An artist isn’t a special kind of person: instead, each person is a special kind of artist.
I hate going out.
Not to dance, drink or eat in a restaurant, nothing fancy like that; simply going out. Meaning: opening the door and getting out there. The gap between dressing up and actually being on the streets is for me the distance from the foot of Mt. Everest and its summit. How to get there is as arduous. Both require a great deal of preparations and special clothing. One cannot simply show oneself outside with the type of garments one might prefer to shrouds his/her person indoors. Especially if that someone has some odd preference like myself. Jogging suits it is or pyjamas. A flannel example of the latter might be the best; for it shelters me from the cold which I seem cannot shrug off and feel mainly in my brain.
I found out by experience that most shops owners tend to be partial to those who are taken their time putting on what the majority thinks are proper attire to show oneself in public. This charade never failed to amaze me. I cannot, as hard as I try, comprehend this sort of travesty. Must a mere display of one’s personal choice of fabrics become so important that it can decide or carry a great deal to most, to reach a certain conclusion about a person and his/her status and therefore must be serve accordingly? I think not! If a person can pay, which in most cases is true; or otherwise, what is s/he’s doing in there for heaven’s sake, it is of no importance what sort of garments she/he’s wearing. This gentleman (or lady) must be served with common courtesy characteristic with the trade.
With these in mind, I find I am less and less inclined to show myself in public; not to mention the actual difficulties such as: feeling confined and over burdened. All and all, when one come down to the bottom of it; the dressing up and going out business is too much ‘ado about nothing.
What am I to do with my finery one might ask? Well, it sit rotting in my closet with the tags on; mostly unpack and forgotten. And when in some occasions I come across them, I am either genuinely surprised or annoyed to discover that I own such beautiful things and in great quantity. My valuable pieces of jewelries are entrusted in the care of the bank. For careless as I might seem, deep down inside a level headed girl is lurking. These possessions I treat nonchalantly. They never give me any feeling of importance or satisfaction, but I am well aware of their value both in financial terms and representation to the society. I loathe both.
On rare occasions when I feel forced to make a public appearance, one might be surprised how pleasing in the eyes I can look and how well I carry myself. These owe to the fact that I am a natural smart dresser and seem to always exert confidence. The truth probably lies somewhere between excellent tastes, eye for details due to my artistic nature and belief that if one has to do something, she/he might as well do it good; rather than confidence. For I have little of the latter; almost to the point of non-existence. Roots lie in my childhood. To the mother who expected nothing but excellence and to the father who wished nothing; except perhaps to grow up like a nun or preferably not grow up at all. And to the isolated regimented upbringing my siblings and I were forced to endure.
So, inside I stay.
The longer the isolation continues, the harder it is to change. After all, why change something enjoyable? Most of the time, at least… Aloneness represents another form of ordeal. One can get used to being always in the right if no companion is there to contradict anything one might say. There is always a danger of cultivating singular opinion and habit and believe it to be the only truth exists if no soul is present to correct whatever needed to be corrected or even serve as a sparing partner presenting another view of the same matter for the sake of an argument.
A person might also inclined to be truthful about what ever it is that in his mind and voice it out accordingly without slight hesitation or grain of salt for there is no need to deceive a phantom audience. One has not need to be tactful when one is alone.
These combined values if exercised in public might result often than not in some social catastrophe or debacle for both parties involved. These forms of humiliations, I vowed to avoid for the sake of others rather than myself; for there is some truth in saying if one gets too much exposure from the same source, one sooner or later might cultivate some form of immunity. And immune I am; up to a certain degree. After all, solitary or not, I am still a mere human; capable of feelings no matter how little or distant and unimportant they may seem.
Pardon my nonsensical chatter. I just woke up and confused. I will leave it here.