She Comes Home

I feel like I lived an entire life in the span of one month.

But I guess that happens when you've almost faced death. Life starts to come at you fast.

Really fast.

And sometimes, it's hard to get others to keep up with you. And many times it seems you're doing too much, too soon, too quickly. And they are not at fault for thinking that way. That's just how it works. Their experiences are different than yours. They have a different journey.

I've always said that the world I've envisioned is a great place to be. My problem was always convincing others to come with me. I can only show them through my actions, which many times I've had to do on my own. I had to be my own support system. My own cheerleader. My own coach.

It's why I love collaboration. I can only give them a taste of what I'm thinking, have them interpret what I mean, make minor adjustments if only to push them further, and bring them closer to my world. Because the closer they are, the more they can see and understand me, what I'm all about.

It can be extremely scary though, to show a piece of your heart. To put yourself out there, and to expose yourself to vulnerability. But I think I've learned heartache after heartbreak, that it builds some kind of resilience. You have no idea what you can survive until you actually go through it. And it seems to me that the heart is much stronger than I give it credit for.

My Uncle once told me that the reasons why artists go through pain is because when we create, we can create the ending we were hoping for. And for a very long time, I've wondered if I was cursed to go through such pain for the sake of writing stories.

I come from a long line of great storytellers. Those who have lived through such times as the war and persecution, with nothing but their imaginations to entertain them. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to be that person to do a little song and dance if it meant that it would help people forget about their problems (Or at least acknowledge what they were going through to know they weren't alone), even for just a moment. I guess that part of me never died, even when I developed the complexities of the grown-up world.

Starting over is never easy, no matter how many times you do it. It's always scary to start from scratch, to pick yourself up again and begin anew. It's uncomfortable, it's weird, and dare I say, lonely. And many times I miss the cozy life I once had, where everything I needed and wanted was within reach.

But that is exactly why I left that life. Because I was tired of being too comfortable. I wanted adventure,   the epiphanies, and a life to say that I built with my own two hands, no longer being in anyone's shadow, but stepping into the light.

I wanted my own story. And if this is what it takes, so be it.

I'm not done yet. Not even close.