The Patchwork Doll is a personal endeavour chronicling my real-life experiences battling eczema.
The Patchwork Doll by tsukiiruka
We all have our own 'inadequacies' - something that everyone else seems to have, but we lack. Something that everyone's able to do with relative ease, but never appears by our side. Something that makes us feel sometimes that we are lagging behind, not living as much, not as alive as others are or are able to be. We revisit conversational tidbits and storybook adages that tell us that we are not born equal, that everyone has different talents and abilities. But we never really understood them because that was never what we were quietly aching over.
And then we find that place in time and space where we are the people we've chanced upon in dreams, where we become the people we would always be in a different reality, comfortable, natural, and free.
And this is what debating and singing is to me - where I'm no longer a sleeping doll with dried red seams and tied up dreams, where we compete in the race of words, of dancing syllables, and of human truths. A place where I at once lose track of time and yet must be made acutely aware of it, because every second and all the milliseconds in between, are settlements for every living letter that kisses my lips goodbye as stories are spelt out. A place where breaths are timed to slip through the narrative's natural cracks, so that they can escape without slicing slivers of deliberate words and chosen tones. A place that paradoxically fills you with peace and adrenaline, a place of strength and vulnerability - of being what you want to be. A place where you live as the people around you live, rightful footing are now in place of once awkward steps, and you breathe as they breathe. A place where the rhythmic forwarding of tales echoing the beating heart that you are now keenly cognizant of is a comforting lullaby that caresses your mind into life. A place of no longer feeling inadequate, or out of place, because you are now one with the fleeting words bursting with colour and momentum and floating thoughts of every synchronised dreamer.
Who wears the mask then? The one you were born as, or the one you now become?
Then we remember that the question never really mattered, because we are not the sleeping doll birthed in a factory with a frozen face and useless grace in hinged limbs. We are not a mask, because our faces contort in countless ways that even we will never have the privilege of personally witnessing. We are not a sleeping doll because we react, we grow, we scream.
And it is in that place we remember and finally understand as we awaken, that
We live, we are alive, and we can be more than a doll with her default factory settings.
|At a Debate Tournament. Photo Credits: Lucas Li|