12.12.2022

M.C. Escher (1898-1972, Dutch) ~ Two Birds (No. 18), 1938

Everyone is born with a certain disposition, burdened with the task to carry it with them for the rest of their lives.

I am no different.

As a child, I suffered from the afflictions of a deeply confused person. I wouldn't understand for years to come, but I would continue to fight this battle for the rest of my life.

In me were two birds, each ravenous and begging to hatch.

One bird sang the song of my parents, of my brother and sisters. Of my classmates. The other bird sang louder, and though its chant lacked harmony, it was equally charming; with a unique, solemn sound.

Their chorus has brought me great pain.

I've searched far and wide for a cure to this sickness, never understanding what it is that truly harms me. No book, nor film, nor art piece was able to reveal to me what the whispers of my blood suggested.

Their spirit has taken me to many places, but none as desolate and poorly explored as myself. If I could tame these birds, would I be able to take control and rid myself of these beasts?