Months turned into a year. But just as her collection grew, so did her lonliness. A pain as large as her heart lived in her chest. Nothing eased it. Not the Gulls, not a splendid sunset, not the rarest of shells. - Where the crawdads sing by Delia Owens

For a long time, I’ve felt like a stagnant pool, devoid of ripples, What am I steadfastly holding onto, what am I so fervently clinging to, even I myself do not understand.

I may appear gentle and reserved, silent as a calm, still pool.

But I am more than that—only I comprehend.

Only I know the true fervor and madness, the tumultuous waves roiling within! Like many ordinary, mundane individuals, I harbor both naive ideals and worldly desires—I am never content to settle!

I struggling to connect with my inner self. Instead, I’ve magnified feelings of anxiety and helplessness. At times, I’ve even felt like drifting algae, following wherever the current takes me…

“I have roots, but I flow.” - as Woolf said.

I particularly resonate with Pessoa’s description of the self in “The Book of Disquiet,” it brings a sense of calm: “I am beginning to grasp the nature of my being. I do not truly exist.I am the chasm between the person I aspire to be and the impression others have crafted of me.”

“I am myself, unchanged, me…!”

“Yes, it is I, the embodiment of my own metamorphosis, Regardless of what I am, or am not—it all coalesces into my essence. Irrespective of my yearnings, or lack thereof—it shapes me. Whether I cherish or disregard—it all stems from the same inner longing.”

“I am myself, exhaling deeply…” Perhaps, I am but a silent stream, flowing gently and steadily…

And finally, a quote from Camus: “I, I have no virtues. I have accepted myself. From then on, everything became simple.” Thankfully, even though I struggle to be loud, I connect with this world through the strokes of my brush and the notes of my music.

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