Look Back

I’ve watched Look Back three times now, and every time it hits me harder than the last. And I feel like I need to get all of this out. For the longest time, I’ve never considered myself a creative person. I’m fully aware of that. There was a phase in my life when I got really into creative stuff, especially motion graphics. I spent hours learning the tools, watching tutorials, and trying to make something worth sharing. But the moment I had my first client, everything crumbled. I realized I wasn’t actually good at it—or at least not good enough. I was okay with the tools, sure, but I couldn’t create something new, something that felt unique or truly mine. I lack creativity. Even my friend once called me out about it. So, I quit. Even now, I can’t decide if quitting is the right thing to do. A part of me feels like it was such a cowardly move—giving up before I’d even really started. But another part of me thinks it was for the best. At the time, it felt like the only choice. I didn’t want to keep trying only to confirm what I already believed about myself. Still, watching Look Back brought all of those feelings rushing back. It made me question whether I was too quick to give up or whether quitting was just the right thing to do. Look Back taught me that creativity isn’t as simple as being "good" or "not good." It’s messy, to say the least. Fujino and Kyomoto’s story reflected so much of what I’ve felt—the fear of not being good enough, the frustration of comparing yourself to others. There’s this moment when Fujino, who starts out so confident, sees Kyomoto’s work for the first time. She starts questioning her own talent, even though she was perfectly fine with it before. That scene hit so close to home, it reminded me of how I used to feel when I saw other people’s work and how I’d compare myself and convince myself I wasn’t capable of reaching that level. But still, make a good art, a bad one, just make it goddamnit