Be The Light

Recently I started painting. Nothing fancy. Just "paintful" versions of doodles or scribbles.

My canvas? My bedroom walls.

Each work depicts confusion, anger, the need to break free, the need for direction, the need for approval.

Since I was kid, I was never allowed to do within the reams of my parents' common sense and practicality. "You don't have any talent in drawing, just solve your math problems." "Photography is too expensive a hobby, and besides that's not your talent."

Parents know best. Moms know best.

Is there a Bantay Bata for emotional regression? Sure there's no school for parenting. Is there a school for living, for breaking free?

My shell. My hardened shell. Lava and snow had solidified my soul. My mind's too tired. I'm on autopilot now. Autopilot to self-sabotage. Now I understand what they meant when they say easier to give up, to conspire with the devil in you. Now I understand what they meant when they say it takes courage to stand back up, to see the light, to embrace the light then to be the light.