Yeah, you.One of the presents I got for xmas was this beautifully handcrafted notebook. The cover's got some lovely green dry leaves on it. It smells like earth. like my childhood. I love it. I decided to make it a journal. a paper journal. My first entry was just so weird.
I actually stopped and thought through the whole thing: what do I really want to write about? it's a journal, so basically not only I can write the daily events but I have that sort of "sense of security" a journal gives. the privacy, the freedom of writing exactly what you think.
It got me thinking about anonymousness and the trap you fall into when you have freedom of expression in your hands. have you ever thought about it? have you ever lived that? Having so much freedom, not knowing what to do with it. not having excuses to be your true self. turning the joy of freedom of expression into fear of what can come out of it. This is not a complaint. not at all. it's just recognizing the price of things. pointing at the irony of the human nature and it's continous lack of directions or sense of certainty. Nothing major, you see.
As for the journal, well... I have my stories to tell. Specially reflecting about the last year, the past 3 years actually, since I moved here. the people I've met. the people I've loved. the people I still care about and are now gone. I came to realise that I will never be able to truly write about them openly to a crowd. I'll keep them anonymous to the world; and keep their importance anonymous to themselves. my most valuable treasure is hidden deep under my skin.
So when I'm always writing in first person, referring to the second person; honestly, you can consider "you" ... yourself. Reading this, already makes you a potencial part of my "art"; whatever that means. everything might sound very generic at times, but I'm hoping you can see a little bit of yourself in one or two words I write at times.
I read you, I see your pictures, I hear you, I heart you.
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