on a supposed to be busy monday, i saw myself just staring blankly at my desk. i hear my phone endlessly ringing, people chattering, and my email profusely alarming.
its a bit odd for someone as visual as me to actually notice these. so i tried plunging on the difference. i put my headset and played a cynthia alexander album on.
comfort in your strangeness. perfect!
i randomly reached a pen and started scribbling. funny how the lines and strokes fell on their places. how it decides its own length, how it figure out where to curve and how it weaved itself with the rest of the other lines.
eventually, the randomness turned its back from absence.
who can tell if they were really supposed to be there? who can say if they should be thin or thick? black or of a different color? or if its good or bad.
"why don't you use a pencil?" a friend wondered while he was staring at how i drew one boring afternoon.
"i guess, i am just more comfortable using pens," i answered.
"e, what if you made a mistake?"
"then i own it."
"you take the mistake and make something out of it, that is the beauty of being imperfect. you just have to be brave enough not to hesitate because the moment you do, you will never know what is up ahead. and i guess, in this life, regret is the only thing worst than being selfish."
and for that, thank you for making me draw again.