A screengrab from Lost in Translation (2003) crosses my Instagram feed with a caption layered over it. In the end, the whole of life becomes an act of letting go. Scarlett Johannson walks away from Bill Murray with tears in her eyes, her blonde hair painted against a melancholic cityscape, a random corner of Tokyo.

I share it to my story, walk to the living room, and press play on the film, not having watched it since the early pandemic days. Upon first watch, I remember feeling seen by Scarlett Johannson’s sad demeanor as she wanders Japan, a replica of how I walked around Austin in the sun while the world shut down.

Now, I feel seen by how she yearns out a window; the connection between her in Japan and me in New York feels serendipitous. However, one doesn’t feel as weird, strange, and problematic as the other.

The credits roll, and I cry, not even paying attention to the fact that I have a show in 30 minutes and that I need to perk up. She holds the front of Bill Murray’s coat as she says Bye with the softest smile in her voice.

If friends were in the room, I probably would’ve cracked an Omg, that’s so me joke, but it was just me, my cats, and the TV screen. I wait for the particular quote in the Instagram post, but it does not appear. I return to the original post and find people screaming in the comments; THIS QUOTE IS FROM LIFE OF PI, NOT LOST IN TRANSLATION.

I close my screen and laugh. I cook a quick meal of eggs and kale wrapped in a tortilla. I walk into a bodega on the street and grab a bottled Diet Coke from the fridge. The cold washes over me as I walk to my show without a jacket, the theater right down the street from my house. Cars pass on the street, and drunk people stumble from a bar. I perform in my show and laugh the whole night, a sad demeanor haunting me.

I laugh at the false information presented that led me down the path of watching this movie. A friend and I recently discussed our curses, and he said, I’ve felt like I’ve arrived at checkpoints I’ve always wanted and am reaping no reward from them, to which I replied the age-old adage, By the time you get something, you don’t want it anymore.

I spend some time being upset, thinking this fake quote would’ve gut-punched me and I’d walk away with this beautiful cathartic memory of the film. Then, I remember the numerous people I’ve met unexpectedly in this gorgeous city that I love to be sad in.

My judgments always led me to believe the people I’d met would turn out a certain way. Sometimes I was right, and other times I wasn’t—they’d turn out completely opposite: horrible, wonderful, lovely, boring, hilarious, or just nice. Everyone was always some degree of the positive ones, no matter how we treated each other or whether or not they are still here.

I didn’t expect this to be a Lost in Translation review post, but it became that way. I woke up sick(bad boots liqueur), so I’ve spent all day lying in bed precisely like this, wondering about my loved ones, friends, and suitors, wondering where my life is going, and if I’ll ever have a romantic affair with a formerly-successful-now-failing-actor filming commercials in my neighborhood (if his career ever dies omfg please Ryan Gosling omfggggggggggg)