APPLETASTIC

Before I had a moment to spare to stop and savour the sweet December air, the year was over.

2011 was grey, forgettable, save the few spectacular moments. I worked hard on occasion; too hard, a couple of times. But mostly, I accomplished nothing of note, stopped believing in some things, gave up on more.

I was hoping at least I had drawing to hold on to, but seeing as I could go without it for two months at a time, it simply means it didn’t matter that much, too. Then it became an issue of whether there was any purpose behind it – and why I couldn’t find the balance between that and design. If I’m not passionate enough to produce good work, if I can’t, then I won’t draw. That should be fair enough. Despite the fact that drawing used to be a form of therapy, even comfort, at times when things got a little crazy.

To a greater extent as time went by, some people would realise I was withholding a lot more writing from this blog. That’s probably because I have found a place to run to whenever need be. A place without restriction or audience, where I get to see my thoughts spelt out in words, plain as day.

It’s for the conversations I have with myself, the most sombre notions, rants with generous injections of a certain f word, senseless remarks, biased criticisms, decision making, depressing episodes, self-reminders.. more truth than I would ever reveal or admit to altogether. I call that freedom. In a warped sense of course. Yet the real sort of freedom is far from this.

I’d spent the latter half of 2011 questioning if what I was doing was what I wanted. Whether it made me happy. My answer is that some people don’t just find what they want to do with their lives so easily. People hang on for more reasons than you could imagine. Tiring of it too soon is unbecoming, and being delusional for thinking you’d make the cut anywhere else.

But with the benefit of the doubt, and since you can’t afford to second guess every decision you make, the best bet is to go ahead anyway.

Just because it’s a new year doesn’t mean things are going to change; it’s nothing more than an indicator of time. Maybe I’ll find it, what I want. Maybe never.

-

What have I been doing all this while?

My body finally breaking down is its way of telling me that I have had enough, that I need to stop obssessing over work that doesn’t mean much to anyone else. To be a chronic worrier hurts so bad from all the sleepless nights and days of attempting to quell the feeling, which exacerbated it, on the contrary. I was actually doing more just so I’d not be deemed as not having put in enough. Surely I didn’t want the latter to happen, hence I took it the hard way, realising too belatedly that putting myself through all that, was what killed.

But don’t you disappoint (wait, were there even expectations.), don’t you screw up because how often do you get a project this significant to you? Still, it’s my own damned fault for not having figured where to draw the line at, and how little or how much is sufficient. Guess only experience can back you up with wiser and more valid decisions.

I feel every ounce of energy has been drained (or expelled radically through this terrible coughing fit that’s been on for days) and I’m left hanging by a thread, not the least concerned about how the last 3 weeks came to be. They say hate the game, not the players. Finish what you started.

Truth be told, what an awfully miserable time. Can’t turn back now – just do it.

-

But was it worthwhile?