Author: Li'l Kendie

My brother Ryan asked me to watch a movie with him last night. It’s a movie that’s very important to him and one he’s asked me to watch on multiple occasions and despite his requests, I never have. This has been a recurring theme in my life and one I’ve tried to get to the root cause of so I can change this behavior.

We sat on the couch in the dark. I had my dog Russell to my left, Ryan’s cat Dante to my right and Ryan on the far end of the couch. As the movie began, it started with a voiceover of a poem being written in German.

The English translation:

When the child was a child
It walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.
When the child was a child,
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one.
When the child was a child,
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.
When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Given the facts of evil and people.
does evil really exist?
How can it be that I, who I am,
didn’t exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, I, who I am,
will no longer be who I am?
When the child was a child,
It choked on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding,
and on steamed cauliflower,
and eats all of those now, and not just because it has to.
When the child was a child,
it awoke once in a strange bed,
and now does so again and again.
Many people, then, seemed beautiful,
and now only a few do, by sheer luck.
It had visualized a clear image of Paradise,
and now can at most guess,
could not conceive of nothingness,
and shudders today at the thought.
When the child was a child,
It played with enthusiasm,
and, now, has just as much excitement as then,
but only when it concerns its work.
When the child was a child,
It was enough for it to eat an apple, … bread,
And so it is even now.
When the child was a child,
Berries filled its hand as only berries do,
and do even now,
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw,
and do even now,
it had, on every mountaintop,
the longing for a higher mountain yet,
and in every city,
the longing for an even greater city,
and that is still so,
It reached for cherries in topmost branches of trees
with an elation it still has today,
has a shyness in front of strangers,
and has that even now.
It awaited the first snow,
And waits that way even now.
When the child was a child,
It threw a stick like a lance against a tree,
And it quivers there still today.

I turned to see tears rolling down Ryan’s face and it became clear to me that this movie was very important to him and all these years he’s simply wanted to share it with me. I sat next to him and our animals for 127 minutes and observed one of the most beautiful films I’ve ever seen.

He said to me, “isn’t it surreal to watch a movie filmed in the city we live in?” and at first, I wasn’t sure. But as the movie unfolded and I heard the names of streets I’m now familiar with and saw buildings and landmarks that stand only a few blocks from where I live, it did feel surreal. This city, Berlin, has grown on me in a way that I was very resistant to initially—similar to watching movies recommended to me. I have no reason for this really, other than to push back without reason.

Berlin has such a beautiful, complicated history. The city is an ode to freedom, sacrifice and revolution. It’s endured a lot in its history and stands as an international melting pot with an underlying tenacity to all those who consider themselves to be “Berliners.” I can’t even begin to scratch the surface of that thought or the city itself but I hope I get the opportunity.

We watched Wings of Desire which is a classic Berlin film shot when the city was still divided by the wall. It explores deep meanings of life and suffering. It explores what it means to be human—the complexities, the hardships, the worries, the questions and uncertainty of it all. It explores the idea of angels watching over us and putting a hand on our shoulder when things get too tough.

I have a lot to say about this film but it still hasn’t fully worked its way through my thoughts yet. I’ll need to watch it again at the cinema in Berlin as it’s shown on a weekly basis. I want to watch it again and appreciate the sentiment and what Ryan was trying to show me. This applies to a lot of areas of my life… the unfounded resistance of advice or counsel when I really need it. When the words, the films or support would in fact teach me something but my stubbornness to go at it alone makes it worse. As reflected in the film through the thoughts of Berliners, it’s scary and consuming to go at it alone.

I was walking Russell the other day when I met an Italian woman who also had a golden retriever. I was gripping the leash with everything I had in hopes to gain control over Russ so he wouldn’t make the other dog uncomfortable. She told me to let go of the leash and to trust her because she was a dog trainer and studied animal behavior. So I did, and she was right. We talked for a few minutes and she explained how a dog can feel your anxiety through the leash and they respond to that. I’ve thought about this for days now…

As we continued talking she asked what my name was. When I responded “Kendall” she said “Candle? Like candle in the wind?”

I always laugh when people, especially Italians, hear my name as candle. It makes sense, but the connection they draw is always poetic and somewhat funny to me. My good friend Jari’s parents had the same reaction when they learned my name. Instead his mom said “Candle? Like the thing that brings light?” Well shit, that does sound like poetry! I’ll take it.

a Sunday well spent

I’ve had my fair share of dreams over the past few months. Ones I’ve tried to make sense of and ones I realized made no sense at all. I’ve always been able to remember my dreams quite vividly, which similar to having a good memory is both a blessing and a curse in its own regard. When I wake up from a not so obvious dream, I usually poke around and try to see what the general psychology behind said dream is.

Last night, or rather this morning, I had a dream that I was in the lobby of a big building with my dog, Russell. He and I were trying to go up to the 11th floor. I waited and waited for an elevator to come and as I did, the line behind me continued to grow of people queueing. Finally, an elevator appeared and I stepped on with Russ. He was scared and unsure so I crouched down and embraced him during the initial take-off. Because I had Russ and there were multiple people in the elevator, I asked the man standing by the buttons to hit floor 11. He attempted to hit the button and nothing happened. I asked him to try again and so he did. Nothing happened. Everybody else had their floor illuminated and I started to panic.

As people got off the elevator, I tried pressing 11 for myself to see if I had the magic touch. Again, nothing happened. The last person got off the elevator and I watched the doors close. Now, I couldn’t press any of the buttons. I was trapped. The elevator seemed to be stuck on this floor due to its lack of direction (how I can relate to this) and I didn’t know what to do. Then, the elevator started to plummet downwards very quickly and all at once. It created that feeling in your stomach when you were a kid and someone would go very fast over a hill in a car, or just before the rollercoaster dropped. I, again, knelt down to comfort and brace Russ and finally, it came to a stop. The door opened and dinged—alerting us that we were back at the lobby.

I looked up the meaning of this dream and I’m sure the undertones are glaringly obvious. Anxiety, feeling a loss of control, things are coming to a head, etc. Although, dream interpreters did put an interesting emphasis on the number floor you were trying to reach in the dream. In my case, it was the number 11. They said to take note of its significance and what role that number plays in your life. Of course, 11 is a special number to me for many reasons.

I’ve always identified 15 as my “lucky” number with no real evidence to support the claim. One day when I was a kid, I became obsessed with the number 15 and still consider this my number. There is no significance to the number other than I like it. But in reality, my real lucky number is 11. I was born on August 11 at 9:11. It’s the first repdigit in the entire numeral system! My name has two l’s that resemble the number 11. (Fun fact: In all three of my names, I have repeating double letters! ll, ee, tt including my initials which are kll) It might sound silly but the number has followed me around in many ways for most of my life.

The dream interpreters (lol) insist there’s something to this number in this particular dream. Is it because my birthday is coming up? Is it because 1+1 = 2? Who knows. But I do know that my life as of late has felt like being trapped on an elevator while attempting to press the floor I need to get off on only to be denied that right…Then subsequently plummeting at an accelerated/uncontrollable speed with my dog to an unknown fate.

So it goes!

When I was 15, my English teacher made our class take the Myers–Briggs personality test. My mom has always made a point to talk about identifying with her personality type and how she was able to get to know parts of herself better as a result. When I took the test 15 years ago, I came back as an ENFP (Extraverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Perceiving). At the time, this made sense and I considered myself to be an extroverted person. I consistently positioned myself around people and allowed myself little down time, especially if it meant being alone. As a kid/teenager, I spent plenty of time alone and found it made me massively uncomfortable when given the choice.

I know talking about personality types can sound silly to certain people but I’ve always been fascinated by mine. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been curious about personality traits, emotions and how the mind works. When I received the printed results of my Myers-Briggs test, I read through the various pages explaining my personality type, what types of careers I would be best suited for, etc. I watched as some of my classmates asked around for your type, then shrugged off their results and tossed them in the trashcan. From that moment on, I identified as an ENFP and referenced back to that original guide often to see years later if my traits still aligned.

From the time I was 15 years old, a lot happened in my life and it didn’t stop happening. I experienced my fair share of trauma that changed certain aspects of me as a person. As a result, I became less avoidant and distracted as a young person. I was forced to face certain big feelings and emotions head on with deep introspection and maturity. I can pinpoint certain moments in my younger life where I was forced to pull strength from a place that I didn’t know existed. Moments like that shape you as a person and bring real priorities into focus.

I took the test when again when I was 20 and my results had changed. Instead of an ENFP, I was now an INFP. I felt like I was having an identity crisis. Me, an introvert? It didn’t make sense. I had many friends and spent the majority of my time with them. It wasn’t until this time that I realized the actual difference between extroverts and introverts which is how they recharge. Being an introvert doesn’t necessarily mean you’re curled up on the couch with a good book vs. hanging out with your friends on a Friday night. It simply means that when you need to recharge and process, you have a preference on how you do so. And this wasn’t always the case for me. I liked to distract myself and keep the momentum going as a way not to feel things. Of course, they always caught up to me and I paid the price in various ways.

As an adult, there is no doubt in my mind that I’m an introvert or still an INFP. The INFP is labeled ‘the mediator‘ and it’s described as:

Mediators share a sincere curiosity about the depths of human nature. Introspective to the core, they’re exquisitely attuned to their own thoughts and feelings, but they yearn to understand the people around them as well. Mediators are compassionate and nonjudgmental, always willing to hear another person’s story. When someone opens up to them or turns to them for comfort, they feel honored to listen and be of help.”

When I was in fifth grade, I was assigned to a school counselor to talk about my problems. Surprisingly, this wasn’t my first encounter with a counselor, therapist or social worker. Even at nine years old, I felt like a seasoned veteran when it came to therapy. I knew the routine when it came to a standard “intake” and how to move past the bullshit until we got into the meat of the problem. My counselor in fifth grade had an interesting experiment in mind, though. She assigned myself and two other students as mediators and gave us little training sessions. We would help our fellow students and mediate their conflicts. We listened intently as they explained the problem and we’d try to get to the core issues and encourage a resolution between the two parties.

Now I have to say, as I look back on this as an adult I’m not really sure how to feel about it… I do see the value in teaching kids how to listen to external problems and think through situations with a solutions-based mindset. The part I can’t rationalize my feelings about is putting kids who are already handling massive problems at 9-10 years old in this role. At home, I was the mediator between my parents from a very young age. I was mediating problems between grown-ass adults and essentially working out of desperation for some semblance of peace and harmony.

All of this to say, when I discovered the name of my personality type was “the mediator” I wasn’t surprised at all. It’s a role where I feel both comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. I’ve found myself in many situations over the years where I’m mediating or trying to understand the problems of others to better serve them. In fact, at some point along the way, I felt this was my only real value to people. A way for me to feel seen or recognized by them when I wasn’t sure if they’d want me around for any other reason than to help solve their problems.

As an INFP, I feel things very intensely and sometimes all at once. It’s a gift and a curse to empathize with loved ones and feel things in a way that other people have actively trained themselves from avoiding feeling. The way I process information and retain things is more than often hell for me. I desperately want to detach and distract myself from letting my problems or the problems of others consume my mind space. I simply can’t no matter how hard I try.

Who knows!

Interesting data point, here are a few of my fellow INFP brethren: Tim Burton, Kurt Cobain, J.R.R. Tolkien, Nick Cage, Lady Di, Virginia Woolf and Isabel Briggs Myers (aka the creator of the test).

A very nice Sunday with one of my favorite people.

This is one of my favorite pictures of Russ and I. We had just moved to California (Berkeley) and we walked to get a burrito and coke. We sat outside in January and ate them in our new backyard together. In this picture, I was feeling like I could take a big exhale and consider this new place my home. I really loved living in California and there’s a longer thought that follows but for now, this picture can take me right back there.

I don’t know what I would do without my brother, Ryan. Since we were kids, we’ve always looked to each other for support and advice. I’m really thankful for his friendship.