Today is supposed to be the day Alex and I commemorate the day we first met. Instead of spending it together reminiscing over a milkshake at Astro’s, his body is being cremated and I’m here trying to figure out how any of this is still real.
A few nights ago, I was longing to hear him say my name. I love the way he says my name. He had such a peculiar way of saying it, a cross between ‘oud’ and ‘ode’, with a soft ‘d’. The idea that the photos and videos I have are the only ones I will ever have suddenly felt so final.
As I was browsing through, I stumbled upon a really long 5 min video of when we went up to Mount Wilson the night of my birthday. We’d had dinner at Taylor’s with my best friend, Michelle, then we went and paid Ivan a visit at his new place in Glendale. When we left, we both didn’t feel like going home, and Alex suggested we go up into the Angeles National Forest and see the city from up high. The video was shot by Alex as he was trying to capture the beauty of the glittering Los Angeles basin below.
I scrubbed through the video, hoping to hear his voice. Alex didn’t talk much during those types of shoots, I wasn’t expecting to hear anything. He was too busy filming his vision. At the very end, he set up the camera on the dashboard for a few minutes. As the camera tries to focus, he can be heard unscrewing his bottle, and then, it happened.
Sometimes it feels like everything Alex ever endeavoured was another piece in the living installation that was his life. He was the director and editor of his own documentary, and the rest of us were his producers. As Makoto best put it, Alex was a work of art himself. Everyone who met him saw how beautiful a person he was, each through their own perspective and experiences.
We can all be so lucky to have met him, to have experienced the high ups and the low, low downs with him. Thank you all so much for being a part of his life, for making him the man who loved and took care of me the best way he knew how, in life and in death.