If one would look at all the pictures I took during my trip to Perigord, Les Ezyies and such, a stark lack of human forms would be apparent.
I consciously avoid people pictures. Mostly because I hate being in front of the lens, and thus, wouldnt want to subject anyone else to that caliber of torture.
Inanimate objects are a safer alternative, for an abysmally amateur “picture-taking-person” like me.
But occasionally, in times of weakness … it feels like Im waiting forever, for someone to come and take a picture of me. My soul and form laid bare for everyone to see and having no regrets, of how it turned out.
I know that. Its been drilled into my head – by my parents, by friends and by my own alter-ego.
I think I have been/made myself quite immune to its happening. I seldom notice when the change is taking place, but when it is brought to my notice, I react with the usual symptoms – disbelief, anger, denial… and very very rarely acceptance.
Do I actually adapt to changes in my life?
Or do I just push them behind into the dark recesses of our minds and refuse to think about it until it is pushed right up-front of our faces by the ever-present present? Confession – I do this more often than not.
Evolution kills all the fun.
Just when I need a pair of silk-spinning glands to weave a cocoon around myself and retreat from the outside world, it goes ahead and makes me a human.
A female, at that too.