New life experiences bring me to a bittersweet feeling that I can’t seem to grasp. Life changes seem to get more drastic as I grow older, turning nostalgia into a negative emotion; one that I avoid. Soon, everything in my childhood will be nothing but a memory, leaving no trace of what once was. I continue into these seasons of change attempting to be content, though my heart wants to live in what could have been: what if my family didn’t begin to fall apart? As the intricacies of life weave in and out like the knitting of a sweater, I try to blend in, hiding these emotions to silently cope with what’s happening.
This sweater is old and frail yet bright and lively, as if it is putting on a façade. I too want to remain bright and colorful, as I was when I was younger. Oblivious and content. Held together securely. But I know this is not truth; one day, I must face growing up. I must find my security in new places. I must build myself a new home because the one I have is slowly falling apart. But for now, I am like the hidden squares crafted with gauche and colored pencil amongst the photograph, a picture frozen in time; longing to blend in with what I used to be.
