Usually when writing articles I already have a resemblance of how the article is going to go, inspired during the shoot but mostly during the editing process. However at this very moment I sit with a blank screen staring back at me as hard as I'm staring at it. I never intended to share moments or pieces of my personal living on my blog. I always intended for it to be a release of my intellectual prowess - heaven only knows that no one is really trying to listen to the inexplicitic, raw and unfinished opinions of a bite sized youngling, who just freshly escaped from the molding grips of high school. But as the blazzzing brightness of the computer screen keeps my eyes solemnly stuck to it and the eternal buzz from the small fan heater in the corner of the room evades my gripping fear of silence. All I can think about is the fire that burns within.
Between feminism, my refusal to cook and my instilled belief that I'd end up alone because no other human would/could understand or tolerate my ambition, I've found a match. I'm still surprised it's happened. I'm waiting for it to end because all good things must-right? It's poetic that this grippling fear of things ending is what might instigate an end.
Putting new flames aside, my mind, heart, body and soul hangs heavy as I confront the wrongs I've done, part knowing and unknowingly. It's clear the lure of a free and open world, one with boundless opportunities and no demand for infuriating school uniform, mesmerized me. A bitter combination of success and social media culminated a booming lifestyle that regretfully left some people out. This was never intentional. It's hard to fix something when you've done wrong especially if you can't deny yourself the truth that it was all you. It's so, so much easier to run away from all the emotions. To throw them in a grey pit in the back of your mind and only recognize them when they escape using a ladder made from a song or a scent that triggered a memory. It's so much easier to run. It's so much harder to seek forgiveness when you've run so far the people you ran away from are angry and tired of screaming for your attention and for you to come back. I've come back but it seems that perhaps I'm too late. Perhaps I ran too far too quickly and the anger blinds them. Rightfully so. It seems that I can no longer run as I've run into the grey pit and there's no escape. There's only a plee for forgiveness without an idea of how to earn it. |
Styling & Art Direction: Kiara Danielle Pather
Photography: Bra D
Words: Kiara Danielle Pather
Photography: Bra D
Words: Kiara Danielle Pather
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