Learning was fascinating to her. The prospect of gaining knowledge and seeing things from a different perspective was the most exciting activity for her. Photography was a favorite hobby of hers. It quite literally enabled her to 'view objects from multiple perspectives'. New people, new quotations, new art work; all of it was inspiring, enthralling, and captivating to her. These various things were also, she felt, great teachers for her. There was more than just a visual appreciation in her heart for these objects. She was connected to these things somehow, on a deeper level. Things that caught her attention the most gave her goosebumps. It was almost as if a ghostly figure rose from, lets say a rose, and gently poured itself into her heart through her eyes. I have no intention of making this sound like sorcery. Still, this is exactly how she described it to me.
Of course, this strange phenomenon was not restricted to inanimate objects alone. Living, breathing creatures-both human and animal in nature-which she developed a liking to, had equally empowering effects on her 'spirit' or heart or soul. The strongest connection she felt with people was when she looked directly into their eyes. Most of the time, she had to look away because she felt herself almost being pulled into a vacuum.
These mysterious magnetic forces she felt actually served her quite well. Friends were easy to find, rather, it was easy for her to point out exactly when she had stumbled upon a true friend. She was perfectly safe from befriending traitors and backbiters. It was as if her senses automatically sorted the bad apples from the good ones. Call it, an in-built 'global positioning system', leading her only to the people who would benefit her, and fuel her inner gifts.Of course, her strength seems an enviable one. However, things were not always bright and sunny. Her 'unique qualities' left her with few friends with whom she could truly be herself around. Still, even her closest and truest of friends were not entirely suited to her nature or even completely understanding of her idiosyncrasies. There were times when she simply could not sit still because she was desperate to write, create something, photograph a scenery. These were awkward times when her when she was surrounded by her friends. Ridicule was something she had grown used to, still a tiny prick was bound to be felt when a sarcastic remark was passed, or one of her poems was not taken seriously. She was living in a world where artists were hard to come by. Also, she had come to the realization that other artists such as herself were the people who came closest to understanding her true self.
On more than one occasion, she came across people of all different ages but similar in their love for the arts. And on all these various occasions, what stood out for her was the feeling that someone else in the world felt exactly the way she did. These occasions were almost magical. They were synonymous to how it would feel if you were to, for the blink of an eye, become another person entirely and view the world from the exact pair of eyes he/she had.
Life was good to her, she thought oft to herself, in moments of isolated contemplation. It was nowhere near perfect, which was exactly why it was perfect. The combination of strengths and weaknesses in her gave life it's color. She was not merely a a gold statue, perfectly crafted and molded into a heavenly goddess. No. She was a paper doll. She was every color she could ever possibly think of. She was every color she ever dreamed she could be. It was messy, it was haphazard, it was wild, and confusing and exciting, at times even disturbing-but by the end of the day, it was her. She was all she had to offer to the world. That, she thought to herself, was perfection.
