For so long, I did not belong to myself. I belonged to the expectations, conditioning, and programming forced upon me. My body was not mine; my thoughts were the echoes of other people’s voices. I had no choice but to surrender to the aching pain that ruled my chest. My only escape was a secret refuge inside the confines of my mind, a sanctuary I built for myself, a place where I could retreat from the rest of the world. It was not perfect, but it was safe, within the limits of my comfort zone.

In the quiet cocoon of my solitude, swallowed by darkness, with only a flashlight to guide the way and music as my sole companion, I would reach for my sketchbook and pen. They would transport me to a place of bliss and compassion. I realized then that I enjoyed my own company, that solitude could be my teacher. Yet despite this realization, I remained surrounded by the loud voices lingering at the outskirts of my mind voices that deluded the delusions.

At the time, I was oblivious to the fact that those voices were not mine. Judging myself harshly, my inner critic grew stronger as I surrendered to submission. But then, in a season of transition, when the sun set on one chapter and rose on another, I found myself in the arms of an unfamiliar city a place where the sea kisses the sky, where history whispers through winding streets, and golden dusk lingers like a forgotten dream. There, for the first time, I had the chance to be alone, to live in real solitude. That’s when my journey began, the journey that shaped me into the person painting these words today.

At the threshold of this new beginning, I carried the weight of other people’s expectations, my mind clouded with emotions that did not belong to me. Every decision felt like an impossible maze, and the crushing uncertainty drowned me in tears of disappointment, disappointment in myself, in life, in everything. Eventually, the tears turned numb, and my heart hardened; it became a cold, bloodless vessel. My identity disappeared behind bars; she was desperately screaming to be noticed, but my attention was elsewhere.

I looked in the mirror and had forgotten who I was looking at. It was terrifying. As the pain intensified, I continued to dissolve at an increasingly alarming rate. An existential crisis veered at me through a dirty glass window. Time blurred. I could barely recognize the tears falling from my eyes, but time wasn’t passing at all. It felt infinite or maybe nonexistent. Could it have been both?

I felt like a spectator of my own existence, watching my hands move, unaware that I was the one behind the wheel. I questioned everything: Who am I? What am I? Am I part of this reality, or is this reality part of my imagination? Am I a brain in a vat?

Everything felt surreal. Reality bent in directions I could neither follow nor understand. Years seemed to pass in an instant, accelerating beyond comprehension, breaking the laws of physics and shattering our fragile understanding of time. The frames on the wall changed substantially. Smoke cultivated electricity, and mirrors ruptured into paper cuts. I found myself thinking: have I met the truth that was once forgotten?
The deception dissolved into dark matter.

Then one morning, I woke up feeling crisp, the air around me light and new. For the first time in a long time, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for acknowledging my body, for the soft air filling my lungs, for the sun’s gentle warmth. The air caressed my center, and as I exhaled, I let go of the undesirable and It felt like I carved out space for my own existence.

Pain is temporary, just as life is momentary. I move through peaks and valleys with persistence, seeking light in the midst of it all. Solitude was my mentor, and I became the awakened disciple. I studied patience and diligence. I examined life with appreciation. Sparks of contentment flicker through my skin as I gaze at the sky and shed a flaring, joyful tear. As I observe the tear, feeling it glide gently down my cheek, time exists only in the here and now.

A quiet awakening.