I have done variations of the suit so many times, it's starting to get predictable. But originality is out the window this time, because, whether it be for a glammed up casual look or a chic office getup, the blazer wins. Every time.
I'll admit; this was a lazy I-want-to-look-presentable look. I woke up early in the morning, extremely exhausted but had to immerse myself in a social environment in less than an hour and a half. So eyes swollen from baggage and mind yelling from sleep deprivation, I pulled out a piece of clothing that will make one look presentable no matter the situation: the blazer.
Jeans for comfort, platform heels because why the heck not (and also because I basically live in it) and some statement earrings, because girl's gotta have some diversion plan for those eyebags.
Eight months of the year have flown right out the window (some probably died) and I am still here, a girl, now eighteen, confused, afraid, passionate, desperate, worse in a lot of ways than I have been eight months ago, but better in others, too.
I've been blogging on The Mayden for a good four months now and this little journey has shown me a myriad of things about people, about the internet, about the community, but also about myself.
Being someone who is extremely passionate about writing, I got to rearm my soul with a pen and a piece of paper and I got to write, though admittedly that took some time. Nonetheless, I got to write and people read my work. I got to expedite ideas, got to tell stories, got to self-reflect, and through the community that this blog exists on, I got to share myself in the rawest, purest, most honest form I can possibly be -- through words -- and I got to grow.
I have always been a person who is afraid of being stagnant, of becoming the book in the cabinet left to collect dust, my once gleaming cover obscured by time, my words and my stories muted by absence. If I am a book, I want to be the one that reveals something new after each close of the cover, the one that has a world that takes patience to discover, that takes thinking to uncover.
Take me out of the case. Dust me. Clean me. Read me.
Inhale, sigh, smile. I've got so much to tell, so much to give, so much to provoke, so read me and write on me. Etch my pages with carbon graphite friction and let me dull that point, the one that thinks and the one that explores. Suffuse me with eraser shavings, with wooden dust and with air, but don't let me age in the case, because if I die, I want to die in your hands, my spine breaking from wear, my pages tearing from creases, my voice faded from oxygen.
This blog is a chapter unfinished. I'll be writing, I'll be editing, I'll be re-writing eternally, but I want to be layers upon layers of worded mystery, illustrated by photographs, penned by a passionate mind. August has been a month of revelation. Let September be the month of catalysed growth. Cheers.