I smell like Korean BBQ. Something about eating Asian food dictates that you will leave the restaurant smelling like what you just ingested. Dress appropriately. I smell like eau de bimbimbap. Try selling that at Macy’s!
Took a stroll around mile-square park while reading my book. I came across this bench and sat staring out at the water for a little bit with Ms. Anais Nin’s words in my head. Her diaries were published in a series of volumes. I’m currently reading the third. In this volume, she’s in her early twenties. Who knew that being a girl in the 1920s, despite generational differences, was still so similar to being a girl this age in present day? She had the same insecurities about her role in the world and the same struggles with her identity as anyone would at this age. The artist’s soul is timeless.
“I want to write, first of all, as a poet. I want to make just such a selection, cast a mist about the molded thing. I want things to appear not as if I had seen them but as a vague picture into which the ugly and the weak had crept, unperceived almost, and taken their place — as they do in life.” –Anais Nin
The deeper I delve into her words, the more I am convinced she is a kindred spirit. As I read, I feel myself lock in sync with moments and thoughts that she describes as if they were part of my very own experience. Because in a way, they are. I may not have lived her life, but I have come to the same realizations through living mine. Like her, I see life poetically, and that is how I wish to preserve it in my writing, my photos, and my music.
Not only that — she is so open with herself about her own insecurities. I’m afraid to confess some of mine because the optimist in me automatically labels them “silly.” She reminds me that it’s natural to have insecurities! Facing them can only help you move on.
She wrote voraciously in her diary, some would dispute even obsessively. In her early twenties, she began working on a few novels and grew frustrated with the process. Sometimes she would pick up momentum, then lose it. However, she remained devoted to her diary all throughout because she saw it as the only thing that could receive all of her emotions. In a very big way, I can relate to that. For the periods of time in which I neglect to write, I become overwhelmed with so much emotion that I just end up numb or unhappy. For me, writing is a way of seeing the world differently, and when I fail to give myself the time to take a critical look at what is around me, I feel lost.
I’m glad I’m reading Anais, and I’m glad I’m writing now.