Ghost

The following is a text and video compilation made for LCA Bookclub’s Capsule number 3 titled Ghost. All of the footage was shot during the last days of the summer of 2024 in New York City.

Originally, this video was meant to "honor" the memory of a long lost lover who haunted me for several years. A dear friend of mine was going to help me musicalize the video and I had the intention of adding text in the form of subtitles throughout it. After much thought and circling around our agendas/non-existent free time, I decided to honor something else; my solitude. Last year, in September, I traveled for work to New York. Most of my time I spent alone, and as cliché as it sounds, I felt quite invisible.

But I loved it.

For in moments when the chest tightens, as if the heart seeks to shift from its place, is that nostalgia takes the shape of a childlike yearning. The belief that thoughts can travel and possibly touch another being, spark a distant tremor. At times I felt like a kite in the middle of a hurricane, and others like a storm trapped in a bottle. Sometimes I felt endlessly alone and others I felt so transparent that I might as well have been a ghost. Long dead without even realizing it. This sensation became heightened when I stood before the sun (while crossing a bridge or just pausing in between buildings) and it passed through me as if I were a sheet of paper.

In cities like New York, the steps of passersby blend with echoes no one recognizes, and the lights cast shadows that belong to no one. Your body can't contain the fear of disappearing, but it is inhabited by the helplessness that comes with being forgotten. The kind that exists in the possibility of being erased from memories that once held existence.

I thought about that past lover and I thought about past selves, and I thought about how the most violent ghosts do not announce themselves with wails. They are born from the yearning left by what will never return. Invisible yet relentless, are the broken promises, the absences that reside in the border between what’s real and what’s dreamed. In that threshold, the imaginary becomes a constant, always on the edge of the tangible.

The most enjoyable thing about solitude, for me, is pairing it with music — like pairing a fine wine with a good meal. Obrigaggi, by the wonderful Mexican band Diles Que No Me Maten, became the soundtrack to my loneliness and the perfect companion to my New York days. So, it felt only right to pair my footage with the song that shares its name with the album. The lyrics and their translation are below.

SPANISH - Estar aquí, saberme despierte

Disfrutar de lo que los ojos ven, sonr­eír

Mirar a la ventana, mirar el punto más brillante

Buscar luz, sentir tenerla

Inhalar, soltarme lento

Otro dí­a para este cuerpo

Pensar en ti, poner mi lengua entre mis dientes

Buscarte, con los ojos cerrados usando solo la nariz

El volver a tomar aire, inflarme hasta la pelvis

Dejarme caer hasta abajo del respiro

Preguntarme si es quе duermes

Preguntarmе si te quiero despertar

Buscar la ventana, buscar el punto más brillante

Buscar luz a toda costa, oír que los pájaros han vuelto

Sentir silencio, volverme a dormir

Caer, caer en el sueño

Fácil, como alumbrar un cerrillo

Oír música también cayendo del cielo

Dios, color, lucero

Flor, amor, lamento

Timbre, nombre, sombra, fuego, fé.

You can find the amazing work that Sarah and Brechtje did curating the rest of the capsule here:

You can tune into what I was listening during the last days of the summer while in NYC here: