log #2 - camera obscura
Prior to this entry, I didn't write for 6 months. I endured witholding interior monologues, forcefully laying them to rest. I would fake optimism that they're somewhere to be dug up among all the ideas that probably had potential, but it would be futile. Somewhere within the map of my mind is an abyssal void.
Most of the time my memory recall fails. I attempt to mask this in front of friends, but those who I am frequently in the presence of have unfortunately noticed to the point where masking it becomes an indicator of concern.
My camera roll helps to a point. While there are visual triggers in each picture, it’s mainly of the facts of the event rather than the feeling that existed alongside it. My mom once joked ‘people don’t exist in your camera roll.’ If you were to somehow have access to it, you’d find orchids, macros of insects (butterflies, snails, spiders), plants (mainly orchids) and anxiously taken snaps of locations taken while walking. But amidst all these photos, I don’t see the arguably the most important person. Myself. I see the image, but I don’t see, or for better words recall, who I was. The ego?
During this non-writing period, I let life flow around me as I carried on with the same routines hoping for something different. Hoping that an agent of change would enter my life rather than seeking it for myself. Cue manic pixie dream girl. Adventure would surely come my way if I wait. Waiting in the same location, interacting with the same people, with all the variables relatively remaining the same. I’d dream up ideas of action, hoping the remedy would be inaction. I will travel. I will see the world. I will seek new experiences. As long as I don’t have to seek the journey. What is it you’re trying to avoid?