losing art is like death - april 27 2026
Losing art made me lose my passion for my life. I have not lost my limbs, believe me, but I do not have time to devote and worship what had once been the thing that saved me. Pursuing a skill not made for me, a path of logic and rigid structure, has chipped hard at my self-esteem and now I feel numb at the thought of failing another Chemistry assessment.
Why did I decide so strongly I would be a dentist back in Year 9? I didn't even want to be a dentist anymore. This work is hellish. But what did I think?
I thought and thought and thought until I hit a space far in the back of my mind. Too far, the memories blurred and hazed.
At 4, I had books with interactive questions, typical prompts for development of critical thinking. All of them never failed to include 'What would you like to do when you're older?', 'What is your dream job?' and 'What do you want to be?'. Of course, it was intended to be hypothetical. Yet, I had always known this, I wanted to be a singer. I wanted to share my voice to other people, to help them at their lowest, to connect with their stories and watch them smile. A very cliche trope, yet I only realise that now.
Being on the London underground, wanting to ask the woman bundled up in her warmest jumper about whether her novel was interesting; getting dragged to a boring tribute concert by my parents but being mesmerised by the sheer joy the elderly audience had dancing to nostalgic music; coming up to random kids in primary school who looked lonely and asking them to play with me.
Truly, I see that a dentist can give a smile of permanence, outside of the temporary nature of show and stage. A smile beyond the applause and quips of the characters, faces behind a veil. A lasting impact where I watch my patients flourish and grow. I learn about their stories and who they are, how beautiful it is to hear of life from other eyes. I never even intended to think this way but I do. Picking up art again at my lowest is how I healed. To create is to create life. I found I inherently want to live.
Yet now, I feel like a shell of that. These thoughts are those that ache in my mind and won't escape, like how my shoulders are so stiff, but no amount of massages can relieve it. I slipped back into my eating disorder, I'm isolating myself from my loved ones and spending more time overworking myself physically and mentally, I sleep 3-4 hours every night, I do nothing but passively scroll after pulling all nighters, cramming, I haven't picked up a paintbrush in months. What amount of effort will feel enough? I can't distract myself from this feeling of incompleteness, no matter how hard I push myself to do something outside of me.
If I can't ignore it then I must act on it. I should be creating but I have too much to consume. This year is truly my year where I study everyday, but now everyday feels too long. Too long being at my desk all day watching the white walls wither. If I could grieve art, I would weep.
There are too many responsibilities stacked on my shoulders, but I must keep pushing forward and act strong for those who believe in my fake strength. I would like to create my own permanent smile, too.