done.
Winter was upon us, and from between my scarf and hood I saw a trailer being spammed across every social media outlet that I was not supposed to be looking at at work. I told myself I’d wait until lunch to watch it. It had been several years since I’d seen something that Monty made, but I can still recall the shivers I got when the first few notes played, that same hair raising attentiveness when his name appeared in the moon washing over me like a gentle tide.
There was plenty of criticism revolving around the video, but none of that reached my ears. Something within me thought, “This guy keeps coming back into your life.” The first time, I sought him out. The second time, a third party played their hand. This time, this meant something.
It wasn’t until the White trailer that I made my decision; I was going to meet Monty Oum. I had to talk to him; I had to figure out what this feeling was. I knew my art wouldn’t work, and I had no outstanding animations to capture his attention. I found out through twitter that he would be attending a convention that I was going to be at. Desperate to speak to him, to secure his attention the same way he had mine all those years ago, I turned to my hobby; costuming. Weiss fought elegantly with a figure skating style, something I spent 7 years doing when I was younger. It took me about a week to break it down, pattern and plan her outfit.
A week before the event, he cancelled. I started to think, “What’s the point of going now? Should I even bother finishing the costume?” But then I realized; I shouldn’t hinge a project on such an unpredictable variable. I completed the project, attended the event and, lo and behold, photos found their way to him! It was not long before he contacted me, much to my surprise.
It was shortly after that moment that I realized what it was I had felt so long ago. There is a story–a belief, maybe–that each person is soulbound to their true love by a red thread. It can be tangled, it can be pulled, but it cannot be broken. No matter how many obstacles or years it takes, when two people are bound together, they will find one another someday. Now, with this very person directing his attention at me, a feeling of being pulled to the surface washed over me. Like a fish hooked on a line, things were in motion whether I wanted to stop them or not. And I tried! There were plenty of obstacles and outside influences, but at this point, there was almost nothing that either one of us could do to stop the inevitable.
After half a year of intense conversations, arguments and intellectual prodding, we finally met in Seattle. I was so surprised to find how shy he was, afraid to make eye contact. I took some sort of pride in that, teasing him to no end and making sure everyone at the booth knew we knew each other.
That weekend was eventful for more than one reason, but the most memorable part had been our first kiss. Monty had told me he wanted to see the water, and though it took me three hours to orient myself, I finally got us there. My heart did not flutter and my knees did not become weak. Instead, I felt a swell, as if that thread that had been pulling me for so long, from one profession to another, to undertake a difficult and risky project with no idea of the outcome, to try and reach out, to finally tying this knot that was, well, us. We were making it a tradition to return each year.
I didn’t want to believe it. When I went back to work the following week and our story was sort of told on the podcast, my coworkers immediately swarmed me, prodding me for an explanation of that weekend. I guess my being unable to wipe the grin off of my face wasn’t really working in my favor, either.
He made arrangements to visit me shortly after. We discussed the future, what my plans were and so many things fell into place like a tetris puzzle on level 1. My contract finished and I found myself moving. At first I missed my friends, I was scared of the people at RoosterTeeth and there was no useful public transit. Having to be so dependent on him terrified me, but for the first time in my life I felt safe. I trusted him. I could see several years into the future with him, if not further, and that was a sort of comfort I couldn’t explain, I could only understand it.
I love him.
Our marriage was not glamorous, it was not expensive, and it was not broadcast. When he proposed and I realized I wasn’t afraid of spending my life with him, sleeping erratic hours and pouring every waking moment into work and having fun with him while doing that–it was obvious. Picking the date almost came easier; May 10th. But we didn’t have the time to tell our friends and family before the date, those precious to us being scattered all over North America.
For us, two people for whom money has never been a luxury to have, we decided we didn’t need a big celebration. “Next year,” we said. Mentioning it offhandedly, we realized our public date would be 5/10/15. How fitting! It must be meant to be. With that decided and out of the way, we carried on, happier and closer than ever. We made plans to invest in a house; a place we could call home and be comfortable in.
Then somehow, we found ourselves with Noodle. At first, she was a scruffy, scrawny parking lot tabby, hungry and wary but had her heart set on Monty. Before we knew it, after the second thunderstorm since “knowing” her, she came soaking wet and crying pitifully to our door, too shy to actually cross the threshold. Without even realizing it, our family was growing.
I was terrified of the situation, well aware of Monty’s allergies with cats. I would immediately change out of clothing after picking her up and washed my hands so frequently I felt like they were wet more often than dry. Extra air filters ran 24/7 and everything was lint-rolled daily. But the fact that this cat helped my husband distress while he was working was phenomenal and more than worth it. She loved to splay out across his lap while he animated; still probably faster than most with only one hand, but so happy.
There are days she hears me stir and steps all over me, trying to wake me up for feeding time. I find myself struggling not to resent her, not to blame her, as irrational as it is. But then I remember how we found her; helpless, scared, hungry and alone. How gentle and caring Monty was towards her, how drawn she was to that. I could never put her back in that situation. So I’ll carry on and take care of her, as Monty had for me.
January 22nd, a cold rainy day in Austin, Texas. The last words I offered my husband were,
“Okay, I’ll wait here. I love you. Come back to me.”
Everything from thereon felt like a sparkling brook running muddy, reality itself obscure as I tried to grasp what was happening, what was going to happen, and desperately wishing to turn back the hands of time. I played the “What if..?” game for 3 days. I wretched after countless days of nothing but water and soda crackers. The mind is often much more adept than the body, and my body was not having any of this cruel situation.
I had been given an ultimatum, one I know Monty never wanted me to make. We discussed these things in the car one day after nearly being hit in an intersection.
“What would you do? What would I do?”
“I never want to be your ball and chain. I want to help you spread your wings; you should fly. Shine bright and soar.”
February 1st. Everyone had come to say their peace. I was in sore need of a shower and warm food. Not 5 minutes into my hospital waiting room meal does the code alert sound over the speakers.
Somewhere, deep inside, I knew. I think I’ve always known. My husband, my dear, sweet soulmate. Hurting me is the last thing he has ever desired. Even in such a situation, he kept that burden off of my shoulders, knowing full well what that would do to me, carrying that decision with me for the rest of my life. So he didn’t wait for that to come to pass.
His biggest fear was leaving me behind, no longer being able to protect and love me. My own words echoed in my head for weeks; he didn’t come back, he didn’t listen. But in that time, I have seen so many faces of the people he’s touched, received countless messages from the lives he’s inspired and had time to think about the kind of person my husband is. For every person who came to pay their respects, they also shared their experience with me, and in doing so, brought a little bit of my husband back with them.
Monty is someone who gives without question. If it’s within his capacity, there’s no reconsidering. Whether he’s here in body beside me, holding my hand and wiping my tears, or in my heart giving me the strength and courage to face the endless tomorrows, or even in the spirits of all the people around me who refuse to allow loneliness to take his place in my life, Monty will continue to give.
They say a person can die but their memory will live on for as long as their name is not forgotten. It is in being forgotten that we truly pass from this world. So while I gave my husband a parting kiss in the physical world last Saturday, I know he’s with me in spirit when I wake up feeling warm after a dream spent with him, when I can feel the same passion and drive in our friends, and when I know the physical body is only a tool we pilot here and now.
When two people enter a marriage, the underlying agreement is a mutual desire to spend the rest of your life with that person. And he did that.
Monty Oum spent the rest of his life with me, and that’s a priceless transaction I will never refund.
These girls are the love of my life… It has been 10 years since the last episode aired, and even more years since the first time I discovered this anime, and I’m still in love with it, I still cry and laugh and get shocked while watching it, I still have the dolls I got for christmas when I was 8 or so. And even when all the characters in this are elementary school kids, I still can feel extremely related to them.
And I know it may seem like the most childish and silly show ever, but people have no idea how much these girls have taught me, and they’re so special to me… when I was little everyone thought I was just really obsessed with OD (I even think people was getting really tired of me liking it so much), but it was so much more than that, as a child I always was kind of lonely and I was bullied, and sad, and depressed… and I never told anyone about it! I dealt with it by myself… But it didn’t matter how bad everything was, these girls were able to brighten my day! I could spend hours with them (playing, drawing them, watching episodes)
And they made me believe in magic, and taught me to be nice to people even when they weren’t nice to me, to expect the best of people no matter what, that even the smallest person have a story we don’t always know, so, we must give everyone a chance, for there are good things to find even in the “worst” people…
… may be now, most people would think I’m too old for having such a love for them, but I really can’t help it, somehow they gave me love when everyone else was hating me, they made me happy when almost anything else could, and thanks to them I met one of my best friends. Plus, every time I see something about this series I just feel like I’m still that 7 or 8 year old girl, and I can’t not smile.
Well, after all my corny speech, which could continue for hours and millions of paragraphs, I just need to say: I’ll never be grateful enough for (and with) these girls.
PS: I’m thinking (in an extra seriously way) of getting a tattoo of them
“Probably today I look bigger than myself in those days.”
Dean was dying. Again. But dying was nothing new. The pain, the awareness that the next struggle for some air in his lungs might be his last, the feeling of cold metal lodged inside his chest. It was all very, familiar. He stared up at the deteriorating ceiling of the abandon warehouse he was laying in. Thick smoke filled the air and layers of wood and rubble were crashing down around him. He watched as the fire slowly disintegrated the scene surrounding him. He wasn’t scared. He never was. Not for himself, anyways. The only thought that ever crossed Dean’s mind every time his life was about to end, was Sam. What was Sam going to do without him, who will protect him, how will he do on his own?
But this time was different.
He knew where Sam was and where he was going. And he knew that he wouldn’t be alone. Dean winced at the sharp pain that shot down his spine as he tried to turn onto his side. He looked at his baby brother, laying limp just a few feet out of his reach, similar chunks of building pinning him down.
“Sam!” he choked.
“Sammy!” no response.
As he lied there in an awkward twisted mess, he remained focused on his brother. Through the smoke and sparks from the fire, Dean watched as blood pooled underneath Sam, the result of an angel who happened to use guns. He had to get to him.
With all the strength he had left, Dean lifted some of the wood and wall that held him and began to crawl. Bolts of heat shot through his body with every movement. He didn’t care. He had one last mission.
“It’s okay Sammy, I’m here. I’m c-comin’.” It was harder to speak now.
More electric shocks of pain lined Dean’s entire body as he reached out to Sam. He was so close. He stopped and stared as he had a closer view of his brother’s injuries. He was shot twice, once in the chest and once in the stomach. Dean’s eyes moved up to the gash in Sam’s head from one of the pieces of wood that fell on him.
With one last attempt at a crawl, Dean managed to grab onto his brothers jacket, pulling himself toward him. He let out a loud, pained grunt.
“Sam. Sammy please wake up. I’m here wake up.” he shook his baby brother a little too hard.
“Sammy!!” Dean buried his head into his brother’s blood soaked chest. He lied there, listening to Sam’s heart beat slow for what seemed like hours, but were only seconds, when he felt his brother struggle to wake up. Dean shot his head up, ignoring the boiling heat it shot down his spine.
“Dean?” he barely whispered it.
Waves of relief and pain washed over Dean’s body.
“Heya, Sammy.” he moved off his brother to give him some air, but still remained close.
“Where are the angels? Where’s Cas- Are you okay?! Dean your chest!” Sam tried to hoist himself up and face Dean when he noticed the blood pouring out of his older brother’s mouth. He struggled to grab onto his Dean’s clothes and cover his wound.
“Sam stop, don’t move it’s o- it’s okay. I’m fine. The angels are gone. Cas zapped em away, including him- ahh.” It hurt to talk. “Sam, you’re hurt, too.”
Sam looked at Dean, confused. Then his eyes moved down to his own chest, then below it, he touched the second wound on his stomach.
“You got knocked out right after one of the angels shot you. I ran after you, and that’s when one of ‘em got me with an angel blade.” Dean felt his eyes growing heavy. “Sneaky sons a’ bitches.” he mumbled.
Dean hoisted him and his brother up so they could lean on some of the used-to-be building behind them.
“Dammit, Dean! We-we gotta get you out of h-” Sam’s sentence was interrupted by a series of coughs followed by thick blood he almost choked on.
“Sammy it’s okay. I don’t think either of us are gonna make it outta here anytime s-soon.” Both brothers looked around at their surroundings. There were walls of fallen rubble enclosing them, and around it were flames that weren’t getting any smaller since the whole thing had began.
“I guess this is really-” More coughs. More blood. “I guess this is really it. Our last job.” Sam tried to let out a pained smile at his big brother.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t really call it guns blazin’” Dean grinned “but we didn’t do too bad.”
It was really hitting him now. His ability to move his limbs was slowly decreasing.
“Sammy.” The brothers were facing each other now. Dean moved his hand up from Sam’s chest to cup his cheek. “Sammy, I don’t think I can hold on much longer.” he tried to smile at his little brother. Sam just stared into his eyes, making that face that always let Dean know he was holding back his tears.
“Yeah.” he tried to smile. “I don’t think I can either.” Sam patted his brother on the chest before gripping the side of Dean’s head, using his other hand to hold onto his own wounds. He felt Dean’s thumb slowly rub his upper cheek. Sam closed his eyes for a moment.
This is okay, he thought to himself. We’re together.
“Sammy, you remember Fourth of July? Bac-Back in ‘96?” Sam’s eyes were closing now, his grip on Dean’s head loosening. But he nodded.
“Dad didn’t let you shoot fireworks, you remember that?” His eyes were opening up again, only slightly. He let out a faint smile.
“You let me, Dean. Thank you.” His grip on Dean tightened a little. “It was the best night of my life.” He wasn’t lying.
“Sammy I know I’ve always needed to- needed to protect you, keep you safe. Always gotta keep you safe. But Sam I’ve always wanted you to be happy, too.” Tears were streaming down his face now.
“Dean I know.” Sam moved his hand to hold onto his brothers neck, the other still cupping his head. “I know Dean.” Sam let his own tears fall.
“It’s all I’ve ever wanted Sam.” Dean continued between sobs. “I just need to know th-that you’re happy. That I di-did my job.”
“You’re the best-the best big brother in the world, Dean.” He meant it. Sam patted the side of his brothers face. He couldn’t feel anything any more. But he knew Dean had done his job. Sam was happy. Especially now. They had done it. The Winchesters had left their legacy, and they were finally finished. No more pain. Just each other. That’s all they needed, and it’s all they had. Sam let himself relax in his brothers hands, Dean still soothing his face. He pulled Dean’s forehead tight against his own and looked him in the eyes, one last time.
“I love you, big brother.”
Dean winced in pain as he smiled, as big as he could, through his tears. He gripped both sides of Sammy’s face now, keeping their foreheads held tight together as Sam’s hold weakened.
“I love you Sammy.” Dean sobbed. He looked into his brother’s eyes to find them closed.
Dean nodded to himself, smiling at the thought of
his little brother, finally at peace. He was ready to join him.
With tears streaming down his bloody face, Dean pulled his little brother tight into his arms. He stared up at the ceiling once more.
“I’m comin’ Sammy.” Dean closed his eyes and kissed his baby brother’s forehead, hard. Finally, he let his body relax. He held onto his brother as he felt his last few breaths slipping from his grasp.
“I knew of heartbreak at an age I could use one hand to show. I heard it in my mother’s cries at the blank white walls when she received the phone call that someone whom she raised and loved was now dead. I saw it in the way my little sister sucks in her tummy in the mirror only to stick it out again and sigh with disappointment. I witnessed it when I was drying the blood from my past lovers wrists and she was screaming for a name that was no longer apart of her life. I felt it in my heart when I had to sit beside you and use all my power not to beg you to come back but say “I hope you’re happier with her.””