I am not a tale to be told

I am not a tale to be told

Sometimes I try to remember some of the damages in my life from society, family, and culture. But, unfortunately, my mind and body refuse to acknowledge it. My body refuses to speak out, and I feel something pressing and breaking me down. I feel insensibility in a paradoxical situation. Having a feeling of not having senses. Struggling with psychological impact is confusing and challenging; I found the human body as evidence to acknowledge the trauma. I found stitching and sewing to bond my sentiments to materials and convey remembrance through the hands, craft, and textiles. At the same time, I am sewing, little by little am repairing my wounded self with the repetitive act of sewing consistently. I am doing it while simultaneously damaging my skin on the fabric's surface with a small needle. Anger and, self-destruction, anxiety are like a loop. They can come up with every single shake and hurt you additionally profoundly. After a while, you feel numbness, and paralysis, like a piece of fabric that someone throws into the corner, silent, heavy, and painful.

Acknowledging the problem is making sense of something, which always seems is a senselessness problem. That is the beginning.