Sorry I Died Lol Have This Shit

when i was young, i was taught to be strong

I believe that I was born a romantic. I believe that we all are–we are born with the ability to see the shapes in every cloud, the sword in every stick, the magical creature in every pet. I believe we are born with the ability to see a magical forest in every garden, and royalty and nobility in every friend that we make. We are born with the ability to see magic, and we are born with a love of love.

I believe that I lost that romanticism when I was young.

I believe I lost it when my mother refused to hold my hand. She had been angry at me, and she yanked her hand away from mine whenever I reached for it. I was six.

I believe I lost it when my father mocked my brother for crying when we left the Philippines after a trip to see our family. He was seven. I believe I lost it when my father, in the same breath, called me the man of the family because I refused to cry. He valued masculinity, and as a child all I wanted his approval, because he never gave it to me. I was ten. I remember it vividly as one of the few moments I felt seen.

I believe I lost it when my mother explained to me, day after day after day, how stupid she found women who valued love above all else. How kindness was an act of submission, how having feelings in and of itself was weak. That may not have been what she said–but it was what I internalised.

My brother cried every time he heard our parents arguing, which was almost every night. I would tell him to stop acting like a child. I would read through the screaming and block out my brother’s sobs, rolling my eyes dismissively every time I heard him sniffle. I believe he lost his romanticism then. He doesn’t cry anymore. We’re close–but he’s no longer as kind as he was when we were young.

We lost our romanticism when our parents decided the best way to discipline us would be to attack our character–to call us stupid, lazy, worthless. Sponges, useless, failures. And if we cried, we were weak.

So we learned to be strong. I learned to be strong. I learned to be mean and to scoff at magic, at softness, at love–all the things I adored and wanted so badly. I learned to never cry, not even privately, that empathy was wrong, and that I was worthless unless I followed these tenets.

My parents are very different people now. Before I left home, my father told me he loved me, and I couldn’t say it back. Three words I’d longed to hear since childhood, and I didn’t believe it was real. It didn’t feel real. It felt like him trying to make excuses as to why I should stay–stay because it’ll be hard on your own, stay because you’ll have a hard time living with your grandparents, stay because I love you. But I left. I didn’t cry when I left home. I didn’t cry when my sister said goodbye. I didn’t cry when my brother gave me his fidget toy unprompted as a goodbye gift. I didn’t cry when my mother finally left me alone, after staying with me for two weeks.

I wish I had. If this is what strength is, then I am tired of being strong. I want to be weak–I want to romanticise things again. I want to cry and I want to be able to admit it without feeling shame. I want to love and laugh and be kind. I want, so dearly, to be soft.

I will begin by admitting that as I type this my tears stain the keyboard. I will begin by admitting that I am afraid of posting this, of my friends seeing me differently and of people seeing me as naive. I am afraid of people seeing just how weak I actually am, but I refuse to let myself be scared any longer.

I am not actually touch averse, as I have told many of my friends. I just don’t know how to handle affection. I’m scared that they’ll actually be able to feel how much I want to be held. I’m scared they will pull away because of it.

I am one of those lovestruck people my mother loved to complain about. I want to fall in love–I want to fall hard and deeply. I want to be the devoted partner. I want to feel as though there is at least one person who is safe. I want the fairy tale wedding and the whirlwind romance. I want cheesy pet names and dancing in the kitchen at 3 am. I want to hold hands and buy them flowers and argue over whose turn it is to pick the movie. I want to love someone, and be loved back.

I want to believe in magic again. I want to go back to seeing Excalibur in every broken branch. I want to go back to believing in fairies and mermaids and that I could see them hiding in the trees and the crests of each wave.

I want to feel beautiful, and I can only feel beautiful if I allow myself to be kind, not only to others but to myself. There is no shame in empathy, in compassion, in kindness–perhaps Cinderella was onto something after all. I believe there is virtue in throwing your love into the world, even when it chews you up and spits you back out. There is virtue in refusing to participate in a circle of hate. There is virtue in proclaiming that it ends with you. There is strength in being soft, real strength, and that is the strength I now wish to embody.

I am trying to recover my romanticism. I still have to fight the part of me that wants to be hard, scary, and respected–but I have to believe I live in a world where softness can garner respect instead of scorn, because I no longer wish to exist in a world where softness does not exist.

Kindness is not an act of submission. Softness is not a loss.

For me, softness is my victory.

Nightlight from the Guardians of Childhood book series!! here s a small scene i doodled B) if u wanna find out which scene u should go read the books ok thanks

[do not reupload lol]

ask my ocs questions 

some stuff to go off of if u need it:

-theyre brothers but none of them are related -kaede is the one with glasses, katsu is the redhead, and yknow who isamu is -katsu and kaede are older than isamu -isamu is taller than both of them

my oc Isamu again. he’s a good boy (not really),,dont let this calm peaceful image fool u he is the worst

Environment and color practice! I’m very bad at drawing buildings ;w;

apparently i never posted this here? probably bc i knew itd get shit notes but shhh anyways this is something i did for my school’s art show! i fixed it up a little–cropping it and blurring the background a little more so the subject (the prince) stands out more

Commissions 4 a friend!!! dont reupload. reupload and i break into ur house and steal ur forks

so ive been listening to singularity on repeat so i decided to do this

im hurting

idk why i hurt myself like this but it looks pretty--but like, ig this technically does count as fanart? i’ll tag it as such

anyways do not reupload/steal lol 

I was listening to an art podcast and I heard someone use “creative hibernation” as a term to describe a period of time when your creative energy and flow of ideas is slowing down.

Honestly, it sounds so much better than “art block”. To me, “creative hibernation” sounds less like a negative thing and more like an organic part of the creative process. 

“Art block” sounds very definite. They sound like something you MUST actively fight against to break them down in order to continue. “Hibernation” on the other hand sounds more like a thing that happens every now and then but that will go away on its own when it’s time. It’s a stage of gathering energy for the next creative pursuit. Art block on the other hand is an artificial, mental block that actually just seems to solidify the more you treat it like an obstacle to get around.

All creative people go through this type of slowing down all the time and it is completely alright. I thought I would share this because I think the right kind of mentality is actually one of the most important things of recovering your creative energy.

i want to dead but here’s the troublesome trio going home from a cafe with some goodies

also i did a background

i did it scoob