“When everything is made to be broken , I just want you to know who I am  ” 

-Iris Goo Goo Dolls

Today I spent few minutes staring at my planner when I was sitting at a coffee shop,since I accidentally left my phone at home. I saw several quotes written in it that I choose as a reminder of what I want, who I want to be ,what I want to be , who I am and those that inspires me. My style is actually anything under the sun, it is filled with  spontaineaty , just go with the flow,  go with the trend and incorporate my personality. Although every thing that I buy has a story behind it . Like a black dress that I bought to impress EX-boyfriend #3,  or the purse that I bought because it reminds me of summer , or the turtle neck that looked like the one that Aubrey Hepburn wore on one of her black and white photos. 

Every dress in my wardrobe has it’s own story and as I dig through the pile of clothes I realize that little by little I am losing the stories behind it . It is like every clothes just exist, it lost their meaning , as I lost the story and reasons I have for buying it. I have learned from Parson x Vogue online classes that every clothes has their story, some fashion bloggers also dress up to tell their story , their mood and just like them , I have my own story to tell, and as I wear my clothes its like a story behind a story, and at some point mine is quite personal and mean literally.

Sadly I also realized that as I try hard to fit in , it causes me to lose my story , I start to forgot about them. Now I just buy clothes just for the sake of buying or a sake of just what is trend, or what is on SALE..I dress up just to impress people,which is “Very Wrong ” as Ate EJ address it,  I dress up just for the sake of being featured, on fashion instagrams (which never happened ) , or to dress up close to @ayeitsgalilee’s style so I wont feel peculiar but again it was , and it is , wrong . All because of this I lose my story . I lose my own identity. Most of my clothes now are just in my closet just because “it is nice “, “its trend ” , “it is pink “, “people will love this ”  not because “it make me feel beautiful ” , “this speaks of how I felt today ” , or “this color represent my personality ” , “its close to what I wore on my first time to hangout with siszums after my first break up ” , stories like these are the true meaning of my wardrobe and sadly these are what I am missing now a days.

I lost and forgot the reasons why I dress up . Yes it’s still fashionable,  still unique , quite not yet “instagram feature” worthy but its losing its context , my own context. Its like a story with blank pages . That the clothes I wear are just blank canvass. I know I need to learn more about fashion and styling but if I havent learn the facts about myself and my own style I am an aimless arrow that shot to miss the target. 

As I am writing this I realize that I am also holding back , because I am afraid that people wont like it that they wont understand it . I hold back which costs me to keep a thousand photos ,  procastinate blogging and lose my chance to share my creativity to the world. So now that I acknowledge this I will try my best to not forget my own story.

The story of the little girl who grew up in a small town, who doesnt know the word runway, the town who requires you to walk on rice fields and flooded streets in high heels and your neighbors stares at you cause they dont understand you . The story of a girl who started dressing up with her mothers old clothes,  that evolves to something sexy and daring that the worl misinterpreted her courage to vulgarity and sexuality and treated her poorly. Until this girl found her strength within as the people around her taught her that the world wont change her , it can fool you that it understood and accepted you but in reality it never will. The story of this girl infront of my mirror , her humble begginings of pen and paper , fields and flooded streets , to expressing herself in a foreign land and never forgetting the lessons of the past and reminding herself that tonight ……

She found herself………

I found myself……



One thought on “Her story

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