Wasteland

Ten years ago, I wrote a two-line poem translating in :

I'm like walking alone in a wasteland.

It makes my heart like a wasteland too.

I was a child then and it was the first time I tried to peer into my heart in arts.

Ten years have passed, and I’ve come to realize that my heart is a flowing mist.

When I look at it, it disappears.

Perhaps words are destined to be scarce.

I decided to use photography to visualize it:

The unspeakable sadness, sickness, fear, softness, trauma, self-esteem, numbness, trance.

Gradually, they took shape in the image.

Maybe I still can't perceive myself directly.

But I can pull out what's inside.

And fling it out into the outer world.

I'm still walking alone in the wasteland

My heart is still a wasteland.

But this wasteland can be displayed so that I can find connections with myself and the world.