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I can never forget who I am. I cannot forget where I am from, what color my skin is, and most of all, I can never forget—nor do I want to forget—who I love. Seven years into filmmaking, my identity as a sexual minority is something that no longer jumps right off of my work. The agitation of being the Other has subsided since my younger years. Despite being a minority of a minority, one half of an interracial and queer relationship, and a generally odd individual, I’ve never felt that the way that I love is different from anybody else. If it does stand out, it is that I’ve grown up nurturing what are almost mythical romantic ideals of love and companionship. And I’d like to think that I’ve found the kind of love that comes pretty darn close to that. Especially because I cross the boundaries of gender, literally in the way that I am perceived, perhaps I hold onto the universal nature of love as a form of self-assurance and therapy. There may be a deeper psychological drive for why and how I try to capture the experience of love in my work as a filmmaker. But most simply put, I want to share the joy that I feel from the love that I have found. It does sound idealistic and almost too broad to achieve. But l believe that this desire to discover our common threads carries on the age-old aspiration of humanity and its storytellers.