She is not quite the wilting rose on a brick wall, for blooms, she does, when vines of spiked siblings are removed, but it is among stenciled shadows that she feels the safest, among geometric dimensions encasing her asymmetry that she lets air escape her lungs. It is then that she knows she can stay a ubiquitous evanescence; always present, always absent, but never forgotten.
It is also then that she withers into wilt, never drinking in enough of what the world has to offer, always lacking, always incomplete, but never empty.
Presently, I am unsure of the direction the above piece of prose is heading towards, but I believe it is the subconscious effort of my mind that is telling me to rid myself of fear -- not much fear, on hind sight, more so the endurance of inadequacy.
Or perhaps it is simply mind matter linking convenient photographs to my metaphor-loving hand.
Whether it be both, however, is a subject for reflection in the confinement of an ensemble -- essentially the stencil of my wardrobe -- I wore to the Syomirizwa Gupta Trunk Show mentioned in my previous post. All black for the sidelines, statement necklace for the resurfacing, high-waisted trousers for safety, this look is one of the few I have reveled in for its cushiony confidence within comfort, a combination that is equivalent to diamonds when it comes to my sartorial preferences.
It might also be worth it to mention that, of the various events I have attended, I seem to be the only one who wears black from head to toe, making me not the one in the shadows but the one that sticks out like a sore thumb. The paradoxes of life, huh?
What does your safe-outfit look like? What are your thoughts on fear holding a person back?
PHOTOS BY DISCOFISSH