revive

i am revived.

but in a different way.

i'm not trying to sound cocky, but i believe i've been immersed in a lot of things. i've played multiple sports, been in different music environments, obviously theres school, and just other various activities.

and theres one i've always pushed in the back of my head, maybe because it was so hard on me my frosh year. 

i miss drawing. i miss painting, i miss the thumbprints of graphic design, i miss the musty smell of graphite on the sides of my hand. 

my friend in lit asked me why i quit art.

i didn't really know what to say. 

we have a lit project. its a journal, but i want the cover to look nice. i came up with a design in my dream, a metaphorical basket of what soldiers carried. but with a rustic, war theme. 

its one of the most original things i've ever come up with.

and i'm not talking about the float designs or the rally posters. i don't count those. 

but i count this. 

i color the war helmet with stains of the camo imprinted in my brain, and only wished it looked as good as it did in my head. i imagine the barbed wire, and wince at the thought of using more sharpie.

it looks to shapely.

it looks too cartoon.

i reach above my desk, push aside the nostalgia of pictures, my car model, small statues- small sentimental things i've collected over the years, and let my light saber fall to my worn carpet. 

i see my stacked boxes, unlabeled, and i find in shock that i remember what was in each one of those boxes. i automatically reach toward the long, flat, tin box striped with its cerulean blue. 

its my pencils.

when was the last time time i touched these? when did i put these to use, delicately channeling the graphite's potential onto the rough sketch parchment? 

i barely take a glance at the tin box and already i can see the dust collected at the top. my fingertips brush aside the lint in residue of stripes, and i remember.

i was 14 when i last used these. its been 2 years. i'm 16 now, but it really feels ages ago. a lot happened inbetween those 2 years. 

i've dealt with one heartbreak i wish i never have to relive again.

i almost went to the junior olympics. twice. 

i fell in love with stanford's model united nations. and realized i could write better than i thought.

i realized how much i missed reading, and loved the meaning of education. it's not a right, its not an obligation, rather, a privilege. 

i discovered my passion, my purpose to serve.

and sporadically, i've lost my will to run.

i wish i knew me, but i don't. and i know its a learning process. but i know this.

i abandoned what i really loved for a long time. 

i'm drawing the barbed wire in my head, and my hands choose the 6b.

the moment my fingertips touch that 6b, memories of portraits, sketches fly through my head. 

no, no, no.

7b.

that rustic, rough, graphite feel that i've forgotten what it feels like.

i need something rough around its edges.

i need something that depicts the war.

i'm such a perfectionist, i have the urge to smooth things out anyways. 6b is that perfect compromise. i need something unperfect. 

roughroughroughroughroughroughrough. 

the tip scours the yellow construction paper. 

its so hard to control, its rough, i've forgotten what this is like. 

i really miss this.

and back to reality- i have to study for bio.