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Marks We Leave Where We Go; Live or Exists

Marks We Leave Where We Go; Live or Exists

I am a human being.

Flawed, imperfect, stubborn, I can go on listing out what I think are the rough edges as I call it. I have to come to believe that I am probably an uncut diamond, ok fine; coal. But, I have also put through the test of time, pressure, and lots of pain.

I am a visual person, meaning I think in images. Since I started painting, I see things from a different perspective. If I am looking at something with an intent of writing, then I think very differently. Yes, I am told I overthink.

I am an artist. Overthinking is my thing. Shhhhh...

This year, I will turn 39. Very quietly. There will not be any celebration, any parties, just me thanking my parents and God for an opportunity to live in this beautiful world.

Every year, about this time, I start munching over some self-reflection.

I happened to be asked about the back cover description of my book. Now it had become unbelievable; I can't believe I did that, I don't know how to explain, kind of story. Curiosity is our nature. So I do have to come up with an answer that doesn't hurt anyone.

That question led me to think about the paintings I left behind. And the ones I tore apart. When the news came to me, it hurt. Of course, it hurts.

I felt helpless. I was in my studio, surrounded by all these paintings of three years of work. Every art piece, every writing piece is a part of me, out there in the world. As I looked at them, as I felt suffocated, as I couldn't breathe, I took a knife to them. Every tear was a hole in my heart. There is no point in regretting.

The next thing I thought was I want the remaining pieces of me back. The house was scrubbed clean of our existence. When a home built on the trust of 'this is our home,' how much can you get rid of.

I have been trying to get my paintings; they belong with me. They are pieces of me, and they were made for something, and someone that doesn't exist.

The first house, when I left that one, I left my mark everywhere. Not intentionally. Now I realize that is what happens when you live.

Really live.

The first time I went back to the house to pick up last of my stuff, I was taken aback. I did expect it, not so soon. The wall behind the blue couch with pictures was the most hurtful to look at. It's life. Anytime two minds are involved its complicated if we want it to be.

The house is full of little things that I have picked. Isn't that funny? Today accidentally I bumped into a recent picture of my ex. He seems happy, grateful to God for that. Kiddo looks happy. Thankful for that too.

Then, I saw the little black and white painting I did because I had leftover paint from a big one I did. It is still where I left it. So is another one. That spiked my curiosity.

Ok, remember: I started by admitting I am a human being, pretty flawed one.

I looked through few more pictures. What struck me is not that these things or their presence. But the thought, the comfort of thinking, that I lived there. I mean 'lived.'

It was the fourth house I lived in. But I can not say the same about the other three.

Now, I am thinking back to why I was not living all those years; I was merely existing.

Sitting far away from the pain and disappointment and confusion, after accepting what it is, seeing those little marks reminds me that 'I lived.'

I built a home with someone, with love and so much hope and we lived, for a however short time it was.

That's what I want. A Life!

I want to live life, in present moments. And I get glimpses of it. And, oh my goodness, I can not tell you the beauty of it using words. Maybe I can paint it. I will have to try.

I was fortunate enough to have a short burst of beautiful moments that I could have even imagined happened. It is as if a dream. It came, and then it was gone leaving me grateful. I am sure marks were left on all sides.

Suddenly, I am also thinking, maybe I am asking for life experiences, and all this is happening at the same time because I am asking for it. If that's case, universe, let me make it clear. One or Two at a time. Please. I am getting old. I can not handle them as I used to be able to.


If you read this, leave a comment where you felt that you lived rather than existed.

It is the only prayer I leave today, May you get to live today!




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