Week 13: A Sense of Optimism

A famous Stark once said, "Part of the journey is the end." (Don't worry; there's no spoilers for the new Avengers movie.) 12 weeks of journeying around the city I grew up in, trying to find my identity and voice in moments of distress. It's only fitting for me to revisit one of my favorite spots to conclude this 13-week journey. Little did I know how much thought I put to this week's post.

In case you don't know, I am a bit under the weather, as I caught the cold/cough on Wednesday morning. It got worse on Friday, as my energy was reduced and I was very slow when it comes to being productive. However, I managed to visit Laguna Beach once again to finish off the final week. However, I wanted to try out something different. First off, there are these art-pieces in Heisler Park that are basically street signs. However, they all have a positive message in the text. I figured I shall take photos of three signs that caught my attention the most and respond to it through three haikus.

Next, I wanted to try and take photos using a slow shutter speed by the shore. I wanted to get this effect where the waves look more like clouds, since the water is moving faster than the shutter speed that I set on my camera. I also wanted to put myself in the photo to add a more personal story to this week's blog. This was a challenge because this requires me to stand still, while the strong waves kept moving me. It doesn't help since I was sick and putting my feet in the cold water at around 7 pm might've worsen my cold/cough.

However, for the first time this year, I wasn't worried about the future. Heck, I only have one more week of my junior year left and I am not losing sleep at night. I stopped overthinking; I felt a sense of relief, although I had a tough time breathing (literally). I was more invested in the present, when I was worried about the future because of incidents that happened in the past. I look back at how much my life has changed, with obstacles, pain, failures, hopes, dreams, and achievements.

When I was 19, I used to play drums at my home church for about a year. That was a time when I came off from a tough breakup and was in the middle of an identity crisis. I had no reason for being part of the band other than feeling obligated to do so. It felt like a never-ending nightmare to hide my flaws and act like everything is okay. After leaving, my life has changed. That was when I found my passion in photography and poetry. Little did I know that I would inspire others and work with people after just learning how to work with a DSLR camera last summer.

Now, looking at my schedule for this summer, I am optimistic about the near future. Of course, I know many more nightmares (maybe the same ones that haunted me) will come. But for now, I will appreciate what this 13-week campaign has done for me, when it comes to me as a maker and a person.

I would like to thank my professors (Chris and Dan) for the Vision, Voice, and Practice course, who has pushed me to become a better artist and a person. Also, thanks to my brother who has inspired me to construct my practice restrictions. Most importantly, I'd like to thank those who took their time to read this blog. Without you, I would have stop this blog. This is for you!

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Inhale oxygen.

Exhale carbon dioxide.

Rest the heart in "now."

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A pleasure feeling

to be alive and observe

Earth's colorful scenes.

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Hard to breathe through my

nostrils. Battle through the cold

to witness today.

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Playing a melody for twelve months straight

seems like staring through the sea's horizon:

a never-ending sight to bare my fate.

Leaving to the creative world granted

me a vision and a voice, rising in

my mind like the deep, cold waters planted

beneath my feet. I found my way to greatness,

though the Maker of the sea made my brain,

even if I had the right to claim it.

The return of the darkness will out-weight

my joy, as my recent nightmares and pain

will rise again. But for now, I'll celebrate.

Praising God for two decades of mercy

and misery, though two legs remain strong.

I told myself, "My life's not worth His worry"

a million times, but to have hands and feet

and bear witness to His art-piece is insane.

Heartbreaks and horrors come to me like waves,

trembling my stance upon a firm rock

before the shutter close and save the art

(though the shutter caught the moment in time).

Part of the journey is the conclusion;

The light will soon overcome the nightmares.

He assured the sun will shine on me again.