Translation Needed?



I wasn't always into fashion. 
But one day I survived a near-death experience. I suppose you could say
I didn't really survive at all. Because the person I was before then
is gone. As I grew up and up and the world got smaller beneath me,
I realized I wanted to be something. I didn't want to have been here,
never remembered for anything, having died without having lived, 
never making a dent in history, never doing anything to hurt the world or help it.
I didn't want to fade away.
In a phrase, I wanted to change the world. Somehow, somehow.
And I had been given a second chance at life. I wanted--needed--to find a way to leave my footprints on the sands of time. After getting a juvinile criminal charge for vandalizing a building, I realized you couldn't spray paint the world with the words "I was here"
and expect the police not to arrest you. 
I came to understand that a man can make a world of change, but he can't change the world.
I realized we all just live and die and disappear, 
and even Beethoven would be forgotten in the next century to come.
The only way to immortalize yourself is to change someone's world.
Just one world. Or a hundred 'one world's. 
And to do that, I would have to leave an impression on them.  
To tell the world who I am without saying it aloud. 
But there's so much to tell, so much, so many faces of who I am.

I'm an urban hipster. An indie hippie. A vintage babe. An emo Green Day fan. A grunge kid.
A pinup prep. A retro doll. A go-go K pop star. A thrift chic. A goth girl. A couture lover.
A steampunk aviator pilot. A manga character. A lolita. 
A schizophrenic chick.

So I decided that, should I die, 
everyone who had encountered me would say
"I didn't know her well, but every day she showed up looking like a different person."
They wouldn't know I was a terrible potter and a gardener.
That I was a varsity rifle shooter or a motorcyclist. 

Or that I was Jewish. An aspiring author, a poet, a musician, or an artist. 

They'd never realize I loved snakes,
I designed and sewed my own clothes, I lived to run,

and I loved children and astronomy. 
That I carried a Canon camera everywhere.
That I wanted to work for National Geographic, Time, or Life magazine.

Or that I was morbid and unsociable but 
charismatic if I wanted to be. 

A cutter and manic deppressant and anorexic.

Or about the voices of all my oppressers, ringing in my ears from so long ago.

Suicidal and broken and can't tell what's wrong 'cause nothing's right,
avoiding looking in the mirror because I hated what I saw,
tried to will myself to stop existing.  
Afraid to trust, and trusting that fear
to keep me from getting hurt again...

Bleeding out... oh God, why am I still here? 

That death was the only. Way. Out.


That I didn't let go because of the little patches of light in my life. 

That I was a fighter and a soldier and never let any of it hold me back.

That I was a runner who ran from nothing.

That I 
was growing and dreaming and wanted to share myself.


They'd only know I had a schizophrenic fashion sense.
It's a small impression, but it's something
Something is better than nothing.
Hi. It's great to meet you. My name is Ash.
And today... I'm alive.

1 comment:

  1. Thank you for sharing your story with me Ash. I know it's hard to speak up about personal struggles, especially today because we are pressured to talk only about positive things (facebook, instagram.. etc) so I am grateful for your honesty.

    Thank you.


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