I didn’t set out to make a film about friendship. I set out to document a feeling I couldn’t explain, something soft, fleeting, and hard to hold. Something that sits quietly in the back of your chest after a really good day, or the kind of night that ends with someone laughing too hard on the floor. This film isn’t just about my friends. It’s about the fear that none of this will last.
This Is How I’ll Remember Us is a short film built on real moments. Most of it wasn’t staged. The clips are messy, the lighting is imperfect, and the audio isn’t always clean. But that’s exactly what I wanted, to make something that felt lived-in, not constructed. A scrapbook on screen. A time capsule.
When I started filming, I didn’t know what story I was telling. I just knew I was in the middle of something rare. For the first time in a long time, I trusted people. Not just to be kind, but to stay. And yet, underneath all of it, I think I always knew they wouldn’t. Not forever. And maybe that’s what pushed me to keep recording. Not out of vanity. Out of fear. Out of love. Out of a need to capture something before it slips.
The narration was the hardest part to write. I didn’t want to sound poetic. I didn’t want it to feel like a performance. I wanted it to sound like I was just… talking. Trying to figure it out. The voiceover became a way for me to say all the things I couldn’t in the moment. Things I wish I had said. Things I was too scared to admit out loud when everything still felt perfect.
Visually, the film moves between polished and personal, professional shots blend into vertical Snapchat memories, train station footage, old voice messages, photos taken without knowing they’d end up in something bigger. And through all that, a structure slowly formed: beginnings, closeness, cracks, and the acceptance that nothing gold stays. It’s not a narrative arc in the traditional sense, but it is a shape. The shape of a year. A group. A time in my life that mattered more than I expected.
There’s no dramatic ending. No big confrontation or farewell. Just a quiet realization: we don’t get to keep everything. But we do get to remember.
That’s what this film is for.
I didn’t set out to make a film about friendship. I set out to document a feeling I couldn’t explain, something soft, fleeting, and hard to hold. Something that sits quietly in the back of your chest after a really good day, or the kind of night that ends with someone laughing too hard on the floor. This film isn’t just about my friends. It’s about the fear that none of this will last.
This Is How I’ll Remember Us is a short film built on real moments. Most of it wasn’t staged. The clips are messy, the lighting is imperfect, and the audio isn’t always clean. But that’s exactly what I wanted, to make something that felt lived-in, not constructed. A scrapbook on screen. A time capsule.
When I started filming, I didn’t know what story I was telling. I just knew I was in the middle of something rare. For the first time in a long time, I trusted people. Not just to be kind, but to stay. And yet, underneath all of it, I think I always knew they wouldn’t. Not forever. And maybe that’s what pushed me to keep recording. Not out of vanity. Out of fear. Out of love. Out of a need to capture something before it slips.
The narration was the hardest part to write. I didn’t want to sound poetic. I didn’t want it to feel like a performance. I wanted it to sound like I was just… talking. Trying to figure it out. The voiceover became a way for me to say all the things I couldn’t in the moment. Things I wish I had said. Things I was too scared to admit out loud when everything still felt perfect.
Visually, the film moves between polished and personal, professional shots blend into vertical Snapchat memories, train station footage, old voice messages, photos taken without knowing they’d end up in something bigger. And through all that, a structure slowly formed: beginnings, closeness, cracks, and the acceptance that nothing gold stays. It’s not a narrative arc in the traditional sense, but it is a shape. The shape of a year. A group. A time in my life that mattered more than I expected.
There’s no dramatic ending. No big confrontation or farewell. Just a quiet realization: we don’t get to keep everything. But we do get to remember.
That’s what this film is for.
