writing.

I never really felt as if I was attached to writing.

I never found myself enjoying writing essays or writing any kind of academic related pieces.
I’ve always thought the theme I would write about it as being interesting, but never felt very excited putting them on paper
to convey to others or to write a good essay for a prof or teacher.

I stopped reading as much as I used to, which also hindered my level of writing.

But, today I was writing in my journal, I wondered what it is to really like to write.

I’ve always loved to express myself in words. I’ve always found attachments to certain quotes or words that could express an emotion or even sound or have beautiful meanings. Each language possess a word that I have fallen in love with, and they will come out in my journal all the time. And yes, it has to do with the fact that I am corny, but I think there are some indications that I actually do like writing.

Writing, is a medium to communicate. It is used in many different ways and there are many different combinations of words that create certain kind of outcomes. I love writing when no one can potentially see it. You can use anykind of combinations of words and no one will judge you for it. The words you scribe on the paper then bounces back to your brains making meaning of the different words that were pushed out by my pen. There’s a feeling or organization of the words, the jumbled emotions and thoughts that are captured into words so that it  can be scrutinized and analyzed by the brain. All the overwhelming feeling just pours out into the page as my arm just keeps on moving to get out the last few drops of words, so that I can feel sane again.
I love writing, I love this process, and that’s why I still hold a diary til this day– it’s probably my 10th diary I have owned.

I wonder how many words I have placed on paper. I wonder how many questions and ideas have been inked into the pages.

I clearly have some kind of affair with words. And perhaps, I’m not learning something totally out of my interest.

How close is writing to you?

January 17, 1995

My life quickens as I age, and I wonder how much more fast paced it’s going to be when I turn 25, 30, or 35.

The life now is so much more convenient and our lives seemed to have been busier as ever.
And our personal life occupies our time very much… But there definitely are somethings that we should never forget.

17 years ago, Today, the Great Hanshin Earthquake that occurred in Hyogo prefecture.
I can’t say that I remember a whole lot of this day or the days to proceed. It’s like I have a recollection of photographs that
flash in my head. I don’t know if they are even accurate anymore. It could be that my head had filled in the blanks.
My family wasn’t affected, but I remembered having family friends losing a family member or many of them came to
stay for a few days in our house. Alot of people came in and out of the house. My Mom and I stayed a few days at other family houses.
Everything, seems to be a blur.

“HANA!”

I woke up in the middle of the night with the world around me shaking. I could here things violently bumping into each other, creating chaotic noises. My Mom had woken me up and she was hovered above me, maybe trying to protect me if anything fell. We grabbed our blankets and hurried downstairs to take refuge under the table. My Dad brought out the flash light and radio. The circular round table that we ate around turned into a refuge camp for our family. It wasn’t too big, my Mom hugged me close to her. I didn’t quite know what was going on. I just quietly kept close.

The outside was horrible. Things had fallen apart. Old houses had collapsed. There was no water running, but a kind neighbor with a well shared her water supply. We would carry them in our hands, fetch water with our plastic buckets, since we needed them to flush the toilets or boil water in tea kettle to take a shower, since we had no electricity either. I remember my mother using least amount of water as she could, scrubbed my body in the cold bathroom. Pasta was boiled in sports drinks. We had an abundance of those since people from my Dad’s company in Osaka would train to as far as they could and then bicycled them over to our house. We were super thankful for these people providing us with food and necessities. Then one day, the house next door caught fire. Firefighters told us we should grab our important things and run away cause they didn’t know if our house would catch on fire. Luckily, a huge tree in my garden saved my house, apparently it stopped the spreading of the fire. This tree, is still in our garden and loved by everyone else. I saw alot of people crying in my house. Devastated. Lost. And also wondering what would be of them. Alot of my friends flew back home to their country when they had flights were arranged. They never came back.

I was four, and I don’t have much memory of the event. But what I see as after effects was all the help that was given to us and how greatful we were of it. I am kinda proud to think that the Japanese people were that generous and warm people, to be sharing supplies and necessities. And we must not forget that this event affected a lot of people and may had created scars that still do affect them today. And I won’t say to feel the pain of the people, but realize how greatful we should be living today, to think about the generosity and warmth people are still able to provide, and to not to forget that we, each one of us have that feeling and capacity too.

It’s the balance. Of praying for the losses  and also cherishing humanity.

 

Where are you?

It’s 2012. A brand new year has started and I can already feel how packed with awesomeness this year is going to be.
I can feel the energy that is ready to face all the challenges and the adventures this year will bring.

Like every year, I start thinking what I should accomplish this year.

This year is my last year being a student, or a consecutive student. I’ve never not been a student in my life, so ending my schooling is
something very big and unthinkable for me. Another semester (hopefully) and I wonder where I should steer my life to.

And while reminiscing my years at art school, something had struck me.

Thinking back to my three years and a half of art school, I always remember myself as being an art student… But I couldn’t
remember myself being an “artist” creating something I really feel passionately about. And I remember seeing so much beautiful and moving work,
but I wonder, will I ever be able to deliver art to people that can truly move them and make them utter how beautiful art can be? Will I ever be able to create art work like the first year at art school which I truly loved? Everything was new back then. Everything came from some inner gut art feeling I could rely– or more like had to rely on. And the conversation between me and that gut feeling, the struggle that it faced seemed to have created some pieces that I still feel are one of the most powerful and raw. I felt like creating art was part of my life. That was all I did.

And now, where am I at? Where did that gut feeling go? Is it there still? Did it vanish? Or do I need to rediscover it again.
I need to turn into myself and find that “self” again. This last semester need to be a semester where that can re-bloom again.

I want to create something beautiful. I want to create something that can be raw and available to the viewers.
I want to create something that can be part of life.

I hope, wish, and wonder if i will be able to.