For a long while, my friends have known me for being reflective and analytical of whatever events, be it real or in fiction, and how it affects its viewers while trying to convey its message or reach its agenda. It helps me deconstruct narratives down and help me learn a bit more about various storytelling styles. It has been almost a reflex of mine to quickly step back and assess what a scene is trying to do, intentionally or not, to its audience.
But through that, it detached me from the world for far too long. Making me unfeeling, devoid, and warped at times. The best I can do ‘normally’ was reacting to humour. Sure, when tapped to my interests, I do exude this passion that expands the spectrum. But outside that, the calm demeanor steps in, straightens my back, and pushes me to live my days in monotony.
And because of this, I keep struggling with my doodles. Practices are aimless when its unfeeling and lifeless. Only at some rare events where I felt compelled to draw that I can feel and MAKE it look the way I wanted. Though I can usually attribute it to my confidence and skill making it turn out like that. Or I can attribute it to something that has been consistently there: my lack of empathy.
In an attempt to rekindle it, I began lowering my Walls. Bit by bit, my safety locks that kept me steadfast and prudent were unshackled. And when the chaos finally floods in, everything started to gradually resonate from me with honesty.
The unhindered anger that swims against the tide. The consuming depression stifling the sounds of everyday life. The anxiety that shadowed my complacency. They were there, they were all there.
It left me a wreck, it left me crippled and heavy. It left me afraid and uncertain.
Making it hard for me to breathe. Labouring with spikes piercing through my chest.
And everything felt foreign and uncanny. As I skip my stop and ventured further into unknown places.
In the midst of this maelstrom, I found my pen, my anchor. Both moving and secured, it reeled me in despite the currents.
I am still a wreck. I am still in pain. The noise is still far from silenced. The outcome even looks the same as before. I still struggle. I am still the same as before, but with more wounds.
But this time, I feel that I can start being honest with myself again.
This time, I feel that I can finally grow true to what I wanted from the beginning.