When Eve Ensler asked a woman in Africa if she loved her body, she was faced with this response: "ooh, i love my body! my body.. my body- look at my hands, and my fingers! my fingernails- little crescent moons- look at my hands! and my arms, so strong! my arms, so strong, they carry me around! and my legs! OH my legs can wrap around a man, and HOLD HIM THERE!" when eve told this woman that she didn't know how to love her body, she responded, "do you like that tree? now look at that tree? do you say this tree isn't pretty because it doesn't look like that tree? you are a tree. i am a tree. love your tree. love. your. tree.

I painted a twig. Can the twig be loved, find love, love itself. Can the twig be painted without being blanketed by its surroundings? Will it simply be disregarded, kicked, and suffocated by natures soil? Will it crack and splinter under the pressure of a stone.

I feel like the tiny twig, discoloring and camouflaging against the back roads of the world. Invisible to others or simply to myself. I feel the stinging pain of my existence disintegrate, until all that is left is debris.

I see it in my painting, the tiny twig invisible among the monstrosity of darkness that surrounds it.

How can a twig become a tree? How can this be when it is already so rusted, thinned, and diced into shrivels? Mold- the living, no longer present on the tiny twig for IT even believed the twig to be worthless of its substance. Can the twig simply stay as it is and be centered with defining beauty, confidence, and love. Can it uncover its beauty from within regardless of its lack of budding leaves or flowers, regardless of its distance and miniature stature from the rest?

The twig is unsure but it vows to venture on the pain forsaken path of ups and downs until resolution is found. It will break down further, it will mend later, it will fall off the road, it will get back on, it will pause at the center, it will turn back & recede into darkness, it will turn yet again, it will delay its journey and question, it won't turn back but it won't move forward, it will teeter at the edge, it will be betwixt and between...doomed to a liminal state, hoping transition will be attainable in this way.

Will I ever be like the woman in Africa? Will I ever appreciate what I have? Will I ever stop being influenced by the Western culture? But I know better than that. I know that culture is but the tiniest element in all this, though I can't help but wonder my fate had I been raised elsewhere.

Fragile but strong, I realize the projections my mind puts forth. I know very well how to counter thoughts in all negative aspects of life, yet I am still so very weak to this. A deep thinker I am, but my thoughts reach levels much to unhealthy for any human mind. Wisdom is the greatest of things and the worst of things. I truly wish I could focus all this energy and deep thought in things other than food and who I am not, how I come across, dissecting everything I say to no end, only to conclude it is always wrong.

Wisdom and questioning has lead me to believe in nothing, to trust no one, to question how in fact anyone knows anything at all. How can anyone give me advice, instruct me on the ways of life, share beliefs, knowledge etc. when what they know is only known by way of someone else. That other person learned from someone else, and that else learned yet from another. This is the way of life, we have learned through others, and through the decent of information thoughts have altered or have been related incorrectly, thus creating myth and differentiation in learned material among individuals. And yet there is no source to any of it.

People of all cultures stand by their religions with such strength and dedication, each one believing their way is the only way; each can influence and carry about great points that make you want to believe too...but then another influences you, and another, and another...how does one know what to believe? What religion to follow? Who is correct? Even philosophers-so many great theories, but I am overwhelmed by the amount of differentiation, and therefore can not trust anyone. Can believe no one. No one knows anything at all.