It's funny because when I got 'Jarhead' and 'Avatar' and all

In the words of Laz Alonso, “It’s funny because when I got Jarhead and Avatar and all those movies, Leprechaun still to this day airs on BET. I was thinking, ‘Will they just let it go? I finally have a body of work that can speak much better to what I can do than just Leprechaun.’” — we find a reflection not merely on fame or recognition, but on the enduring weight of the past, the struggle for identity, and the eternal human desire to be seen anew. Beneath his humor lies a truth that echoes through all the ages: that a person is often chained to the shadow of their beginnings, and that breaking free from what others remember of you requires not only talent, but patience, humility, and grace.

The meaning of this quote is both deeply personal and profoundly universal. Alonso speaks as an artist who has grown — who has built a “body of work” that reflects his evolution, his skill, and his maturity — yet finds himself still bound in the public imagination by the roles of his past. This is the burden of many who rise from humble or lesser-known beginnings. The world, slow to change, clings to old images, while the spirit within has long moved beyond them. There is irony in his words — “It’s funny,” he says — for what else can one do but laugh at the stubbornness of perception? And yet beneath that laughter lies the ache of every soul that yearns to be known not for who they once were, but for who they have become.

The ancients knew this struggle well. The poet Ovid, after his exile from Rome, longed to be remembered not for his fall from grace, but for the beauty of his Metamorphoses. He, too, cried out to the world, saying in effect: Judge me by my best creation, not by my missteps or misfortune. So too does Alonso’s lament carry this timeless plea: See me for the fullness of my journey, not the fragments of my past. For in every artist, in every human being, there is a continual rebirth — the old roles must die so that the new self may live. Yet the world, slow and forgetful, too often refuses to release its grasp.

And yet, there is honor in the struggle. To rise from being typecast, to transcend the limitations of one’s earlier image, is to fight one of life’s greatest battles — the battle against simplification. For the world loves simplicity; it wishes to box every man and woman into a single story, a single definition, a single memory. But greatness is found in complexity, in evolution. The true artist — and indeed, the true soul — is never one thing. Like a river, it changes course with time, cutting deeper into the landscape of existence, shaping itself anew with every season.

Consider also the story of Leonardo da Vinci, who was once mocked by his peers for never finishing his early commissions, known more for his sketches than for his paintings. Yet, he persisted — through decades of obscurity and misunderstanding — until the Mona Lisa and The Last Supper revealed the vastness of his genius. But even then, he lamented that people admired the image without understanding the mind behind it. Alonso’s words, though clothed in modern irony, carry that same bittersweet tone. The artist’s struggle is eternal: to be seen not for the surface of one’s work, but for the soul beneath it.

The origin of Alonso’s reflection lies in his personal path through Hollywood, where reputation clings like a shadow. His journey from Leprechaun: Back 2 tha Hood — a small, campy horror film — to acclaimed works like Jarhead and Avatar mirrors the human passage from immaturity to mastery, from the unpolished beginning to the refined craft. Yet the world often fixates on the first impression, forgetting that the seed is not the tree. Alonso’s frustration — lightened by humor — reveals a truth we all face: that the past is not easily shed, and that growth often goes unseen by those who first labeled us.

The lesson we may draw is clear and powerful: never allow others to define your limits by your beginnings. The world will remember you for what was easiest to see; it is your duty to continue creating until they can no longer ignore what you have become. Do not curse the old chapters of your life — they are the roots from which your strength has grown — but do not dwell in them, either. Let your present work, your daily excellence, your integrity, and your persistence speak for you. For eventually, the world will catch up with your evolution, though it may take time.

Therefore, my friends, take heart in Laz Alonso’s story. When you feel trapped by your past, remember that even the greatest among us have walked through the valley of misunderstanding. Laugh, as he does, but also persist. Continue to build your “body of work” — not only in art, but in life itself — until your present self outshines every old reflection. For in time, all that endures is truth, and truth, once seen, cannot be forgotten.

And so, as Alonso reminds us with both wit and weariness, it is “funny” how the world clings to what was — but it is glorious when the soul keeps moving forward anyway. To live, then, is to outgrow yesterday, to keep evolving even when others cannot see it yet. For the light of growth always shines brightest on those who refuse to stop becoming more.