Not a day goes by that I don't think of India. I have said before that I found a piece of my heart in India, but it stayed there, and I have felt its absence more than ever. As much as my heart yearns to return, the tapestry my mind loses a small fiber of memory. As I try to collect the threads create the memories, there is surprisingly little there for me to hold on to. I grip each thread tightly, desperately holding on. I try to find triggers in the Indian music and movies that might bring back memories or fool me into thinking that I'm there. But nothing I do can replace the missing piece of my heart. I wish to return there someday, but now I wonder if it is best to let it be and keep the memories as they are.
The mind is a funny thing, that over time distorts the things that are permanently etched. Things that were once terrifying become funny. And the funny become even more so. Some memories are forgotten (occasionally by force), and some return.
I have been thinking a lot about memories lately as I have continued to do work on what I now call The Scar Anthology. Through the duration of the project many memories that I had chosen to forget have risen in my mind again. Listening to the stories of other people having to no choice but to face their trials that left them with scars brought me to face mine and come out the victor.
New trials have come as a result of this project as well. For those who do not know, I attended (and recently graduated) from Brigham Young University-Idaho, a private and understandably conservative school in an equally conservative community. All were incredibly supportive of the message I was trying to spread, but they were less willing to display the photos, specifically the photos of the two breast cancer survivors that both showed an uncovered breast. Each call, email and and inquiry was met with
The mind is a funny thing, that over time distorts the things that are permanently etched. Things that were once terrifying become funny. And the funny become even more so. Some memories are forgotten (occasionally by force), and some return.
I have been thinking a lot about memories lately as I have continued to do work on what I now call The Scar Anthology. Through the duration of the project many memories that I had chosen to forget have risen in my mind again. Listening to the stories of other people having to no choice but to face their trials that left them with scars brought me to face mine and come out the victor.
New trials have come as a result of this project as well. For those who do not know, I attended (and recently graduated) from Brigham Young University-Idaho, a private and understandably conservative school in an equally conservative community. All were incredibly supportive of the message I was trying to spread, but they were less willing to display the photos, specifically the photos of the two breast cancer survivors that both showed an uncovered breast. Each call, email and and inquiry was met with