This week marked a turning point in my collaboration with Phyu. After sharing the first sound draft, she expressed her appreciation for the work, and we agreed to meet in person to discuss revisions—particularly sounds where we had differing opinions. Although our collaboration has been respectful and polite, I found myself occasionally feeling uncomfortable or even slightly offended. This led me to reflect more deeply on how cultural background, communication style, and past experiences shape our perception of collaboration.
Up until now, most of our communication has happened through text messages, and this has proven to be more complex than I expected. Not only is English a second language for me, but I also find the interpretation of emojis challenging. For example, when Phyu used the emoji while asking about our meeting location or progress, I felt uneasy. In my cultural context, that emoji often conveys frustration, annoyance, or sarcasm—whereas I later realized it’s generally used much more casually in English-speaking contexts, to express awkwardness or politeness.
One moment that stood out was when Phyu checked in about the progress a few days before the agreed date—during spring break. Although she reassured me that she wasn’t trying to rush me, I still felt pressured. Rationally, I understand that I’m new to her, and without regular updates, she might feel uncertain about my reliability. But emotionally, I felt like I was being judged before I’d missed any deadlines.
This discomfort made me look inward. I realized my reaction wasn’t just about Phyu’s message—it was rooted in the educational environment I grew up in, where even small mistakes were often exaggerated by teachers or parents. I was taught that being late or underperforming could have catastrophic consequences—like ruining the whole class’s achievements. Those early experiences have left a lasting mark, and I now see how easily I can feel regressed when I sense similar dynamics, even if they’re not truly present. I’m grateful for this collaboration with Phyu because it’s helping me become more aware of these emotional patterns.
Despite the internal tension, I delivered the work on time, which brought a real sense of relief. Ironically, we couldn’t meet in person as planned because Phyu’s class was canceled, and she decided to stay home—just like her animation’s protagonist, who rarely leaves the house! We had an online meeting instead, which helped us resolve a few key issues, though some topics remained unclear. One thing I noticed was that the discussion still felt somewhat one-sided: Phyu mostly shared her own thoughts without asking for mine, and while I didn’t strongly disagree with her suggestions, I felt more like a service provider than an equal collaborator.
That said, I recognize this may not be intentional. Interdisciplinary collaborations are tricky—especially when each person is used to different workflows and communication norms. We’ve now scheduled our next meeting to take place in the recording studio, where we’ll work on foley recording and voiceovers together. I’m hoping that being in the same physical space will open up a more fluid, co-creative dynamic.