In a bundle of blankets wrapped around my legs, my toes still wander among them. They curl in a cold numbness, but move slowly outside of the sheets, only crawling back for sanctuary when it had decided to wander too far, sending a glimpse of the winter air invading the warmth I feel.
In retrospect, there are several candles burning simultaneously. Scents intermixing and seemingly to interchange with each other – “Vanilla Bean Noel”, “Leaves”, “Vanilla Frosted Cupcakes”, and “Apple Orchids”. The beginning of the wax melting and the ends of the wicks burning into the glass Mason jar, their aura of entitled seasons and settings – colliding with memories gathering at the frontal cortex of my mind, telling me to “remember…”
I remember faintly, but waking up to a New Year, my eyelids are heavy amongst morning light, but I can still feel the ache of my body against the hardwood floor beneath me. There is a mess of my books scrambled amongst the polished hardwood floor. Paint brushes and pens are spread apart messily from each other next to opened paint palettes, and untouched new sketch books – all lying still as if I were painting still life; a beautiful mess.
My journals are opened up to my favorite entries, for I was frantically flipping through them for inspiration; in a frantic search for a new idea. I have a fear to become a closed, quiet, and reserved mind, but against the wall, a blank canvas is still at the head of the mess is white and waiting patiently for a painting anew.
I think I must have fallen asleep staring at the canvas. There is still a paintbrush in my hand, wet with moisture. I reached for my brown journal the simplicity in the page catches my eye. It says, “If you want to know where your heart is, look to where your mind goes when it wanders.”
Useless.
I must admit I have been an empty mind, searching for what my mother calls a “lost cause.” Empty canvases are bad luck.
I can taste the candle burning now, overpowering in the memories they have connected to this room – this home. I drag my blankets off my legs walking to the window, and the snow is too bright for my eyes. A new sheet of ice has appeared on my window, but the white sheet of blankness and stillness appeals to me, leading me to start wandering.
I am falling into a white abyss.
There are indications of where I am, but I am inclined to find the root of its origin. There are parts that remind me of my childhood like a flashback of photos – quickly, so you feel like so much time has passed. What you don’t see is all the time that is coming.
You don’t know how much time is coming, but think far. Think far ahead. Dream far ahead, and only look back when reflecting, to better improve yourself. Wander. Wander far ahead with your dreams tucked behind your ears.
I recall memories of comfort and dread and in between them now is where I lie. It is something that I am sure of; something I am connected to. It is a tangible feeling that I feel. One minute you imagine that you’re eight, and others an age of sixteen.
To realize, I quiver in a dream walking as a paintbrush on a white-as-snow canvas, letting myself fall heavily into a white abyss. New snow falls for a new year; this lost cause is a new beginning.
–
I’ve picked up the paintbrush and begun to paint.
Photography By: Michelle Dee
Currently Listening To: Move Together By James Bay
– Emilyn Nguyen, Blank Canvases: New Beginnings
↠ Emilyn's Journey ↞ 