13th April 2012

Take two. We’re going to do it differently—I’m going to do it differently. One ingredient remains: Richard. An ingredient we’re adding is a

What, a voice-over text?!

Jori informs me that one of his colleagues is going to introduce the film, reading from a text written by someone on the creative team. Horrified, I watch Sam, the sound engineer, set up his equipment, and wincing, I listen while Jori’s colleague vigorously reads the text before him. Part of me wants to interrupt the show with a “No, no, no, no, NO! We’re not turning this into a cheesy commercial!”

I bite my lip, keep my mouth shut, and when the torture is over, follow Richard and the film crew into the forest for a final round of interview questions. With the day a wrap, I cautiously and half-heartedly spill my beans to Richard. He instantly picks up on my turmoil.

‘Are you going to keep wearing a straitjacket, Mundo, or are you going to put yourself in your own body?’

Shit…

Thank you, Richard.

Something in me is terrified at the thought of what I’m about to do, mostly because I know I’m going to do it. With a churning stomach, I walk over to Barbara.

‘Barbara, can I share something with you?’
—’Yes, of course! Let’s sit outside.’

Barbara listens calmly and responds empathically. ‘Mundo, we’re in this together. If you feel bad about that voice-over, let’s look at what feels right. Let this day sink in, devise an alternative when you’re ready, and then we can look again.’

I feel my head turning red and almost start crying with relief. As a child, trying to grow up, voicing something I strongly felt would most likely result in a verbal or physical smack. As a so-called adult, I’m still learning to peacefully accept that my honesty doesn’t always meet appreciation. So whenever I’m about to be honest, part of me braces itself. But today, my fear proves unfounded. Barbara’s response feels genuine and spacious.

I come up with an alternative. We scrap the voice-over and after finalising the cut, I sit down with Barbara and Jori to evaluate. We’re happy with the result.

‘Oh, and by the way,’ Jori says, ‘our creative team has created a name for the project, plus a logo. They’re building a website as we speak.’

Barbara turns her laptop screen towards me.

I’m stunned. I’ve been imagining nothing more than giving the films a nice little corner on YouTube. Now, the project’s getting its own website—and name!

‘We believe that everyone deserves to go to work with a smile,’ the website will read. ‘With this project, we want to help make that happen.’

Richard’s film airs, and from then onwards, we publish a portrait every two months. Heartworkers receives positive and touching responses, not just from viewers but also from the Heartworkers themselves. Some even tell us that the interview and film have helped them see the world anew.

What started bubbling inside two years ago, shortly after I’d met Fred the baker and John the soda man, is becoming a reality. I enjoy seeing it happen, and I grow in my role. More and more, working with the film crew feels like playing. Working with Pieter, Jori, and Barbara sometimes leads to a clash—I turn out to be a pretty pig-headed director-interviewer, and they, too, don’t just say ‘yes’ and ‘amen’—but each confrontation leads to more openness and connection.

And…

Heartworkers is stirring something in me, something I didn’t ask to be stirred. And this stirring happens almost every time we interview someone.

Almost four years since Steven and I sat by that emergency staircase, I again see myself in front of a mirror.

Am I experiencing myself?

Does Wovox make my heart beat faster?

Really?