There are some people who were created and brought to Earth, with the pleasent disposition to garner a whole menagerie of friends. There are others, though, who simply do not. Is this "pre-disposition", pre-defining our destination and lot in life, or are we (I) just finding a convenient excuse for our (self imposed) solitari-ness.
My twenty-eeef! birthday is approaching and I am looking to it with the same amount of dread and trepidation you would a circumcision - or castration, whichever you find more terrifying. I used to love birthdays. The cake, the candles, the PRESENTS! The presents were always amazing. Well, there was THAT one year where my mother gave me a packet of black chinese cat erasers... and also the time when i got a furry giraffe photo-frame...
%^&*(*&^%$%%^*(*!^!^!!!!
Oh Sod It.
Birthdays were never that great for me. However, the big 2-0 presents an even greater reality-realization for me. No longer will the word, TEEN, grace the end of my digit. Gone were the days of reading Daddy-Long-Legs over and over again (and getting away with it). And darn, is that one more wrinkle I see on my brow?
Despite all these apparent tragedies, the thing that bugs me the most is the fact that, well, I paid a visit to my Life File. It was empty.
...
Nothing I ever did, ever completed, ever thought I accomplished, ever mattered! I always tried (albeit consciously or not remains a mystery) to put up a very impersonal front to my friends. Possessing as well, a very unshakable belief in using accomplishments and works done by my own strength, in validating and defining ME, Clara, as a person worthy enough for space on this Earth.
It is, perhaps, time for me...
Wait.
No.
Not perhaps.
I HAVE decided to finally unravel the mess which is me, (a puzzle even to the authoress), and unfurl my true identity. The genuine characteristics which form my personhood. Not the loud, boisterous voice which i choose daily to hide behind. Nor the running (never did define me, nor my muscles). My art will never be great if I do not let my signature style flow. Worst of all, I can never be a better daughter, express my true emotions as a partner to my significant other, or have the personal closeness I secretly yearn for with my sister.
Many people have looked at me, incredulously I must add, when I mention I am postponing my University Education in Vancouver for a year. I admit, I kick myself up the arse sometimes when I think about it. Thankfully, these episodes are far and few between now, if not I will be paying a visit to the doctor for hernia surgery for my bereaved hiney right now.
There are alot of things alot of people do not know about me and it will take alot of time to explain why I do what I do. What I do not know about myself could probably fill one of those books I plan to write someday.
I guess the housing situation (a desperate lack of it in Vancouver), has thrust me very forcefully in front of the mirror to face a reflection in which I am loathe to examine. However, upon closer inspection, twenty years of neglect have left it in a very sorry state, close to shatter.
I drew this flower quite some time ago. The Passionflower's bloom drew me to draw it. After years of hiding in a tight bunch, with a huge stick-up-my-arse, I have finally decided, to Unfurl. And this time, its no longer by Light. Just Clara.
