In the hallowed corridors of my self-reflection, I’ve never considered myself an artist. Words like thinker and observer found cozy corners in the gallery of my self-identity, but artist? Never. All my life, I watched as others conjured breathtaking works of art, marveling at their innate talent. But I, I believed, didn’t have the gift. The talent that effortlessly transformed blank canvases into masterpieces eluded me.

I ventured into the realm of artistic expression a few times, testing the waters. One summer, I enrolled in a community art class, eager to explore this latent aspect of my being. However, the cruel truth of my lack of natural-born talent soon became painfully apparent. It was disheartening to confront the possibility of being subpar at something initially, the grim prospect of creating mediocre art repeatedly until mastery seemed daunting. My perfectionism, a relentless companion, wouldn’t allow me to endure such a learning curve.

But then, a revelation dawned on me as I began to capture moments through the lens of an old Canon Rebel I had discovered. I uncovered an innate sense for beauty and a willingness to persevere in my photographic endeavors, even when I was still a novice. Criticism and self-doubt often loomed over me, casting their somber shadows. Nevertheless, day by day, I continued to press that shutter button, crafting my skill with each click. Working with the play of light and the dance of colors, I realized that a glimmer of creativity might indeed reside within me.

Deep down, I had always yearned to draw, a desire that had nestled within me since childhood. However, I lacked the discipline to embark on the arduous journey of learning to sketch, to paint, to master the art of visual storytelling.

But change has now unfurled its enigmatic wings within my life. You see, too many souls spend their existence dwelling in the realm of wishes. They dream of doing something, hoping for the magical moment when their aspirations will materialize. Yet, wishes are but fleeting whispers, evaporating into nothingness. They remain trapped in the realm of thought, unfulfilled.

I may never be the artist I long to be, but that will not deter me. I have resolved to practice relentlessly, to sketch with reckless abandon, and to study the intricate interplay of shadows and light. I will fill countless notebooks and sketchbooks until my well of paper runs dry, and my once-lengthy pencil dwindles into a mere stub.

The crux of the matter is this: I no longer wish; I do. In this newfound journey, I embrace my own subtle creativity, a realm of enigmatic allure and intellectual exploration. I unravel the layers of my artistic identity, one stroke at a time, allowing the intricacies of art to lead me into the depths of my creative potential.