Where have I been?

Maybe I should welcome myself back to this blog instead of welcoming you, dear reader. How many years has it been since I’ve done a review, or even posted a poem? Too many.

Where have I been and why did I quit this blog?

I know where I’ve been but I have no clue why I quit this blog. 

When I graduated from my degree in 2016, I had high hopes of what I was going to achieve. I was going to make it as a journalist and… and? I have no clue what I was thinking after that. I just knew that I was falling and I needed to grab onto something quick. I ended up working a couple of retail jobs, even working two office jobs – one with my old university.

Writing and reading took a back seat that first year out of university. I couldn’t bring myself to read even for pleasure and would write for a couple of hours then give up. I convinced myself I was really an artist and that I was never a writer.

I decided I was a photographer. As you can see from the image above, I did really try. Photography has always been second-nature for me but I could never separate photography, and writing. I guess I saw the world in pictures so I needed to capture that in any way I could.

In 2016, I applied to study creative writing and got an unconditional offer – I couldn’t afford the fees.

In 2018, I applied to study psychology at a prestigious and got an unconditional offer – if I went I would have to give up my job so I didn’t.

In 2019, I applied to go back to university to study an undergraduate in photography. I failed after a rather tense interview.

My whole life I have never known where I fit.

A lot of people don’t think I feel this way because I talk a lot and I have no fear when entering a room of people I don’t know but it’s always there at the back of my skull, pushing at me. I don’t seem to completely fit in no matter where I am. I feel like a misshapen jigsaw piece that has been forced into the larger picture but I’m still not the right pattern.

I think sometimes I forget that everything is connected. My reading is connected to my writing and my writing is connected to my art. I can’t have one without the other.

When I was at university, I didn’t think I was supposed to be there. I thought my writing was awful and I thought I just didn’t understand some of the people around me in class. When I worked in an office, whilst I liked everyone there, I didn’t get the system or the hierarchy. I always thought I was somehow a changeling and I shouldn’t be there at all.

I guess that’s why I gave up the blog.

The moment I knew that my plan wasn’t going to work out. I dropped that identity like a heavy coat. I stopped being a writer as soon as I decided that I had failed. I stopped being an artist as soon as I decided I had failed. I stopped blogging as soon as I – you get the idea.

I have a terrible habit of deciding before anyone else has said anything that I am terrible at something and I have failed. My brain, despite years of meditation and positive phrases, still tries to fit my work into two neat boxes: success and failure. I am my own worst enemy most of the time.

That’s why I’ve restarted this blog.

This blog reminds me of a time when I felt confident in my abilities and I was having fun. It’s a space that exists for me to dump my ramblings (like this one) and have people read it if they want but that’s not the main goal. The goal is for me to have a space that is mine, which is what I need right now.

Thanks for reading x


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