By Victor Mugabe
I have a soft spot for suicidal maniacs. A few cinematic moments come to mind. A young man holding out his hands as he takes a deep breath. The clouds swoon through his hair as he laughs like a child. At his feet, a lake of blood as he unleashes giants the size of mountains. They stomp the earth, ending the lives of eighty percent of the world’s population—all in the name of protecting his friends and family.
Another guilty pleasure: an evil, demonic being who relishes a fight worth his appetite. He laughs his heart out, taunting and toying with his foe. Little to no regard for the people around him.
Why did I envy them?
In their reckless abandon, what I truly envied wasn’t their destruction, but their complete commitment to their vision, no matter how the world judged them.
Being the goody two-shoes, an introvert who put everyone’s needs first, this monster inside of me always craved that hint of fresh air. I ignored, and all was well until… I had a taste of heaven. And I haven’t been the same since then.
On the outside, I used to watch. They spoke about it, but I dismissed it. They showed me evidence, so I washed it up as hogwash. I watched myths and fiction claiming it was possible, but I blew it off as fantasy. I was the weird kid sitting outside the prom hall, tapping his feet to the music he’d never dance to. All that stopped him was the massive ego that held him down.
“Not all good things were meant to be consumed. There is a time for everything,” I repeated to myself, until the restraint was no longer discipline. It was the thorn in my side.
As a lover of film and a stern hater of those who took the step into that world, I held strong to the sentiment that they did not know what they were doing. They’d go broke. They would suffer in a dream that would never be possible. Go to the Oscars one day? Where do you think you are, High School Musical?
It was safe and suffocating. A reality I had gotten so used to. A vague weight stifled in my chest and was still growing. I had grown to hate myself. A weight that slowly grew until my final breaking point. A visit from the devil I like to call my subconscious. I will let you know that that bastard did not hold back.
“What is the point of your existence?” he asked. “What is love without hate?”
“What is survival without a flame?”
“You bore me,” he whispered.
But that is a story for another time.
Our little chat led me to this staircase. A doorway to a land of the people I envied. The people I hoped not to be like. The dreamers that dared to dream, in spite of the world’s claim to be seen. They stood at the front of the line, hogging the attention that should have been shared by the rest of us. They were fools, and I loved them. I wanted to be a fool too.
I broke.
I made a couple of films last year. I met some remarkable people, discovered new skills, made friends, ran through my savings, and choked on my new love for living. I was a part of heaven. We cursed, pricked by the thorn of brokenness, fell for new love, felt that writer’s high when the perfect phrase clicked into place. I never wanted to stop.
Like the villains I secretly admired, just for that moment, I disregarded the affections of those around me. I lived. I breathed. And I certainly loved it.
I had a taste of heaven, and I cannot go back.
Red and Yellow, a political satire depicting the epic romance between the two opposing parties of our nation. A Thousand Ways to Face Change is a story about a girl who must find a place in life after her husband decides to divorce her and her two co-wives. (Mable’s Note: This short film was nominated for the 2025 Uganda Film Festival Awards and will be showing at the 2025 Ngalabi Short Film Festival.)
And Under The Bed, my only attempt at horror, which asks the question: what does it take to make one succumb to the comfort of the unknown?
All a small taste of the art pieces created in the depths of my chaos.
I do not know what the future holds in this regard, but I stay humbly positive. A part of heaven. A part of the people I envied. A part of the chaos I so desperately craved to tame.
I am a villain in my own story. I laugh. I relish the brief release from years under the thorn.
Is this freedom? I think not.
This freedom comes with its own chains: financial stress, uncertainty, and the constant hustle. But they are chains I choose.
I had a taste of heaven, and I don’t think I can go back.
Victor Mugabe is a Ugandan filmmaker, writer, and editor whose work blends African culture, political satire, and personal introspection through comedy, fantasy, and drama. With films like Red and Yellow, Under the Bed, and A Thousand Ways to Face Change, he explores chaos, identity, and societal norms with wit and emotional depth. Drawing from traditional oral storytelling and modern media, his work, including webcomics, TV writing, and the upcoming Dear Darling, seeks to entertain, provoke, and inspire change.
I am in tears after reading this