Thinking back over memories, I can more or less separate my life into seasons. There was my childhood, school days: primary, middle, and high school; my Perea days, college, post-college young adult years… Even within those seasons, I can separate those into even more seasons. Where would life be without the rebel years, those gloriously messy seasons of depression and heartache, the deconstruction days–which like many things in life, seem to be a continual process. If I were to draw out this seasons like a map, it would look like a continual Venn diagram of memories unfolding into a dream catcher-like effect inside my brain. Those neural pathways all intersecting.
Oddly enough, I do not feel as I am the only one whose stories and memories not only intersect within themselves but within the lives of others as well. Maybe that’s the point. For us to tell our stories in such a way that allow our audiences to empathize with us, with the plights of one another.
(To Be Continued…)
Half-Hearted Musings 