I didn't want to continue anymore.
Continue what, you say.
Everything.
Relax, it’s not what you’re thinking.
Do you recall that scene in Forrest Gump where one day he decided to start running? He ran for 3 years. Initially he ran alone. And then people joined him on his quest. I imagine that was a way to express himself, or to clear his mind from whatever was bothering him so he could come up with a solution (I can’t remember the details). And then just like that, suddenly after 3 years, he decided to stop running and continue with what was next. Running is always a great analogy for leaving your worries behind to clear your head so you can move on with your life, or to see things from a better, different vantage point.. When he had enough of running, he stopped, and then everyone went their separate ways as well.
I felt that. It was a long time coming, as if my well of patience with myself had dried up. Slowly, like paint drying on a wall, I realized that I just didn’t want to talk about it anymore. About myself, about anything, to anyone, even through the only medium that gave me so much sense of understanding and closure. It seemed irrelevant to talk about the same thing in twenty different ways. Everything seemed so repetitive. The plethora of thoughts and ideas that used to flow freely was pushed aside to make room for something bigger - silence. Silence was comfortable. Similar to Adam and Eve covering up once self-awareness of their naked selves entered their realms of consciousness, I decided these well of emotions or thought processes running through my head that was my outlet to a deeper self didn’t deserve to be out there for those curious enough to further dissect and analyze. I didn’t want to be under that magnifying glass, as tiny as it was, anymore. I wanted to disappear, to stay invisible, to become anonymous.
I felt irrelevant, and talking about myself seemed that it would take away attention from the larger social problems at hand. Am I really affecting anyone with my polarizingly gloomy depressing and/or bright photos? What are they thinking when they look at my pictures? Anxiety? Mockery? Curiousity? A sense of doom and gloom? Excitement over revealing what’s underneath more of these layers? Do they realize that I separate my feelings from my reality when I make them? Are people afraid to hang out with me if I admit that some of it is autobiographical but shrouded within layers and layers of digital paper because that would be a more acceptable format than those on physical paper laced with tears? Am I overanalyzing some things that artists before and in the future don’t really give a shit about because they are/were doers and not so much of talkers? Is this even art? Am I even addressing the myriad of intellectual, social and cultural contexts that is relevant today? Am I making connections that bring a greater sense of depth and understanding of the ideas and issues that shape our world?
There were other issues that were less psychological, and more technical - such as getting overwhelmed by failed concepts and frustration leading to surrender, no matter how many uplifting or motivating books or speakers I indulged in, prioritizing work to pay the bills because the rewards were more immediate to ensure a healthy bank balance, or not believing in one’s skills as adequate and thus feeling like a complete and utter fraud, or simply not being motivated enough because I haven’t monetized it as much as I should have. There are honestly a million reasons or shall I call them excuses.
Growing up extroverted meant being fearless in expressing and in turn, if successful, being wanted, admired, and respected for such. And in the era currently where we are encouraged to overtly express ourselves through an unimaginable number of distracting social platforms to make ourselves heard, these should have been my golden moments. Except that I had enough of being an extrovert. What seemed to be easy first - to approach people and to talk about issues - eventually became overwhelming, and when we take our heads out of the sand, the whole concept seemed reductive and trivial. And honestly, with all the images being self-portraits, I got sick of seeing myself. I was bored of my face, my life, my thoughts. True, I can always direct the pictures with models, and while I had tried this before, the fact is - I can’t seem to trust someone who hasn’t gone through my own mind or experiences to carry through a picture that in my mind was my narrative, and thus belonged to me. My issues were mine, and nobody else had the right to claim it. It’s selfish, I get it. But it’s complicated. I now craved anonymity, my alone time and I was eager to shed responsibilities that weren’t my own, save for close friends and families. It really seemed that the best way to take care of this was to minimize exposure, and to just work on yourself on what made you happy, and in turn focus on what gave you a deeper sense of fulfillment and authenticity. While this may be a normal maturing process to a huge chunk of the world’s population, to me it was indicative of a sense of loss of self, yet again, similar to what happened 9 years ago - to make space for turning into someone new, and like the last time, this would have to be done solo.
I think it’s been a good 2 years now, this learning process. I didn’t realize it, but I think thats how slow this growth process has been. I’m not sure where I’m at, but it’s definitely a better place than the ride to nowhere. I’m a bit better at balancing the internal with the external now. It’s easier to say no. I don’t mind being selfish these days. I don’t feel the need to apologize for a lot of things. The rose-tinted glasses have long been broken to make way for transparent ones, and I’m learning that we don’t have to wear them all the time either. Coupled with this pandemic, it’s safe to say that everyone is in a similar boat.. no, I read somewhere that its the same storm, but we are on different boats - an unimaginable sense of loss of our loved ones or strangers, loss of routine and structure such as employment that give us a sense of identity and validation as well as a source of income, of deeper internal strife whose ramifications we are still trying to figure out or will be for a while. With this sense of mental turbulence, however, there is also the undeniable truth that all of us are headed into a new era where we may all turn into better, empathic humans because of our shared experiences in trying to adapt and make the best out of such uncertainty and restrictions. It’s definitely not the chosen method of choice to become our better selves, but it gives me hope that going through something with other people, irrespective of the presence or absence of connections with them but who will have similar stories of success and failure in the same time frame will mean that... we don’t have to be alone… for the next little while, at least.
We have been running for such a long time - some have been running away from, while others have been running away to… until something none of us could foresee has stopped us in our tracks and made us evaluate the bigger picture. I can’t answer the ‘from’ or the ‘to’ part, but I think it’s safe to say that just like Forrest Gump, we aren’t running solo in this field anymore. We have no choice but to stop running, reassess, recalibrate, and then move on by burying the past, so we can continue to move onwards to a hopefully better, and a more meaningful future.
As for me, it’s going to take a lot of practice. I’m a little rusty, but I’m a work in progress, always.
But I’m ready to continue now.
Thank you for sticking around.