I have been making art again, and it feels like I never stopped.

And I don’t mean I have been making some little quick sketches during class or when I am waiting for my appointments to start in businesses’ lobbies. I mean I have been really making art again. In the comfort of my humble apartment that’s actually not humble whatsoever.

And I hate that I stopped.

Fortunately, the almighty question of Why did I stop? isn’t lingering in my brain. I’m not desparately trying to analyze this decision of mine while I go through the motions of my everydays. I already know the answer. It’s an answer that is so prideful it even hurts my own feelings, but I think maybe, just maybe, these prideful answers in my life make manifest the areas in which I need to self-reflect. And God knows that list is long, so adding to it never hurts. If anything, that list reminds me I never have to be bored, for there is always work for me to be completing.

You can guess the reason. It’s not that hard to decipher.

There is something about making art that is so catharthic; it’s indescribable. You don’t have to say anything to try to be understood. You just sit back and let your creation do the talking. You sit back and watch other people try to analyze what your work means, and you’re finally in the driver’s seat. You get to watch them react and respond. And you don’t have to provide any feedback on whether their interpretations match your intentions. They’re finally the ones with the unclear understanding of communication. I find it beautiful in a twisted way. I find their interpretations to be absolutely stupid the majority of the time, but I like to stand there and listen to them explain away pieces that don’t need any explanations. It’s a cruel pastime, but it’s one I’ll keep in my back pocket despite the negative connotation; sue me, please. I would recommend it to a friend in need of a positivity boost for sure.

Of course, there are the many other reasons art is the thread I hold onto during times that make existential questions erupt in my brain like lava spewing from a volcano over every square inch of land as far as the eye can see. But mostly, hearing the elites’ and the genuises’ takes on pieces of art that need no takes is music to my ears.

I’m just the kindest girl in the world, aren’t I?