Identity Crisis much?

Long live the blog. Though this temporarily died. I haven’t blogged in a while. It doesn’t matter much, as I have been telling the world I’ve been feeling exhausted when I have been shopping, exhausted when I’ve run on a treadmill, posted the occasional selfie with filters so you cannot see the dark circles around my eyes and a pathetic attempt of self-vanity and pouted. So all is not lost, though through social media if we do all this, we are somehow all losers.

I’m quite excited about this coming week. I’m starting an art course. Reviving those skills I acquired when I was younger. The course is called ‘Developed Drawing’ – which implies I somehow know how to draw a bit already. Though, if I look back at people complimenting my artwork so far, I have this notion that they are just humouring me, making me feel good, or joking about completely. I always seem to have this dread. So what do I do? ‘It’s not that good’ or ‘art thou sure’? (shit joke, shoot me)

Why can I never be happy with a compliment? I started searching back in my life as to when this started. I remember it clearly in high school when I said ‘I would rather put myself down first than run the risk of someone doing it for me’ and that became the habit. I left high school in 2002. You don’t need to be a mathematician to know that it’s been an effing long time for me to keep this habit alive. So fuck it. Yeah, I swore. Gasp all you want but you know it feels exhilarating.

This was my identity, sugar coated in humility. But I’m bad-ass (Ben is this being said with enough conviction?) I’m an awesome artist. I think differently. I get annoyed when people take the piss, though I still treat them well, even though they need their tongues ripped out from their mouths. This is my new ID. But wait, there is more.

I’m a bit lost. I’m unforgiving of who I am. I did a personality test to find out that I’m like Gandhi, Martin Luther King. That it’s okay to be like me. It’s okay to switch accents dependent of whom I’m speaking to. It’s okay to love Bollywood like I do. (Don’t start asking about whether Gandhi or King liked Bollywood) It’s okay to be nice to people even though they treat you terribly. The only non Indian thing I’ve done is start watching House of Cards. Though I would rather then level it up with watching Vikas Bahl’s Queen again. This is all so confusing, do I break this habit? Should I be more ‘Londoner’ or should I be proud to be a ‘citizen of the world’. I’m not sure. I’m happy to be from here, but I have a longing to belong it seems somewhere else. I don’t know. Right now, I’m stay on this fence, until it makes sense. (it rhymed, slow clap).