The Search

The conventional way of finding yourself, a journey to get to know the person you are, is to travel the world. Just you, and your camera, in a world of new sights and smells and tastes and sounds; surrounded by people you won't see or remember ever again. You find yourself in places you've never been, backpacking across Europe- Paris, Vienna, Rome, Prague.

But me, I think I found myself right here, at home. In a time where the world is seized by a microorganism causing innumerable deaths worldwide, one desperately seeks escape from endless social media feed offering post upon post of information.

So I began drawing. I drew castles and moats. I drew an incredibly detailed sketch of a deer, standing regal and still in a forest; a whale shrouded in seafoam, a serpent, coiled and malevolent, and I drew cityscapes. I drew what I imagined Paris to be like, flutes of champagne and velvet curtains and the Seine under the moonlight. I drew Rome, marble sculptures and pillars and lightning and old, brown journals. I drew Turkey, hot air balloons dotting an orange sky, all detail washed out by the sun. And it felt like I was gathering pieces of me, and storing them in a safe, warm place.

I practiced singing, something I hadn't done properly in 4 years, because life has this habit of rushing past you as you struggle to match its pace. I sang until I'd memorized the sound of my voice. I recorded myself, picked out flaws, and improved on them. I played the piano, until my fingers cramped from holding down chords. My pieces felt like they were being held together, tightly, reverently.

Next came the painting. I love the way dry watercolor cakes can be brought to life with a few drops of water, revere how vivid and surreal oil paints look on canvas, adore the way poster paints diffuse into water; slow running nectar. And my pieces felt like if someone were to let go of them, they'd hold strong.

The conventional way to find oneself is to get out of your comfort zone, to have a story to tell. Me, I found myself in the comfort of my home, whistling tunelessly, headphones on, stroking at a canvas with a gentle determination. I've never been conventional. Maybe I was always meant to find myself where I last left myself- at home, doing what I love.