Storytelling

I have my luck, and then I have my misfortune. My life has been an endless rollercoaster. The pandemic feels like a distant memory, yet its impact lingers. It has twisted my life into tricky knots. Loose ends trip me up, often where it hurts the most.

Resilience is becoming an ugly word. It’s heavy. It carries weight. Knowing better comes with consequences. There are trade-offs, endless bargaining with many variations of the devil. I often find myself at crossroads or dead ends. Either way, there’s always a choice to be made.

Sometimes, I just want out. No, often I just want out. But I’m not that brave yet. So, I cling to what passes for a life. I hold on to whatever remains of hope. Maybe it will be better tomorrow. Maybe there will be a sign. Maybe there will be a miracle.

My fairy tale is a story of one. It’s about quiet, slow days, forests, and once-upon-a-times. In this tale, the witch has been right all along.

My hands ache to create. The invisible nudges at me. It whispers, “Tell the story.” Shape the fragments of truth that only a few will understand. Weave the magic. Hide the secret in plain sight. Send out the call. They will know. They will hear. They will come.

I often find solace in the act of making art. It’s a form of therapy. The colors blend, and the shapes emerge. I lose myself in the process. In those moments, I forget the struggles. I forget the pain. I am simply an artist, lost in my world.

When I share my work, I invite others into my world. I hope they find something relatable, something that resonates.

Each piece I create carries a piece of my story. It’s a conversation starter. We all have our battles, our triumphs, and our dreams. I want to tell about my stories without having to tell it. It hurts but it also relieves. It heals somehow even if I don't seem to see nor feel it. I am sure it does. I have to believe it does.