Song of the post: Moonlight by Henry Lau (purely for vibes)
I scroll through Instagram or Twitter, seeing lots of art and wishing I could do this and that and that and oh, that! I hate this feeling. I hate it when I don’t enjoy the art that I’m seeing, instead just comparing myself and my basic skills and my brain devoid of original ideas to thousands of people whose work I admire, who are seasoned artists, or just people who simply enjoy the thing they do.
I forget to do that. I forget to enjoy the art piece that I’m looking at. I forget that the things I see are by hundreds of different people, if not thousands, and the urge to be them, the urge to be anyone but me at that moment is real.
I forget me. I forget how it is to be me, to make art like me, to enjoy art like me, to like things like me. I try remembering but sometimes it’s vague, tickling the edge of my brain, and sometimes that is enough for me to latch onto and haul myself up. But sometimes, my fingers grapple but can’t get a good grip on it because I’m so nervous and sweaty. So, I let it go then.
It’ll come back eventually.
I remember friends’ birthdays till the day before but forget to message them on the day of.
Until last year, my phone’s gallery would be filled with pictures of the sky. I had promised myself that I would take a picture of the sky at least once a day, in the hopes that I would get out more. At least to the balcony. But most days, when I manage enough time to get out of the bed where I sit to work, I leave my phone behind.
I don’t forget, I don’t think, but I guess I just want to leave it all behind, even if it is for a few moments. Just forget it all and simply bask in the golden light of the setting sun.
I don’t remember all the skies that I’ve seen, but they have provided me with solace that I cannot find elsewhere.
I know I forget ideas, so my one note is filled with randome words and thoughts and voice notes that move me to tears because I had forgotten it existed, and forgot that I could even think like that.
I can’t remember the last time my hand was in no pain.
There are some recipes that I absolutely love, like this chicken tawa fry that I’ve made approximately two hundred times. But every time I make it, at every single step, after each ingredient, I refer to the recipe I wrote down in my three-journals old journal that is fading away with time, with the intention of making a cute illustration for it. The intention was never forgotten but the recipe always does.
I remember some lyrics to some Korean songs but forget what it means right after I read it along with the song.
When I reread a fanfiction thinking I hadn’t read it, only to be absorbed by it so much that my workday passes by in a snap and the 50-thousand-word piece is over and my work is not done but my heart feels enriched.
Every time I look at the moon, it feels like I’m seeing her for the first time, always taking my breath away. It’s good that I forget how pretty she can be because otherwise how else will I appreciate her beauty?
Sometimes I see the sunset and think that’s the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen but then I see it again the next day and go, “Wow, that’s so beautiful.”
(I had promised myself to write a blog post by the end of February because I wanted to go back to my roots so here it is. Also WordPress is making really fucking difficult for something that takes like 5 minutes to post. )
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