Hi folks,
I feel like I've been gone quite a while from this dusty space. Since I finished my bachelors degree (in Zoology, in case anyone is curious), things have slowed down a lot, and I have divided my ample time between chores, knitting, looking after my lime butterfly chrysalis, random baking and perusing the newspapers for admission notices. So this is it - my in between space. And I feel I am supposed to build myself up again.
When I was young, I had the wildest imagination and I spent a lot of my time playing make-believe. It was a magical time - when I could see the beasts and the misty swamp, puzzle my way through the secret tunnels under castles and find the hostage, feeling the worn stone beneath my feet. As I grew older some sort of shroud fell away, and I killed off my characters and laid waste to the land I had inhabited. Yikes.
Now today, I cannot imagine anything away with the same vividness. It's like trying on a too-small shirt and looking in the mirror, only to see a distorted reflection of myself. And thus I come to the conclusion: we shed so many skins as we grow up. It hurts a lot later, when we realize what we sloughed off, but there's no use thinking about what-ifs and has-beens.
I've been working on some new music lately, and only now am I starting to frame a concept around it. I've decided to call this one Obscura for now. I consider it an ode to my former self. I really want to upload it soon.
In the meantime, is anyone out there? How are you?
I feel like I've been gone quite a while from this dusty space. Since I finished my bachelors degree (in Zoology, in case anyone is curious), things have slowed down a lot, and I have divided my ample time between chores, knitting, looking after my lime butterfly chrysalis, random baking and perusing the newspapers for admission notices. So this is it - my in between space. And I feel I am supposed to build myself up again.
When I was young, I had the wildest imagination and I spent a lot of my time playing make-believe. It was a magical time - when I could see the beasts and the misty swamp, puzzle my way through the secret tunnels under castles and find the hostage, feeling the worn stone beneath my feet. As I grew older some sort of shroud fell away, and I killed off my characters and laid waste to the land I had inhabited. Yikes.
Now today, I cannot imagine anything away with the same vividness. It's like trying on a too-small shirt and looking in the mirror, only to see a distorted reflection of myself. And thus I come to the conclusion: we shed so many skins as we grow up. It hurts a lot later, when we realize what we sloughed off, but there's no use thinking about what-ifs and has-beens.
I've been working on some new music lately, and only now am I starting to frame a concept around it. I've decided to call this one Obscura for now. I consider it an ode to my former self. I really want to upload it soon.
In the meantime, is anyone out there? How are you?
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