Every moment is an infatuation.
My older sister once said that she doesn't doodle any more.
Drawing. Since fifth grade, her life rotated around drawing. She prepared for her admission to a specialized art middle school since then, and made it in. After three years, she entered the art specialized high school. I never saw her draw or heard her talk about drawing. But I do remember staring at the birthday card she drew for me, then trying to imitate whatever she drew.
Drawing. She always had passion for movies. One summer, she watched the movie "Speed" over hundred times. I still haven't seen any movie more than twice. She went onto major in theater in college, then received her master's degree in few years following her graduation. After that, she started working freelance and part-time. I think she held three part-time jobs at one point. Around then, apparently, she drew away from doodling.
I dropped drawing around middle school. Doodling around who knows when.
In Korean, "to draw" is the same word as "to miss someone." I wonder if she misses drawing, the act of drawing. It's hard to bring something back you lost. The more you try, the less it may satisfy, the less genuine it may feel. Drawing, missing drawing, missing someone.
I wonder if I have anything, anyone I miss. I've lost many things, habits, memories, people. But I wonder if I miss them. I wrote, "I don't think I...," then changed it to "wonder." I do not know. I don't think so. I don't think. I cannot draw any conclusions right now.
But I do feel as if I miss someone. But missing is constructed around the vacancy of something that existed in the past. I say nothing, even no one, is in the past. Everything lies in the present, I guess. So I must be drawing. Drawing something doesn't need anything from the past. Just a little present, a little future. Perhaps it's solitude I have, not anything I had.
So one day I typed in "missing" in the internet. See what images come up. See what others visualize "missing" as. Some of them were photos of handwritten sentences. Some of them, of one person smoking, crying, lamenting, missing someone. Many of them, to my surprise, were of two people, together, happily.
But every moment is an infatuation.
My older sister once said that she doesn't doodle any more.
Drawing. Since fifth grade, her life rotated around drawing. She prepared for her admission to a specialized art middle school since then, and made it in. After three years, she entered the art specialized high school. I never saw her draw or heard her talk about drawing. But I do remember staring at the birthday card she drew for me, then trying to imitate whatever she drew.
Drawing. She always had passion for movies. One summer, she watched the movie "Speed" over hundred times. I still haven't seen any movie more than twice. She went onto major in theater in college, then received her master's degree in few years following her graduation. After that, she started working freelance and part-time. I think she held three part-time jobs at one point. Around then, apparently, she drew away from doodling.
I dropped drawing around middle school. Doodling around who knows when.
In Korean, "to draw" is the same word as "to miss someone." I wonder if she misses drawing, the act of drawing. It's hard to bring something back you lost. The more you try, the less it may satisfy, the less genuine it may feel. Drawing, missing drawing, missing someone.
I wonder if I have anything, anyone I miss. I've lost many things, habits, memories, people. But I wonder if I miss them. I wrote, "I don't think I...," then changed it to "wonder." I do not know. I don't think so. I don't think. I cannot draw any conclusions right now.
But I do feel as if I miss someone. But missing is constructed around the vacancy of something that existed in the past. I say nothing, even no one, is in the past. Everything lies in the present, I guess. So I must be drawing. Drawing something doesn't need anything from the past. Just a little present, a little future. Perhaps it's solitude I have, not anything I had.
So one day I typed in "missing" in the internet. See what images come up. See what others visualize "missing" as. Some of them were photos of handwritten sentences. Some of them, of one person smoking, crying, lamenting, missing someone. Many of them, to my surprise, were of two people, together, happily.
But every moment is an infatuation.
