Gripping the edge with our tippy toes we're trying to grasp some sense of reality - where 'fun' is consumption and stumbling escapades and throwing-up in the colour splattered toilet bowl. Here is a place we'd rather avoid - in limbo between then and now; waking up to find ourselves refreshed, away.
Finding beauty in the mundane; Liberation in imprisonment; depth in shallow minds;
Is an awfully difficult task. For fear of falling backward into darkness
I turn to find a light of promise in the Lonely.
It feels so crazy looking back on my younger self. In lecture the other night it was asked
of us, 'what was happening in 2003' and I found that even now I can't remember even
knowing my own name at eight let alone the political position of the world at large.
If thirteen was a place I'd have known it's colour and taste but never my position as a woman.
Later at nineteen there was love and emotion and such growth, a craving for understanding
Twenty's end is like waking up. But realism can make the world seem a dark, dark place.
And yet there is so much to learn.
Are we meant to fit in or is there strength in learning, growing, oneness?
A little while ago I talked about 'my political life as a twenty something
spectator of style and femininity' but have found myself deeply uninspired
by the positivity that I had hoped the project to be. To me, I see such
dependency, fervent mimicry in my environment rather than sunshine
and rainbows and the general fabulousness that I feed off of
on other online spaces. Where is femininity? Where is individuality? Where is
free thought, motivation, and creativity? The beautiful things become the ordinary
in our perceptions of life. In fashion the raw cut edges of McQueen bring me
to tears, and the dressings of the most inspirational women give me strength
to walk outside in my fur stole. Perhaps there is a much deeper issue when it comes
to style that I so long to examine.
Chapter One: Loneliness.