Post by tigs jay d9b (minie) on Aug 23, 2023 4:30:52 GMT -5
MalloMedia started off as nothing more than an archive of the fabulous and tortured lives of a group of film students in a post war world.
My parents had bought me a nice camera to accompany me on my journey at the university. Despite not knowing a single thing about angles, lighting or editing…the moment I held the apparatus in my hands, I knew I had found my calling.
On my first day of university, I placed the camera on the tripod in front of my bed and hit record before rushing to take my spot in front of the lens.
”Hi…my name is Mallo Malachei, and I don’t know if anyone will even watch this but welcome to my life. It has been almost two years since the war has ended and as we all know a lot has changed and there is still a lot of change to come. Today marks the day where my life changes as well, I am going to university to study film and media. With all the change happening around my personal life and in the grand scheme of things, I thought it would be interesting for future generations to have something to look back on. A record of what it was like to be a young person figuring it all out while we as a society were rebuilding. I’m calling this first project The Malachei Archives, so yeah…hope you stick around for the journey.”
Looking back on that first video I made when I was only eighteen years old, I cringe with embarrassment. The camera positioned directly on the same height as my face was unflattering, the light beaming from the open window behind me was annoying at best and the nerves fluttering about in my stomach were more obvious than I would ever care to admit. I never became comfortable in front of the camera. No matter how many times I had sat myself down to film a monologue, introduction or ending for a video…I always felt most at home when I was behind the lens.
The first time I had really seen the world for what it truly was, was through the eyes of the camera. A silent observer recording every split second and every fleeting movement. The first time I truly understood the gravity of the war was with the help of the camera.
The Malachei Archives had taken a shift by my third year of university. I was no longer the sole focus of the video diaries but had taken a step back from appearing in front of the camera. Instead, The Malachei Archives had focused itself on my entire group of friends. Everything from updating the viewers on school projects we were working on, behind the scenes footage of our coursework, talking about the good the bad and the dirty of student life, and even taking the viewers to parties with us. They helped me document everything that ever went on and our lives were forever made permanent within the four boarders of a screen.
The fall of our final year, I was shooting my friend, Anaise, walking down the street she lived on before the war. A residential neighborhood on the outskirts of the city that she described as once filled with life and families. Tears glistened in her eyes and were ever so present on the zoomed in shot of them streaming down her face. She told the story of the day her neighborhood was bombed, pointing out the still present holes in the street. You could see the blood stain tattoo the rebels had left on her home. What once was a place filled with life was now a mere ghost town with a few lost souls and many broken homes.
Later that night I sat at my desk editing the footage from that day. Layering Anaise’s voice over snapshots of the destroyed street, a quick zoomed in image where a tear rolls down her cheek as her lips move and tell the story of that fateful day. Not everyone was as fortunate as me to have had access to a bomb shelter. Not everyone still had a home when the rebels were finally defeated. I was of the few fortunate ones that were not affected financially by the war. All the nights I spent scared for my parents who were out fighting the war seemed so trivial in the grand scheme of things. I had aunts, uncles, cousins who were all there for me. When it was all over, my parents were able to come back home to me. I got out easy, but Anaise’s story made it clear that it was not the case for all. For a large portion of the Capitol was still fighting that war as we rebuilt.
”Hey everyone, I know it has been a while since we have had one of these sit-down videos. I also know it has been a while since you have seen my face in front of the camera. The first ever video I had posted to MalloMedia, the first ever episode of The Malachei Archives was one just like this. I was at a pivotal time in my life and just wanted an outlet to express myself. Somewhere I could share my life in all of its quirks. For those of you who have been watching from the beginning, I just wanted to say thank you. I never could have imagined that the series would have gained the following it had, I honestly never thought it would have any following at all. You guys have made The Malachei Archives what they are, without you I definitely would not be where I am today.
The reason today’s video is starting out as a sit down session is honestly a little bit bittersweet. Maybe you can tell from the way I am dressed but I am graduating today. With that marks the end of my university career and it also only seemed fitting that today’s episode also marks the final episode of The Malachei Archives. However, that does not mean that this is the end of MalloMedia. I have a few projects in mind that I would like to work on, and I wanted to continue to use this website to publish my work. So, I hope a few of you will stick around and will continue to follow me on the journey that is yet to come. Maybe you will even see a few familiar faces along the way.
Anway enjoy the rest of the last episode of The Malachei Archives…it truly has been a blast”
It has been four years since I had uploaded that fateful last episode.
Over the past four years, my focus shifted on making documentaries about the rebuilding of the Capitol’s lesser-known neighborhoods. Raising awareness and money for those who have been hit the hardest by the districts despicable attempt to throw the world into utter chaos. The more time I had spent with the victims, the true victims of the war, the more an angry pit grew in my stomach. There were still families who did not know how they were going to acquire their next meal. I had spent time with school kids that were trying to balance working and an education because they had lost absolutely everything in the rain of bombs and the years of starvation.
Year and year went by, and it felt that no matter how much I did, it always felt like I never did enough. Maybe it was the growing guilt that I did not help anyone during the war. The fact that I was selfish and was only looking out for myself. I was only a kid at that time, surely there was not much that I could have done. Everyone was so busy making sure that they would live to see the next day, that it was hard to lend a helping hand. Now I was ready to devote my life to making sure that history would never repeat itself. To solidify that I will never be an active bystander again when there is so much injustice still happening at the hands of the traitorous rebels. The only way I knew how to do that was by ensuring the effects of the war were never forgotten.
Although my intentions were noble, my parents were not always the biggest fans of my philanthropy. Ever since I graduated, they nagged on about how I needed to support myself. How I could not live at home forever. They did not fight a war and pay for my education so that I could piggyback off of them for the rest of my lives. It became a sour topic at the dinner table, the excitement they had once shared with me for my projects were long gone. Now it was all about when would I finally get a job, when would I finally get married. Phrases along the lines of ”You are twenty-six years old, Mallory. It is time you move out and start a family of your own.” were spoken on a daily occurrence.
Only a few months ago, I had come home from a day of filming with a local youth center to find our apartment filled with military officials and party decorations. All friends of my parents and their kids, some my age, some younger and some older. Everyone mingling amongst themselves with drinks in their hand a buffet of food for anyone to grab. The party was intimate, only the families we considered our closest friends were present. I could name every person in that room. Had I forgotten that my parents were throwing a get together? I questioned if this was some kind of reunion, and I was showing up late and unpresentable. I knew my mother would give me grief later on for not being better prepared for the social gathering.
”Your father told us the good news!”, my uncle Atticus exclaimed with a hint of relief in his voice. ”You are such a perfect fit to be working on the hunger games. I am sure they can count themselves lucky to have a camerawoman like you on board.” His arms opened wide as he pulled me into an embrace.
I stood there in disbelief, hoping this whole ordeal was nothing more than a confusing dream. To my dismay, it was not. My parents had gone behind my back and gotten me a job. I had spent the rest of the evening walking around the room, making conversation with everyone, thanking them for congratulating me. Laughing at their jokes about how everyone had thought I was a lost cause. Attempting to smile with joy as they would tell me how proud they were of me for finally turning my life around and supporting myself. By the time everyone had said their goodbyes and made their way home, I was too tired to argue with my parents. I was too exhausted to be mad.
That night I could not bring myself to sleep, no matter how much my body yearned to fall into a slumber. The idea of working on the games was not something completely foreign. I had always been an advocate for their existence and my opinion has been made public in the past on my website. I had built a platform surrounding the very idea that we could not forget the events that had led us here, the games were just another method of ensuring that neither Capitol nor District would forget the atrocities that had occurred. I was still angry that my parents had gone behind my back to secure my employment. I wondered if anyone in the games would even take me seriously if they knew that I was only there because my parents had pulled whatever strings they could to get me this position. It could have been worse; they could have forced me into an administrative position in some firm. At least they chose an occupation that aligned with my interests.