Chapter Three: 28 Weeks Later

December 18, 2024 | 7:00 PM

The sun is still high over the streets of Sydney, and the evening air is filled with the smell of Vietnamese food from the restaurants just eight minutes away. I’ve spent the afternoon in my living room, binging childhood movies that feel very different at twenty-five than they did at six.

Watching 28 Weeks Later, a film released in 2007, pulled me back to my own foundational years. While the movie is about a father and a quarantine zone, it made me think of my own “quarantined” childhood. I remember the performative care of my grandmother—being wiped down with baby powder like a “stained cooking pan” and being shown off to neighbors, all while my mother was away in Australia.

I grew up in a world of unanswered questions and “fake friends,” watching the adults around me perform roles while I looked for a sense of stability. I saw cousins who suppressed their emotions to survive and a mother who, even now, prefers to look forward rather than discuss the past or mental health.

As the sun began to set at 8:00 PM, I moved on to Aladdin: The Return of Jafar. The character of Iago, who shifts his face and his conscience to suit his surroundings, felt like a familiar metaphor.

The lesson I took from this marathon? Some people operate without a true conscience, changing their faces to take advantage of the situation. It is a cynical realization, perhaps, but an observant one. Being a human often means navigating these masks—learning who is real and who is just “showing off” for the audience.

It was a logistical nightmare and a physical grind, but it’s here. It serves as a daily reminder: sometimes the most difficult “installs” are the ones that bring the most comfort. If she is happy with this grey sofa, then I am happy.