This was my bedroom wall back in high school – one day the summer before my senior year I started by painting my initials on the wall. It grew over time. Friends came over they signed the wall, I painted the names of my closest friends and girlfriends of different eras on the wall. It was a work of art, and epic time of my life. It was a living diary that shared information with those who entered and those who embraced it.
Every time someone came over something was added or removed from the wall. It went so far that even some parents signed it. It was a moment at time which I lived and breathed inside my mural, it was an extension of myself that I didn’t have for years.
When I moved out to go to college my brother inherited my room. Out when the mural, lost under paint was the soul that previously breathed into that room. After my brother, two of my sisters inherited that room. None of them kept up the mural tradition. Part of me had hoped my siblings would have taken up the torch, either taking their own wall or painting over the areas I had painted and made it their own.
Now it’s a plain painted wall and the pictures above are all that exists of the soul that lies beneath the current paint.
My blog now is my modern mural. Granted my friends don’t participate here like they did back then, but the blog I think is more ethereal to them as the wall was all those years ago. It doesn’t give them a chance to leave their mark the way the tangible wall allowed them to exist. The picture was take a week or two before I left for college. I lost myself after that. Lost was my childhood and the friendships I left behind. Moving on from the past and onto the next stage of my life. I am myself and no other. I have parts of myself that have been painted over and will never again emerge. Still for those that know, part of myself will always shine through because they know what exists beneath paint.