Week Five: For The Love of Art

Expression can be felt through the careful placement of words, the complementing of colors, the beauty of symmetry.

I’m drawn to the challenge of creating. I’m drawn to the intimacy of art-- all art. When I feel the most alone, I find the comfort of art readily available. It welcomes me, whole heartedly, and accepts every rushing thought. Every insecurity is forgotten, as I become preoccupied. I become whole as I visually assemble every vision.

I never knew I could draw until 2 years ago. I was very impatient growing up, and I never had the mental capacity to sit and erase my mistakes over and over again. These Disney drawings became a personal challenge I set for myself, and although they aren’t original, they’re important.  I always wished I could be a traditional artist, lost in the world of brush strokes and acrylic paints: This is the first step.

Week Four: The Bulletin Board

Nostalgia-- a universal understanding of ambiguous feelings. Wanting to cry, but not knowing the emotions the tears would represent. Overbearing reminders of the past’s simplicity. Reminiscing of the juvenile thoughts-- the naive, internal guarantee that all would be guaranteed. 

The pictures that have lived for over a decade, buried underneath a pile of  our checklists and plans of execution for newfound aspirations. Who we were may not be who we are today: did we abandon our old selves, or did we discover our new selves? We ponder, attempting to find an unbiased perspective through the bookshelf that once was quite empty.

The years accumulate, along with the memories, the experiences, and the successes. We become hesitant to toss the possessions that were formerly prized— our first accomplishments— into the pile we call clutter. We might tell ourselves we’re sophisticated now, for we grew into our souls.

Physically, we can organize, and curate our lives in the form of a charcuterie board; you know, for the adults we now are. However, the kid in us will want to hold onto the collection of scribbles we once called art. 

There’s art in looking back.

There’s art in letting go.

Week Three: Memories

Sometimes, when it feels that time has stopped, it is a reminder to watch the home videos that have just turned 18-- the ones that remind you of the naivety & innocence you once had. Maybe you still have it, lying underneath the mental bruises you slowly acquire. Sometimes, we’ll wonder where they came from. Sometimes, we fall, even when we carefully calculate every move. Then, we’ll watch the videos that remind us that it was only a fall. Imagine if we never got back up. We forget that it’s inevitable.

The laughter-- the representation of our jubilant nature-- would resonate throughout our childhood home, bouncing off of the walls that have kept us warm and safe. Throughout the years, however,  the walls would learn to hear teardrops and recognize the self deprecation disguised as jokes. It is through the same walls that I learn from a four- and- almost- a- half- year-old nearly two decades later: how to be a care-free painter, a poised ballerina, a loving older sister. Always smiling. 

When the years are blurred into an endless, yet very detailed flip book, it’s easy to want to draw in a chapter that could’ve changed your trajectory. Then, you remind yourself that there wasn't enough space;  every moment was followed by a changing season, followed by a new year filled with empty promises. The cycle was endless. We couldn’t keep up.

When time stops, we panic. We aren’t ready to relive the bittersweet memories. We aren’t ready to give updates on our dramatized dreams. We’re too scared of the gentle nudges, then exaggerate that they were too forceful.

The nudges aren’t the reason we wallow by the walls. They remind us of the reasons why.

Week Two: Dead Batteries

The clock in my room had been incessantly ticking, only to suddenly stop. Knowing that it needed a change of batteries, I removed it from my room, telling myself I would change the batteries. Or maybe, I didn’t want to. In reality, there was a dire, innate need for my own ticking to stop; however, unlike the clock, I was on the verge of imploding. This wouldn’t be the first time.

Right before quarantine, I had joked with friends about needing to disconnect-- wanting to shut my phone off, sit at home, and evaluate recent decisions. They say to be careful for what you wish for, but I’m quite content. It’s as if I somehow knew that I would be the happiest I had been in a very long time.

I think it’s evident we all needed this time to understand our previous interpretation of normality, and what it now means to us. To me, there is beauty in time stopping. The days of the week interconnect, and the calendar becomes a piece of paper.

Then I can take the time to invest in myself. Invent my own timeline within a rapidly progressing society. Write again, for the world was moving too fast to give me a chance.

You can’t plant a seed in a pressure cooker.

Week One: Learning to Love Being Alone

I’m a metaphorical writer. It’s ironic that I’m blatantly stating this, but I love equating my emotions to the world around me. When I first wrote about this seemingly sudden response to the pandemic, I was angry. I related this sudden change of atmosphere to the change of weather. Why wouldn’t the rain just stop? The sun has been quite absent, along with the typical Southern California culture: friendly faces, a plethora of outings, even detestable traffic. There’s a longing for the familiar to come & reassure us that this is a temporary hardship, and that we will return to the mundane tasks we took for granted. When will the normality return?

The harsh reality is this: we simply do not know. I had spent my 2019 battling- not overcoming- several obstacles. I wondered when I would receive the closure necessary to move on. I wallowed in the abyss of self pity, accepting the notion that 2019 was the year I would not grasp the hardships to be in control. I simply had to accept the unwanted trajectory. 

Then, I started 2020 with goals: resolving a few of the burdening issues, pushing my ego aside, and being active.  I was happy to be busy again, to feel as if I was contributing, not only to society, but to myself again. I was slowly building the momentum up; I had plans for nearly every month of the year, and I was excited for the challenge. Then out of nowhere, it all stopped. To me, there wasn’t a single warning. The new routine I had built up, the faces I was used to seeing, the goals I had been keen on meeting. Gone. 

Throughout my life, I have never been one to sit at home. I’m energetic. I get bored easily. When I graduated in 2018, though, I fell into this severe depression where the only comfort I found was in my bed, and time morphed into a binary: sleep, and lying awake, hopeless. The quarantine rules are becoming stricter by the hour; I can’t help but feel as lethargic and anxious as I had been previously. The difference is that this time I have faith, along with a new-found, positive outlook. 

I’m lucky, because if this had happened exactly a year ago, amidst a time of personal & relentless instability, I would not have been ok. I’m lucky, because I’m at home knowing that my family & friends are currently safe. I’m lucky, because I walk through my neighborhood & see the bustle of the parks I grew up in, and I’m reminded of the simplicity of my childhood. I’m lucky, because I can use this sudden break to invest in myself as an artist.

I can pull out the vinyl player that was deep within my closet, and dance in a space that is safest for me.