My new thing is taking blurry photos. It doesn’t mean that I take five photos and they’re all blurry and I have to resort to using one of them. I kinda do it on purpose.

I like the rebellion of it. When everyone is trying to show themselves in the perfect light of a filtered selfie, I’m doubled over in laughter, camera shaking. Click.

They’re moments. And they’re better lived in and remembered blurry than captured perfectly but barely lived in.

Out of focus. Rip it up. Upside down.

(But keeping the volume on an uneven number? Too far.)

Breakup songs. On repeat.

Kintsukuroi. The way the Japanese repair broken pottery with gold. Highlighting instead of disguising the breakage. Seeing that the piece is more beautiful for being broken.

And then there’s people. With jagged hearts and stories.

There are some that feel more strongly, think more deeply. They’re labelled ‘creatives’ and pushed into a corner of I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-your-emotions.

TBH, we don’t even know what to do with our moods. But there’s no off switch.

We crave seclusion but that’s also the wasteland where we obsess over every thought and action until our hearts are thin.

It’s torture to let go. Of memories, of embodiment. Adele is still singing “Hello” to her lover of years ago. Our feelings sink deep. Or should I say they’re “rolling in the deeeeeeeeeep”.

At the very same time, the lower we go, the more material we seem to have to create with. It’s almost a good enough reason to stay there.

Our feelings can be strung into melodies or left on a charcoal smothered canvas.

We can find the humanity in it, the blur.

My heart has been taking it’s sweet time to get over something (ok, someone). I have enough breakup lyrics for a Taylor Swift album.

There’s no off switch, but there is a channel.

Maybe we feel more deeply to let it out more strongly.

And they are given a voice because we are able to scream.