I often wonder about taking a break from fashion blogging. I wonder what it would be like to get away from the politics, the oftentimes shallowness [trying to figure out what top to wear that wouldn’t make me look like a slut while trying to look “relevant”] and honestly, the vanity of it all. (I won’t lie and say I don’t enjoy it. It just gets tiring sometimes.)
I often miss not having to worry about how many hits I get in a day and trying to think of ways to be innovative enough to compete against all the ones ahead of me while thinking quietly to myself that I will soon have my day.
I sometimes miss the Issa who used writing as an outlet and found beauty even in the smallest of things. I remember how a branch in the middle of my way to work made me remember about how blessed I was despite all the despites, the Issa who thought that a smile was euphoric and the little girl who was weak but felt strong when words would just flow from her lips. Or finger. Or thoughts. You get the point.
I miss the run on sentences. Oh, I miss those!
Don’t get me wrong, I love fashion. I grew up in it, I’ve lived every day of my life in it and my childhood dreams revolved around it. And I guess to put it bluntly; these are dreams that I’m not quite willing to let go- maybe ever. But there are things that have happened in my life that have been left accounted for and sometimes, I think I’ve forgotten how to be grateful for them.
Recently, I’ve reconnected with my biological father after not talking to him for 3 years. Shortly after, I reconnected with his family whom I stopped to talking to, as well. And I let these things, as great as they are, pass me by without the slightest bit of gratitude or even an emotional input. Maybe because I wasn’t sure about how I felt about it or maybe because I was too busy caring about other things to even take notice. And thinking about it now, I think it’s a pity. I think it’s a pity that I never stopped to think about how lucky I am of not having to carry the burden of a grudge and to feel at peace with these things that often haunt me.
I miss not trying to be relevant or trendy or of thinking about how I could benefit from doing something. Simply putting it, I forgot how to go back to where I started. I forgot how it felt to feel alive because I was actually living. And I think that’s a shame.
Thinking about it now, the pass few months have usually been about me trying not to be so sensitive, trying to not overthink and trying as much as possible to block out feelings. In the process, I forgot how to feel and think and I learned the hard way that it fucks you up in more ways than one.
And I guess we can all be preoccupied with different things like a new job, a new hobby, a new boyfriend or [surprise, surprise] a new blog but I think it’s important to come back to the things that kept you grounded. You know, the little things that keep (or in my case, kept) you sane, alive and substantial.
I guess I just forgot that when I’m feeling down in the dumps or up in cloud 9 that I had this safe haven to come home to. But I’m home now. And this time, I won’t forget where I left the keys.
I’m sorry and I’ve missed you.