a life changing choice

When I pined my last drawing on the studio wall, I realized that, from now on, I will no longer need to wash charcoal off every second or give up every weekend chiseling either woods or concrete. In the last morning of Spring 2018, I quietly drop my huge suitcase outside my room which used to fill with newsprints and Stonehenge papers, closing the door slowly without waking up my roommate. I am sure that my heart has already filled with the joy of going back home, but at this moment, I am also amazed by how far that I have already come. 

Eighteen years ago, on my childhood bedroom wall, countless drawings were made. According to my mom, this was the first spot that my talents were discovered. After my third birthday. I was sent to an art studio to learn basic drawing skills. Sitting in the new environment, I was thrilled with excitement, waving back to my mom determinedly. I still remember the way how the papers make sounds while I was sketching or what the oil paints smelt like when I first opened the lid. 

Growing up, I always regarded drawing as the beacon I yearned for, which is the only thing that could calm my mind. When I was ten, I started to realize how interesting it was to create. I still remember how exciting I was when my first design — a pan holder — actually worked. To me now, this design might be too childish, and it only lasted for five seconds before being squashed by pans. However, I learned that my heart would pound so hard that this feeling would flow through my veins over and over again. 

Now, I am almost nineteen, and my dream of drawing has never stopped for one second. During countless nights, staring at the paper that’s much taller than me, I wonder who I might become. Is it too soon to think about it yet? Waking up with a pencil still holding in my hand, there’s an image stuck in my head that gets clearer and clearer. Sometimes, I can even see what kind of vegetables I would get in a supermarket after a whole day sketching my designs ten years from now. I have a strong feeling. I know everything will be okay even though the critics are harsh. I guess, choosing RISD is never like choosing a pack of pigments. It is not a school for me, but a path that guides me. 

Hands covered in charcoal powder, eyes opened widely, and sketches crumbled time after time—all that may seem crazy for some people, but I believe I will never get tired of doing this even for another lifetime.