I’m torn between turning this place into a nest of melodramatic concerns regarding my personal life or into a totally detached extension of the self that has no relevance to my inner workings. Skimming through this site, I guess it’s always going to be a mix of both.
I think that’s also why I haven’t written here in a while. I’ve been writing a lot on paper lately. Aside from that, I also keep a journal — as if I don’t have enough things to say. Anyway, the other month I bought a pack of paper which I love and since then, I have been on this unrealistic mission of making something everyday. I say this is unrealistic because I still have a job. These things are only possible when you are on a sabbatical. But I try nonetheless to keep up.
Sometimes I paint and sometimes I write quotes that have meaning to me. And sometimes, I write my thoughts. Thoughts that are too much and too intense that I don’t know if anybody is ready for it. But this technique works because I have found an outlet. I can say that as much as I like to express myself, I tend to share only fragments to people. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t enjoy being mysterious or secretive, it’s just that my brain is such a mess at times that I don’t feel like my friends deserve so much baggage to be dumped on their shoulders.
(Segue… This is why:
The last time I opened myself up to somebody, it felt like an open-heart surgery. Not that I would know how that would actually feel, but I would always imagine sharing pieces of myself as something similar to such. Totally paralyzed as this person peers in and cuts me open — while trying to fix something that’s about to explode or something that is almost about beyond repair from chronic fatigue. It’s dangerous because this person can also break you even more. But you trust and sometimes it really does feel better. But it’s an exhausting procedure, both for the patient and the doctor. And I really can’t afford to have a lot of open-heart surgeries these days for 2 practical reasons: #1 is that my regular doctor has flown to Paris and #2 is I don’t enjoy being cut open so many times. Who actually enjoys that anyway?)
So back to the main topic:
I have this current mission called The Brown Paper Project. Simply named because I use brown paper. There is no deeper meaning. Of course, I’d like to call myself an artist, but I don’t want to be pretentious. I love using brown paper, that’s it. There are moments when you do works just simply because you like doing it, and you don’t have to give it a stupid, complicated name. Remember that. If you’re a creative sort of person and you start recognizing that, please for the love of french fries, don’t become a douche bag and call half of your works with names people can’t even pronounce.
Moving forward… Sorry, as you can see I may have ADD.
I shall write my favorite lines mostly in ink. Of course this will be a long running project because after everything is ready, I will have all of these glued down to a special place. And they will have a whole wall in my future, humble dream house. This was inspired by 2 things: by an interesting old lady I have never met (only through stories) with a house full of post-its and framed quotes and also by what I used to do when I was younger when I glued down all of my drawings on our living room wall.
This shall be a project that will be on-going for as long as I am inspired and also to keep people from having open-heart surgeries of their own.
I’m not much of a “doctor” as some of my good friends are but I’ve learned that reading is also a form of understanding and healing. One day, my house will be open to friends and family, and they will read a certain note that speaks to them, and they will feel better without knowing they were actually in trouble.
Have a lovely Sunday, may you find something at inspires you today.