It’s peculiar, re-entering this time-capsule of a blog. I am glad that it remains nearly untouched in its form. A leftover of a 17 year old adolescent in turmoil. But it is nearly 2015, and I am nearly 20 and the body I inhabited 2 years ago was much less forgiving, ravaged by hormones and trepidation and impatience. This blog was more like rental accommodation when I needed a home and I am still searching.
Haven’t posted on this blog since I was 17. Now I am 19, cramming for an immunology examination in less than 24 hours, leaving this continent in less than 2 months and on two dexys without self-restraint, without sanity.
I think I should get back on my medications and quit people for a while.
I am in no state to exist at the moment.
There is a swell within me. 2013 and the last cough of 2012 has been a rush of stirring waves within me- and now I have piles of illustrations, photographs, embroidery works, writings, poetry, articles, videos, critical essays that I’ve given birth to so recently. Yet, already, they are gathering dust and spinal fluid as it rests on my back. I am really itching to upload them so I can have content that’s not prehistoric but I am just not comfortable with the idea of the cyberworld as a notepad or an art folder any longer. I am feeling quite conflicted. Maybe I’ll just hang everything on the walls of my cocoon so the inks, watercolours and biro can become a sort of silk wrap around me. Yes, I think that might be the appropriate solution.