For much of my life, I’ve tried to understand what it means to grow. It is an inevitable process for all living beings—we must grow and humans are perhaps hyperaware of this process. But how do I know I have grown? And in not just the physical sense—like counting inches of height, or a gray strand of hair amongst my head. Maybe it is more like a tree buds in the spring and we see it bloom. Or flowers rising from the earth and finding a way to the sun. As a kid, my aunts and uncles would exclaim, “look how much you’ve grown!” But, I’m still left wondering, is my change of height, my body, or my movements through womanhood that make my growth more visible? 

Once we become an adult, the definitions of growth seem to shift. My family no longer comments on my growth, even though I am growing more than ever—physically, spiritually, mentally. I feel my change is often left unseen and unacknowledged—but I feel my skin shedding more than ever. How are they blind to those flowers blooming? How the queerest parts of my body are, at last, nourished, and can dance amongst the gentle light of the horizon, peaking above the mountains ever so slightly. Oh, how I have never seen the sun before! Do they not see the light in my eyes again? 

I spent ample time in my childhood bypassing introspection—afraid of unearthing a monster. The shadow in the corner was always following me. I didn’t realize the shadow in the corner was me, and the monster, after all, was just a monster. And he is misunderstood, alas, as many monsters are. 

The monster in question—was my own desire. I wanted an answer to my own discomfort, so desperately, without feeling, but who knew feeling was the closest thing to holding myself? These growing pains I’ve been feeling, seem to be nurturing me. And my queerness is eternally intertwined with my ability to feel. 

This year has felt evolutionary. I think I was always meant to be queer. I was meant to feel this deeply. And I have grown into some sort of monstrous, beautiful fusion of uncertainty. And perhaps I need to lead this life. 

But, I am not finished. I am never finished. In fact, my growth is boundless, eternal. It will be challenging, but I remain faithful in knowing I am never the same, I never will be the same, but I still take a piece of my past self with me. 

This project is dedicated to my growing pains and my grown pains. It is dedicated to my first heartbreak and relationship with a woman. Dedicated to my newfound queerness. To a disorientating relationship with gender. To my home(s). To all the love I have lost, but also gained. To finally feeling love. And finally, most of all, this project is dedicated to my heart. 

I hold these experiences with tenderness, sifting through the oceans of my conscience. And in doing so, I glimpse at those fleeting moments of euphoria. How warm it still feels. I have never felt so light. I’m remembering what it was like to kiss you for the first time! And how I saw a whole universe in your eyes. The sorrow of you still lingers, but now it sits on the horizon, no longer consuming me.

My art is a constant stream of consciousness and a tangible reflection of my growth—an uninterrupted odyssey to me. Still muddled within my own explorations, I hope that my work can accomplish more than the expressions and struggles of growing, but the profound liberation (and beauty) that comes with it.