Trying to pinpoint the exact moment of when I started loving art is difficult for me because, ironically, I had not always loved it. Both of my parents were decent artists when they were young but neither of them ever pursued it beyond college which led them to not really caring if their child was artistically talented. Despite this, I amassed a large collection of my own drawings. The reason why I had started drawing, to my knowledge, was because I was lonely. Struggling with social anxiety since I was a child, I rarely had any friends and it left me feeling isolated and broken. To repair myself, I started drawing my own characters and came up with grand stories about them. I remember one of the stories I had created was about a shy girl named Diana being transported to outer space and meeting aliens who became her life-long friends. Reading the story again as an older teenager, I deemed it nothing but “escapism trash.” I truly hated that all of my art was nothing but a substitute for my loneliness– a trait of myself that I absolutely despised. The fact that art and suffering were always connected to each other in the same way that my identity has always been symbiotic with shyness, loneliness, and isolation had almost made me detest art. Despite all this, however, I never stopped drawing. I took long breaks but never truly gave up on it because it was the only thing that stayed with me all throughout my life. However, my passion was dimmed. Trying to regain a lost passion felt impossible for me until I discovered my favorite artist and biggest influence of all time, Ryuichi Sakamoto, who does not draw but creates music. I had been familiar with Sakamoto’s music since I was little through his iconic melody, “Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence,” but really only started to dive deeper into his discography when I entered high school. From his experimental debut album, Thousand Knives, to his deeply personal and profound album, Async, I was impressed by his diverse range of sonic abilities. Becoming more interested, I spent hours reading about Sakamoto’s views on art and the world itself. One part of his philosophy that really struck me was his statement on how silence and music were dependent on each other– a reflection that he made after witnessing the 2001 September 11 attacks where there was no music except for the quiet sounds of people helping and caring for each other after a tragedy– concluding that music cannot exist without moments of peace. It reminded me of my own views of art and identity being intertwined with each other. Sakamoto’s perspective on art and his never-ending curiosity about the world made me want to try again, to draw again, and to rethink about the meaning of art again. As I grow older, my thoughts and views are not the same as when I was a kid; though, I still believe that art is a reflection of the self. Maybe to love art, I had to love myself which would mean that my love for art had stemmed only recently. In an attempt to draw again, I began with doing studies and it has been very fun. I do love art and have already decided to continue my journey in college. As I keep learning, I hope that my love for art grows everyday.

Because of fear and anxiety, I have constantly questioned my own life. I questioned why I couldn’t just be normal like everyone else. I questioned why I couldn’t just speak when I wanted to. I questioned whether or not people like me even deserved to live out their hopes and dreams when one of the most basic capabilities of being a human being felt like an impossible task. Since preschool, I have always had social anxiety. My parents just waved it off, assuring themselves that I would become more talkative eventually. However, the opposite occurred. My social anxiety became worse over the years to the point where a single word wouldn’t come out of me for an entire day. This problem became especially noticeable during my high school years where my parents finally took me to therapy and got me an official diagnosis of severe social anxiety and selective mutism. When I got my diagnosis, I didn’t feel any different. I always knew I had some sort of anxiety disorder but had constantly been rejected by my Asian parents who knew nothing of mental health–falsely telling me that I was completely normal. Being unable to talk to anyone out of fear, I spent most of my childhood years alone. Instead of interacting with others, I would occupy myself with drawing, listening to music, and various other forms of escapism. Most of the time, I felt fine. But other times, a dark pit in my stomach would form. Other people my age were forming precious memories with their friends, while I lived through the same everyday. Loneliness was a side effect of social anxiety. On really bad days, I couldn’t hold it in and would burst into tears, crying in front of everybody. The kids in my class would notice but not say anything. Nobody knew how to comfort me. Nobody knew who I was. Nobody even knew my name. I wept. Living with selective mutism is painful. It makes you feel less than human for being unable to speak– the simplest task that anybody could do. However, that was in the past. For several years, I have tried to change. Although progress was nonlinear, I feel as though I have transformed immensely. It was difficult and scary to withstand my fear, but I slowly reached small goals one by one. I answered questions in class even if they were wrong, I attempted to approach someone first instead of waiting for someone to do it to me, I actually made friends although it took me several tries, I have formed unforgettable memories of folding origami with my best friend and exchanging it to each other as a token of our friendship and our shared love for art. Spending nearly thirteen years of my life drowning myself in my own loneliness, fear, and pity, I had convinced myself that I deserved nothing. However, that was not true. I am a human being, after all, like everyone else– capable of change, to love, and make friends despite my social anxiety. Currently, I am eighteen years old, pursuing a degree in art– the one thing that had comforted me when I had nobody. Although I still have small bits of that cemented fear from my early childhood, I hope that I can continue to change when I get to college. I want to form connections, learn more about art, and make memories like everyone else because I deserve to live out my hopes and dreams too.