I went through depression twice in my life -- one was in Hong Kong because of work-related stress and postpartum in 2016. If I were to describe what it was like to be depressed, I'd say it felt like a hungry ghost. And the hungry ghost was never satisfied. What used to bring me joy didn't have any effect on me anymore and I found no logical reason to do them or to engage any longer. Like figuring out a pattern, but the pattern led to a dead end and it didn't really matter if you did anything or not. I felt disembodied and disconnected from life. I was merely an observer and wasn't actively part of the scene. It was exhausting and numbing. Even just observing life was exhausting.
Photography sounded cool back then. I was an angsty sheltered young adult in college and took a photography class under Pancho Escaler because yeah, it sounded cool. We would have assignments every week and we'd pass our roll of film all in black and white and he would come back to class the next week with our contact prints and a print of a photo he liked best. The class was very informal and very subjective. We discussed the technical side of photography but artistic choice is another thing.
Right now, photography is a bridge for me to engage again. It encourages me to look closer. To notice and to remember. It encourages me to see how precious every moment is. I take so many photos with my camera, with my phone and I end up having no space left in my hard drives. Years go by and the photos are just stored in digital folders. But when I go back and review each shot, even the most ordinary, random, poorly lit photos elicit strong emotional memories for me.
Sometimes I wonder if detaching is simply my defense mechanism from feeling too much because I tend to feel too much and be dramatic about things.
An uninvited guest came barging in without warning
He knew no decency nor any sense of timing
He demanded room in the sanctity of my routine
I fought to get rid of him; this time, I didn’t win
Together we shared meals
But he took my appetite away
He was slowly killing me
Every minute of everyday
He bombed fortresses that took years and years to build
He scraped off scars, even those I thought were healed
He bled me and exhausted all life from my soul
He did this to me ‘til I was but a black hole
And when I had nothing left to give away
I found strength in the strangest almost impossible way:
I picked up a pen and began to draw
Without inhibitions, my art appeared so raw
I let my hand move and create in its own pace
Used up all ink, filled every blank space
The uninvited guest remained and challenged every move
I resisted no longer; I had nothing to prove
I swam along the current of his demand
Let him control every stroke of my hand
I created using whatever I could find
Ink, paint, whatever, he did not really mind
He revealed my hidden springs that never ran dry
Water within my soul, or at times, rain from the sky
I explored and painted deserts of my desires
Tamed my emotional dragons that spat out fires
I made truce with my mental enemies that took over my mind
I ran along with them ‘til they were all left behind
I drew and painted all these things until one day The uninvited guest had already gone away He left without warning just like the way he arrived When he barged into my life..I didn’t think I’d survive
(written back in 2010, Hong Kong)