193: On Art

I'm in love with art. This is something that I have discovered just a few years ago. But to say, I've always been into art, but it was ingrained into my mind that there's little to no money at all in that industry. Hence, I grew up running away from it and chasing the life that everyone is chasing.

But I was lucky that I got in touch with it again. I've always been into drawing and writing. It's just lately that I got into painting. I had difficulty with painting because I'm not good at colors and shading. I'm blank at those area. But I was persistent, so I practiced and practiced.

Javert - Les Miserables - Soft touch

my recent painting :)

It's not so much but I've been practicing and I know one day I'll get there. I have difficulty in painting a portrait because human face is just hard to get it right. But I still believe in persistence. 

On writing. I've been writing since I was 10 years old. I've started writing in journal, still been writing on journals. My journal had been the witness of every feelings, dreams, hopes, and longings that I had. I think without my journal I would have gone insane (life issues, you know).

I wouldn't deny that I've been defensive towards writing (I think you have noticed that on my disclaimer). I'm defensive because it's precious to me. I would not deny that my construction is as messed up until now. So yeah, when someone attacks me on it, I sometimes take it personally because -- again -- writing had been close to my heart. 

But you know, I've come to this point where I realized not to be (defensive). Yeah, it still hurts and will still hurt if someone pointed how seemingly pointless, messy, or artless my writing is. But it's okay, I'm writing for myself. I'm writing because it's my art, because it's one of my ways I know how to get in touch within myself.

You know, you might also be one of those people who struggles in art; who wanted to get in touch with their emotion and put it in writing, in canvas, or in paper but has difficulty because they are afraid to be judged, to be discouraged, to have their own craft laughed at, but don't. Everyone started in that point to. Just continue regardless even if it seems daunting. You'll eventually get there. Believe me. Have courage.

188: and I wrote while I bleed

1 o'clock and here I am bleeding on the blank sheet of my journal. Ideas seems to be evasive at the moment but the emotions were surfacing on my veins soaking the sheets with blood. 

Heart pumping ...

                    Mind racing ...

                               Palms sweating ...

... bleeding, bleeding until I have filled the sheet with blood. I laid down consumed. Dead.

~oOo~

I have an addiction of getting away (who doesn't anyway?). Whenever I see an opportunity to get away I'd take it. We have different reason why we enjoy escape. But what I particularly enjoy about it is because it gives me an opportunity to write on my journal undisturbed. I was lucky that my good friend Raisa had invited me to hangout in the hotel her family had checked in. So we had the room by ourselves. We stayed there drank an incredible amount of liquor, and while my good friend was sleeping on the couch I took the available time to write. 

To say, I was drunk when I wrote on my journal. I talked about my current emotions that has been plaguing me for few days already. I was writing, writing, writing until I slumped down on the chair and realized that I have exhausted myself writing. It was the first time I wrote with such intensity that I had my head spinning afterwards and was literally spent. 

But writing while in state of drunkenness has an amazing effects. haha.

I also did some sketching afterward. :) lol.

184: The Truth About My Forever ...

©threadsence

Sorry if the past few post had been random and almost blank. For the past of couple of days I find myself unable to express my thoughts, neither can I find a topic to talk about. I felt I was drifting away from myself because my mind was out of proportions.

You see I had laid out plans: All seemingly ~ actually ~ possible to be done, all promising. But I lack of action. I could not act out of fear. I fear that things might not fall on the right place, and I might lose what I cannot afford to lose. So yeah, I was hanging on the edge wanting to jump, but not taking a jump. I have finally had admitted this to myself. I am glad that I took a break for a couple of days and had a self-recollection, of the things I wanted. Now, I have a plan ~ again ~. But this time I'll make a difference: I'll be brave.

 ~

The book that I just finished was Sarah Dessen's the Truth About Forever. I love that book because I could relate so much of the protagnost. I felt like I was reading my story (minus the boys in the book), and it made me think. You should read it. This is one of the books that had made me rethink of my life so I guess that gives you an impression how much I adored it.

That was the thing. You just never knew. Forever was so many different things. It was always changing, it was what everything was really all about. It was twenty minutes, or a hundred years, or just this instant, or any instant I wished would last and last. But there was only one truth about forever that really mattered, and that was this: it was happening. Right then, as I ran with Wes into that bright sun, and every moment afterwards. Look, there. Now. Now. Now ~ Sarah Dessen

87: Writer's block.

I had been diminishing. As time goes by my writing skills has been slowly withering; like a tree going to an autumn phase. Seeing my entries this year was disappointing compare to my previous years. During those times, writing had been a sole companion. A loyal and encouraging reader. But now, I felt like a stranger to my own journal. 

The feelings that I want to write about becomes a struggle. There would be times that I would find myself having a hard time composing. I don't know what's happening but recently ... it had always been like that. 

I am becoming more and more frustrated with writing because I no longer write like how I used to. If before, I felt running towards my journal. Now, I feel like running away from it. Now, writing is becoming a task that I am compelled to do, rather something I am free to do. 

There was no one to blame in my shortcoming but myself. I hope I can go back.

42: drifting.

It has been months when I realized that I haven't written anything that make sense. As of late, my journal entry is mostly in short paragraphs about how my day/week went. Most of the entry no longer contain the art that I have been trying to hone ever since.

When I started to work, everything became a little too limited. My availability becomes limited. The time of thinking becomes limited. The time for art is limited that sometimes it's no longer even in my schedule of "to-do's". I think the more time pass, the more I am losing my old self.

Most of the time, I have been blaming work and how it had placed me in the world of apoplexy. I blamed work about how it turned me into a programmed robot. But now, work was no longer "the blame" but rather, myself. I know that I am drifting; and I let myself drift. I no longer fought holding-on to myself. Thus, I let myself go.

The only payment that I give myself during my time of availability is an overindulgence of gluttony and vanity. I am shaping myself to be part of those people who are cemented to the standards of the world; to become someone with variety. To become someone, to the point of losing one's self to a world's pantomime.

I was thinking that maybe this is what it ought to be.

And so I let my clock tick; and I let myself drift.

38: a Taste of Drifting Away

I found myself staring at my journal for almost a minute or two. I know I would be writing something about how my day went. Though there are a lot of things that has happened, I realized that I found myself not being able to write a single word.

Well I did, write a few words but in the end, those words turned into a scratch.

A scratch.

Scratch.

Scratch.

If I remember it clearly one of my professors in writing told me that there are those people that when they start working, they drift off to their passions and become a slave of their work. Their life revolves around eating, working, having fun with friends, and sleeping. He had noticed this when his daughter who had a passion for writing had started working.

I remember that when I realized that I no longer don't know what to write about. Why suddenly writing becomes a responsibility that I need to fill rather than a hobby. I looked back at my past entries only to realize that my writings were mostly .... nonsensical and non-reflective.

They say that when people lived the real life, they had little time for sentimental things. They drift away towards ... the world of apoplexy.