i thought i’d tell you who i am… who i think i am.

i have a persistent desire to make myself understood. mostly, all this effort is futile, and all it does is make me feel like a little girl who wants to explain herself at all costs. but i am, i assure you, a naive child who believes in a world less superficial than its appearances.

i’m complicated. aware of more than i am comfortable to know. i’ve had a complicated journey. i am alert, fearful, nervous, and emotional. i’m empathetic.

i am a child, fascinated by everything around them. i am cheerful and withdrawn. i’m anxious, and that overwhelms me. but i am also calm and collected. i’m resilient when i can work on something important. it’s vital for me to feel important, and mostly i want to be overlooked. i wish there were no expectations of me, so i can surprise.

i’m a free person. i am free to express myself and free to be silent. i am free to choose for myself, to be present or absent, to create and live my daily life in a way that brings me even a vague desire for involvement in a world i don’t resonate with. i need my life to mean something. i need to not just exist; this possibility makes me profoundly unhappy. in addition, however, i need motivation.

i can’t get lost in a mundane daily life, and it’s hard to prevent that from happening.

i’m selfish. i have no energy for anything useless.

i often wander in my mind, and that’s something i like. it can be really nice there when it’s quiet.

simple things make me happy. simplicity in itself makes me happy. yes, precisely because i’m complicated.

i’m not kind to myself, and i need kindness. i’m deeply imperfect. my works, too. every bump, shaky line, or chaos that i’ve expressed through art is a significant part of myself. even, or mostly, my little monsters.

i put parts of myself wherever i can, in the most subtle way possible. i do it because i sincerely want to open up and express myself, but even more to be discovered. just as sincere.