There are times when I have the urge to say something important, but I don’t know necessarily how to place them in the proper words, or even which words are proper to write to truly convey the message. At times like these, my hands bounce frantically back and forth between the keyboard, pounding on the backspace button more than I could count. My seating position constantly fidgets for a change, from lying on my stomach next to the ladder, a foreign object intermingling with the room’s environment, to sitting down crisscross, my back hunching forward, striving to see the keyboard. The small notion clawing itself out of my subconscious is clear. I must write.
In the back of my head, I hear a small little voice, the one kickstarter as to why I have been induced into this writing fervor, squealing to make its voice apparent, despite all the surrounding distractions around me. Finally, after the rumbling of the weekday rush hour diminishes into a faint whir in the background, the message is quite clear:
“I am sorry for not being aesthetic enough.”
Sometimes, when ideas come to a person, the person isn’t immediately able to comprehend what it means. It may take days, weeks, months, even years, to grasp the depth or importance of something that appears to be substantial. Perhaps it may only appear to be substantial, when in actuality, it is quite shallow. However, this idea is nothing close to shallow, and I feel the amount of weight it asks me to carry and to speak of; this is something that has been shaking in my bones with such rigor I can hardly command my fingers to stop typing.
Aesthetic. What is aesthetic?
Depends on how one uses it. I never actually heard of it until I was introduced to, dun dun DUN, Tumblr.
If used as a noun, it means “a set of principles underlying and guiding the work of a particular artist or artistic movement,” but under the contexts of an adjective, it “concerns with beauty or the appreciation of beauty; giving or designed to give pleasure through beauty; of pleasing appearance.”
Aesthetic is now one of those words that is constantly thrown across the room and can easily be labeled onto anything that is appealing, such poetry and soft, portrait photography. These are two things which I lack on this blog, which are also things that most teen female bloggers tend to post about. There are times when I feel as if I am a blogging pariah simply because I lack these things. The only reason why I post some poetry or include several silhouette shots is because I view them to be the proper medium for certain posts, and not for anything else.
Should I feel a bit like an outcast because I rarely post these things? The answer is that I shouldn’t, but every so often a nagging opinions would cloud my mind. I feel myself slowly unraveling away from the rest of the blogging community because the way I post excludes me from engaging in a conversation with others who usually gush about how "they can't even" because they "have no words." I'm not like that, but it seems as if people want me to maybe morph and change my aesthetic to maybe understand the linguistic interchange going on. This seems to tie in with my post from several months ago.
Aesthetic is within the eye of the beholder. Each person's aesthetic, I feel, determines the kind of person that they want others to see, which may not necessarily be the actual person they are, a preconception. I may not always showcase beautiful things or good moments in my life. There is a reason why my blog does include the "downs" part, after all! I do know that for me, a part of my aesthetic includes the amount of simple, real things which I portray in my writing, and they aren't always the most beautiful things some of it shows the torturing obstacles in life, and these are things that I write and publish because they are important for me to talk about, in these enormous paragraphs that are very real and direct. Even the times where I have received recognition in any form, from a monetary prize to attending a huge, state-known ceremony, it is always the feeling of being heard that overweighs whatever compliments get throw at me.
There is always truth that interweaves in my writing, raw and honest; I can't even lie in my own writing because that would be me lying to myself, and I can't stand that writing is my way to be authentic, without constraints. Raw and honest writing isn't always pretty on the surface, but there are bits and pieces which refract to make something that is indeed beautiful.
One's personal aesthetic should not be stifled by others who constrict another's creative voice or expression, and this often is done inadvertently. The constant struggle of trying to fit in with the rest of the world yet attempting discover who we are as individuals is a hard one to deal with daily, and others influence another more than what we think. The period of being a teenager is our time to find out who we are and a bit of what we're here to do. Isn't that the one of the points of this part in time? Now, my moral compass is spinning wildly in circles, whether to conform or not, although the answer rushes quickly to me, in a small squeal:
I do not have to change to conform, because if there is one thing that has been rammed into my head by my college bound friends is that in art, the first person who should be satisfied is yourself. This theme for blogging for yourself has come up many times on my blog, but this is so important for me to try and comprehend my thoughts. The way I blog is my choice, the way I wish to express myself is my choice. I don't know exact who I am, thus the inconsistency of finding my true aesthetic, but I know I will get there someday. Someday. Isn't that hopeful?
While my aesthetic may consist of mismatched mixtapes and literature or candida highlighting moments people wouldn't think twice of until they're sixty, it doesn't matter, because I am happy with the way that I write. That's good enough.