(no subject)
I think my schedule is set, and for the last time. I have to inquire about this one mandatory course, so I guess I have to set myself for summer school. I must find out about that.
I'm bouncncing back and forth in thoughts... swallowing pride now and then. Trying to figure out what is best for me.
I'm not sure if it's such a good idea, last time I had a class with her... things didn't turn out well, well at least one thing has changed.. my ego has been shot down dead =) for the better. What was hard for me, and what I had to learn was to be modest. I pretended to be modest when I first started off in art but today I'm only compelled to be modest in heart and mind. I don't think I exceed any expectations, I'm still learning greatly, I can't even say I'm an artist... it's such a long journey, and I don't even know if it'll be a journey I'll continue. I have this other yearning to write. I want to tell so many stories, stories of others, I love listening to people's stories, and sometimes I would like to be their voice and words. There are so many people out there who carry their stories like little treasures that's crying out to be heard. I would like to be their ears and hands.
The thing about art is that once lost, its lost forever. I say lost, when exchanged in the hands of the artist and the buyer. I have this umbilical cord attachment towards my work, in a way.. it is my baby. It is only one of a kind, there can never be two of the same, can't never be duplicated. Where as, if I were to write... at least in that, I can have my original, yet share it with the world.
Dilemma dilemma. I go on and on.. and I still haven't found an answer...
I wish I had a simple mind, I wish I could, but I would not be happy, but I wish I could. If I could, I would go get my degree, whatever necessary, find a job, make money. Live a comfortable life. But that is not me. I can't escape it. I have this damming passionate drive. .
I'm learning to comfort myself, that age is not a factor, that time is not a factor, that money is not a factor. But reality sets in, and I find myself a fool, romanticizing again. If I had the courage and determination enough, I would just set off, leave school, family and friends, go find solitude in the comfort of nature, travel somewhere, open my eyes to change. If I had the courage and determination enough. In slight, I'm working at that, learning to council my independence.
I'm learning to be sensitive to my own feelings. I know, I've been denying love, I've been supressing my own emotions... I guess I've been afraid for too long. I'm slowly learning to believe in love. I don't know why it's so unbelievably hard for me to believe in it. I suppose my parents weren't the best of my inspiration. All my life I've been uncomfortable in the presence of love.
And then, there's him...
Sometimes I feel like I've been awake only since yesterday. IT seems like these things are hitting me so slow, I've been so preoccupied in highschool with independence; I left my heart detached when I last saw him. Summer of 1999. Constant changes in my youth, having to adjust to new school, having new set of friends every year. Highschool prepared me for independence. But all those years, I was missing a large portion of my heart. I'm learning to reclaim my emotions, accepting it, trying to comfort myself that emotions are not a sign of weakness (you can see how severe it was). I'm still learning to feel and let that feeling grow, to give it a chance, to give enough water and sun.. and to nurture it, in the past I was too quick to uproot it.
I'm reclaiming everything she stole from me. I never realized just how much she has indeed affected me, in a way she cut off a huge portion of my heart, but I did gain many other strengths. I do not despise her, it has been a lesson.
I can look back and smile.
I'm bouncncing back and forth in thoughts... swallowing pride now and then. Trying to figure out what is best for me.
I'm not sure if it's such a good idea, last time I had a class with her... things didn't turn out well, well at least one thing has changed.. my ego has been shot down dead =) for the better. What was hard for me, and what I had to learn was to be modest. I pretended to be modest when I first started off in art but today I'm only compelled to be modest in heart and mind. I don't think I exceed any expectations, I'm still learning greatly, I can't even say I'm an artist... it's such a long journey, and I don't even know if it'll be a journey I'll continue. I have this other yearning to write. I want to tell so many stories, stories of others, I love listening to people's stories, and sometimes I would like to be their voice and words. There are so many people out there who carry their stories like little treasures that's crying out to be heard. I would like to be their ears and hands.
The thing about art is that once lost, its lost forever. I say lost, when exchanged in the hands of the artist and the buyer. I have this umbilical cord attachment towards my work, in a way.. it is my baby. It is only one of a kind, there can never be two of the same, can't never be duplicated. Where as, if I were to write... at least in that, I can have my original, yet share it with the world.
Dilemma dilemma. I go on and on.. and I still haven't found an answer...
I wish I had a simple mind, I wish I could, but I would not be happy, but I wish I could. If I could, I would go get my degree, whatever necessary, find a job, make money. Live a comfortable life. But that is not me. I can't escape it. I have this damming passionate drive. .
I'm learning to comfort myself, that age is not a factor, that time is not a factor, that money is not a factor. But reality sets in, and I find myself a fool, romanticizing again. If I had the courage and determination enough, I would just set off, leave school, family and friends, go find solitude in the comfort of nature, travel somewhere, open my eyes to change. If I had the courage and determination enough. In slight, I'm working at that, learning to council my independence.
I'm learning to be sensitive to my own feelings. I know, I've been denying love, I've been supressing my own emotions... I guess I've been afraid for too long. I'm slowly learning to believe in love. I don't know why it's so unbelievably hard for me to believe in it. I suppose my parents weren't the best of my inspiration. All my life I've been uncomfortable in the presence of love.
And then, there's him...
Sometimes I feel like I've been awake only since yesterday. IT seems like these things are hitting me so slow, I've been so preoccupied in highschool with independence; I left my heart detached when I last saw him. Summer of 1999. Constant changes in my youth, having to adjust to new school, having new set of friends every year. Highschool prepared me for independence. But all those years, I was missing a large portion of my heart. I'm learning to reclaim my emotions, accepting it, trying to comfort myself that emotions are not a sign of weakness (you can see how severe it was). I'm still learning to feel and let that feeling grow, to give it a chance, to give enough water and sun.. and to nurture it, in the past I was too quick to uproot it.
I'm reclaiming everything she stole from me. I never realized just how much she has indeed affected me, in a way she cut off a huge portion of my heart, but I did gain many other strengths. I do not despise her, it has been a lesson.
I can look back and smile.