Then came the first year of university. Still in Graphic Arts. Since I had invested so many years in this field, I had to continue. This was the new normal, the new comfort zone.
Still without a budget, still scraping by. Still random, but at a higher difficulty level.
I wasn’t allowed to visit museums; I had never been to an art museum or an exhibition. If I hinted that I wanted to go, I was suspected of planning to go somewhere else entirely—who knows where? Wherever art students go, doing who knows what.
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We all carry a story within us.
Mine is etched with pain, colored by nuances only I can truly understand.
Each of us holds different narratives, shames, and moments of invalidation.
We all have a shadow—a part of us that shapes our identity while we avoid its gaze because the pain feels unbearable.
Unresolved, unhealed energy stays trapped inside, lingering in the dark. It waits patiently until we dare to face it, to open the window of our soul and let it flow free.
Inside, we remain children—stunted by the absence of permission or validation to carve our own paths. We cling to the light source we trusted to guide us, hoping it knew what was best for us.
Yet, even when intentions are good, we find ourselves alone, lost, in a field, with no direction, and then, the only way forward is inward. We must face our shadow, set our own rules, and boldly step onto the road that is ours to walk.
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But was I wrong to stay so deeply connected to my mother?
A mother who, no matter what I did, constantly told me I was wrong?
Looking back, I know I had no choice. It was all I knew.
I made it my mission to prove to her that I was good.
But it didn’t matter. She only saw my flaws—or perhaps imagined them—with a misguided intention to protect me.
Yet I didn’t feel safe. I felt preyed upon. Bullied by the very person who should have been my sanctuary.
I began to wonder if she was trying to shield me from something terrible, something I didn’t even know about.
Was I dying? Was she keeping me from life, from friendships, from places, to spare me further harm?
This belief took root in my mind and later manifested as a very real illness in my body.
Unexpressed emotions—like anger—don’t just vanish. They linger, disrupt, and eventually surface as harm to your health.
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That’s why I’m telling my story now.
Maybe it can help someone else escape the trap of proving themselves endlessly to those who don’t truly see them—people who are more focused on their own fears or convenience than your well-being.
Good intentions can cast long shadows.
Locking a child away to keep them physically safe doesn’t protect them—it crushes their spirit.
Even the sun has a shadow, though we rarely think about it.
Sometimes, the sun that is supposed to guide our way, burns us. What do you do with the information that, perhaps, you might be too much even when you are, practically, invisible?
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These drawings were all made in that first year of University, before I finally moved out.
I started to transform them into linocuts. Work is still in progress.
English