“I have a funny feeling that Santa Claus is behind this.”
It’s a double post today. Why? Because I’ve got so much to say and so little time.
Okay, so yesterday, as I was avoiding the cover letter I had to write for a scholarship fund I somehow decided it would be a good idea to go through my old computer and have a look what’s on there.
Oh and behold, what did I find?
Pictures. Of me. Nude.
It seems my fascination with sexuality, gender and nudity goes back further than I can remember. Not to mention the need to express all my ideas in photographic from.
In my stumbling I found three hidden folders, each containing a photographic series in which I’m nude. Now if the time stamp on these such folders is correct then the first series, titled: Sex with Light was taken when I was 14 and I believe that it was also a joint project with a fellow photographer friend of mine, whom I haven’t seen in years.
The second series was: Bare the Truth and was taken when I was 15. It displays me and four of my friends either nude of partially nude with different drawn versions of the sign ‘Bare the Truth’ as it were.
The third series, and probably the most dastardly for someone of the age 15 was… Erotic Language. Yikes! What on earth was I thinking at young, clean age 15?!
Then I realized that I’d been watching porn since I was 13 so it didn’t really matter that somewhere in my fifteen year old mind I found it alright to pose erotically using the aid of sign language to actually point out the differences of male and female sexual culture.
But, that was then and this is now. I like to think I’ve gotten a bit more subtle. Apparently not. You see, looking back I can tell that majority of those messages I was trying to send, they’re about all the same things that I’m currently fighting for.
I had thought I’d evolved (and sure my technical photographic skills have) but the way my mind processes such issues as sex, sexuality, gender, eroticism and society seem not to have changed since that tender age. (Though I do use tender in reference to my buttocks which seems a little bit fuller in some of them photographs than it is now. But then again I can’t swivel my head 180 degrees on my neck either.)
Seeing these earlier expressions made me realize that I wanted to show these to the world. Young, and counting as child porn, yes but I feel it was the most untainted view I had on some issues back then.
Right now my focus is on sexuality and gender, trying to fill in the gap between normal and abnormal (in society’s dictations). But some of the ideas I must have had back then were just… well a little mature of my age. Seriously, what 15 year old things about eroticism in terms of sign language? (I believe I was influenced by a young deaf girl I had met on one of my many travels in those days.)
It’s a little unnerving, but it also gives me a sense of certainty. I’ve been doing this for awhile I’ve realized. Sure, awhile is four to three years but better than nothing.
And the fear…
I’ve written something similar to this before, in my very first post as it were, but I don’t know how many people and read that and for starters, if I don’t self-express somewhere soon (why does that sound so dirty to me?!) I’m probably going to end up screaming at some inanimate object.
And nobody wants that.
Fear…
What on earth would I be afraid of?
Um… Life in general actually.
You see in my ‘practically-a-new-years-resolution-and-goal-post’ a.k.a. Wanted: Dead or Alive, I set myself many standards and many things to achieve.
I’d almost forgotten the fact about why they were still undone.
Self-doubt, not the ‘oh-i’ll-wake-up-in-the-morning-and-it’ll-be-gone’ type but the crippling, ‘please-don’t-take-the-covers-off-me-I’m-dying-inside’ type.
I’ve written majority of this before but I’m writing it again because it never really disappears for me. No matter how much I talk about it, try and get over it, think I get over it, realize I’m not over and fall flat on my face again, I can still never seem to anticipate it.
My self-doubt is an odd beast I think.
I’m terrified of not having my dreams come true.
And I’m terrified of having them come true.
So how does self-doubt fit into this equation?
I doubt that if I get everything I want that I’ll be happy, and I doubt that if I don’t I’ll probably still have the same feelings.
I want to change the world, but I also want my life.
I haven’t yet figured out how these to mix evenly enough to coincide in my heart yet, and I figure it’ll take a little bit more time.
But now, being in the questioning society that I am, other thoughts have begun to seep into my mind and further feed my fear of the future.
“What if I turn out not to be queer?!” – Kind of stupid really and even the thought of kissing a guy is kind of gut-wrenching, no offense to them or anything.
“What if I decide I don’t like what I’ve done to my body?!” – Another stupid one really, it’s a bit too late to go back on several tattoos and many piercings. But then again, with the rate of plastic surgery, who knows?
“What if I hate what I’ve become?!” – This is probably a more legitimate one. I’ve always promised myself that I would be a righteous person. Fight for the little people. Bring perspective to an ignorant world. But what happens if I turn out to be my own worst nightmare?
That’s what stops me from falling asleep at night.
It’s officially a week till my 18th Birthday, so it’s also officially a week until I move into my Uni accommodation.
Suddenly my future is right there and my door and all I want to do is turn on the TV or pretend I’m not home.
But since, knowing myself and my huge ego, I won’t ever admit this to anyone vocally. I’ll admit it to this blog because well, I don’t know if I’ll ever meet any of you in real-life, unless of course you’re reading this as one of my few friends who know the truth about me.
But anyway, there it is. Fear of the future and what I might become, but a fear that nobody will ever know because my pride eats up the air I breath it’s so domineering.
I’d like some thoughts about this… Or at least some advice.
- Cal.
No comments:
Post a Comment