I haven’t written for this blog in quite a long while, although I have been chipping away at a few drafts; slowly, painfully. The mould and rot will lead the way was the last post I published, and it seems that I did manage to follow the path of mouldy patches to reunite with the Light after all.
I miss writing whatever I felt like on my precious blog. Nothing has felt safe in a long while, and I want to return to this safe space today to share a story about my doodles with you.
I started a new journal last week. Well, multiple journals.
I am working on my own revival; digging up the energy that never left me, showing the Fire that I am indeed worthy… Life has shifted again, and I am finally ready to recover the pieces of me scattered inside. It was a long process, but it’s fallen into place now — all I need is to settle down & settle in.
I have moved into a new place, one that is more nest-worthy and one that isn’t assaulting my every sense, that respects me. It is a weird feeling to look around a clean, peaceful home and not feel like I don’t deserve it. I don’t feel lucky. I don’t feel happy. I am just here, and I feel meant to be,
even though something is missing.
While I was setting up one of my new journals, I was looking through my older bullet journals from 2017 to 2019. Compared to the last one I had and used in 2020, they felt more alive and real. It was heart-warming seeing the doodles in there on almost every page. The freedom to be creative and illustrate my day to day and my plans… The hopefulness, the fire; these are things that I have been lacking lately.
With this new level of a brand new everything comes a brand-new urge to pick myself up and reassemble the pieces of my Empire that got knocked out by the chubby foot of Life during its tamper tantrum. I have picked a few things back up without too much violence, but some parts I’m still frozen in fear over; can’t face them yet.
I have not been feeling particularly creative, but there is this thing that I can hear in my head.
It’s like a distant buzzing, loud enough to drive me crazy, but not loud enough to make out what it is. Something’s trying real hard to get my attention, and I am so ready to listen, so open… My feet feel like they are just sinking in the sand my oceans have turned to. Gravity won’t let go of me, but all I want to do is move two steps forward, just enough to get away from this.
It was a really long week and an even longer couple of months for me. Whenever I stop to think about it, I realize that maybe I have been “tired” for much longer than that. It feels like pulling a loose thread from a jumper that seems to run much deeper than you thought — I would rather not follow this thread in fear of ending up naked in this cold reality.
So, this being a brand-new chapter where I can make better decision this time, I decided to start a project to help me switch one bad habit with a better one. My mission is to replace the “doom-scrolling” on my phone by doodling whenever I get bored or overwhelmed at work.
Now, I wanted to take a moment and share the doodles that I have created so far during this painfully long week. There is a doodle per working day and I have added them in the order they were drawn just to give the illusion of a timeline and meaning in my existence that week:
Just a little reminder that you can find these pictures along with some of my other artworks on my art account on Instagram: click right here.
I’m unsure of what came out of it, why there are so many tentacles in my head these days — but I love them. Not perfect nor finished. Just a bunch of lines that somehow happen to look how I feel inside, how my fire is made out of tentacles lately and just spinning in a little cocoon that we made out of the carcasses from the past…
I have never stopped being myself. I guess there was just one part that was louder than the rest, drowning out the heart-wrenching sounds of the world I knew crashing down. I am not one thing. I am not multiple facets or tidy habits or even the art I produce. I am “a big ball of nonsense”, all it does is, feel an ooze and reflect the Universe in its own broken ways.
I hope you never look at me and expect me to be a certain way or remain a certain way because you might be disappointed. I have long ago decided to embrace this; the instability, the lack of constants. Only changes, only ashes and confused flowers blooming in the weirdest of places.
I got a little overwhelmed by it all this time around, but in all fairness, I got some pretty cowardly blows to my shaky knees. I am slowly picking all my things back up, getting my mojo back as you might say. It’s been awful, but I remember now that I will always rise up from the ashes, in spite of myself & everything.
I didn’t want to rush through things or feel like I had to force myself to get any simple thing done. This is what my experience was before, when I got knocked down and had to rebuild everything. This time it feels different. It is all coming back naturally, flowing through me as a gentle river making its way to the sea.
I fear the river might flood pretty soon, as the rain accumulated behind these mountains is bound to find its way downstream too. I am not too afraid because even though I have barely found my footing again, I am ready for this mess.