When I was younger I used to hug myself because it was the only warmth I had. Wrapping both hands around my knees while my face rubbed against my shoulder.
I am leaving New York for good to head back home to Los Angeles. A 3-month road trip across America in a RV with the love of my life in order to get there… A month ago that was the truth. You’d be surprised by how fast things can change. How you could spend hours making the best, most beautiful sand castle, and how fast someone can just walk right through it. Ruining the master-piece you spent so much time on in a matter of one second. You build because the possibility of someone knocking it over is slim, especially on an empty beach. Wholeheartedly you know that only your self can destroy this sand castle, then out of nowhere the unthinkable happens. The small chance that it can be ruined by a single being on an empty beach, of whom you never saw coming. The relief of knowing why, is flattened, because you can’t explain the probability of another having such an impact on something you feel is yours. It’s easy to blame yourself, than to explain how and why others do what they do. Somehow in the end though, it is always an accident.
So here I am. Sitting in front of my invisible masterpiece on the beach. I can always make another one, it’s not like I have a life-threatening disease stopping me from my own potential. But after sitting so long on the sand building, I am now sick of getting rubble in my toes and on my feet. Somehow, I begin to hate the beach and it isn’t until now that I realize how shitty is smells.
I’ve decided that I will begin my new castle on a flat grassland and I will build it with rocks. That way, it will be much stronger and therefore harder for anyone to destroy it. I don’t preferably like rocks all that much, but sometimes if you manage, you’ll find that some are beautiful inside.
When most people hear the word: Fashion Week.
They are filled with waves of curiosity of a world they will never truly understand. The Fashion World.
Of course, I am talking about people who don’t go to Fashion Week and have never been to Fashion Week.
Sometimes, I forget that I am living in the concept of ‘the dream,’ because when you see anything through your own eyes, it’s never as good as you thought it would be.
The grass is ALWAYS greener. We, as humans, will always want: AND what we want is MORE.
I can talk all day about how superficial Fashion Week is, and sound like a spoiled girl taking rare experiences for granted. I’m not going to do that. I’ve wanted to write about New York Fashion Week every time a season comes around, but I never have because I didn’t want to seem like the girl I wrote about above. BUT there is a reason why I dread NYFW and going to Fashion Shows, a lot of the time I can’t even relate to the dreadfulness I feel. I get to go and experience NYFW like a pro. Backstage, celebrities, models, fashion designers, everything. Yet, I find myself here. Skipping shows and opportunities to meet Cara Delevingne simply because it’s not worth feeling so fucking invisible.
Here I am, wearing my best outfit. Having spent several hours of preparation to look ‘the part.’ I am unsure as to why I even bother but I will tell you this. Dressers at FW want to be noticed, want to be photographed, want to be stared at, and most of all, want to be admired. Of course, this can only happen from afar. This concept of admiration is practiced by everyone attending Fashion Week and a lot of the time, I feel the people who go to the shows don’t even care about the designer or the clothes. They want to be seen and noticed as someone ‘good enough’ to get invited to fashion week.
Would you go? If there were no cameras? No actual proof that you even attended? How many people go just to get their picture taken? Along with having the ‘valuable' words of, “I got to go to NYFW.” How many uninvited guests stand in front of Lincoln Center pretending to be going or coming back from a show? - a lot
I think it’s phony, really really phony. It makes the concept of LA being fake seem like a complete lie. Fashion Week is full of fakes and since Lincoln Center is filled with them, I don’t like to go. Yes, Milk is the new cool spot, Pier 59 has a relaxed and chill vibe, I am not hating on the entire concept here. I am beefing with the concept that fashion week makes some people feel better than others, and even I have been guilty of this. How could you not feel inferior to some friend of yours in the middle of Minnesota idolizing you because you get to fly to New York just to attend Fashion Week?
There it is, all on the table. It’s raw, sensitive and bare naked. I don’t want to feel like I am better than everyone else and I don’t want to feel like others are better than me. I don’t want MORE, I want IT. Perhaps, you can attend going to FW and not feel these things, but like many 20-somethings fresh out of college. We are all insecure about everything we do, like walking next to a ticking bomb. We want to run, but if we run we will set the bomb off and fail. So we take our time, trying to be quiet and sound while simultaneously trying to stand out.
- Aysha Banos
Photo by Nikki Bulman
A cover I did a while back.
Sometimes is always some time. Having been born into sinking sand, I still battle my way out again and again. Why can’t things be as they seem?
We all have a struggle, whatever it might be. From experience, the struggle is always best when you fight alone, face it alone. Fighting it alone is somehow easier, because when someone loves you, that struggle becomes apart of them too.
There’s so many things I still want to do, yet nothing seems to be enough. A short enlightenment that lasts only for minutes. I have accomplished many goals and even dreams but getting there was the toughest journey and it remains. Nothing worth having is ever easy to get, but the struggle doesn’t ever end.
I miss writing, and my life is too complicated to have it just be my own story. I think I will continue to finish the book I started to write in high school. Pouring my heart into pages through ink was what made me feel alive.
"Your birth is a mistake you’ll spend your whole life trying to correct."
- Chuck Palahnuik
It’s cold out now. As cold as it’s ever been. I’ve never experienced such a winter. Though, I feel it breaks new boundaries, pushing my strength greater from living the ‘New York City’ way of life.
Not much has gone on since leaving LA. Yet, a lot of things have changed simultaneously. Lingering thoughts and not much to leave you with.
It’s taken a lot longer for me to write my friend on Death Row back (project pending). I wasn’t expecting a man whose been on Death Row for 17-years to be so positive about life. A man who hasn’t been outside for so long somehow still finds beauty in the world. I admire that, even I have trouble seeing that beauty sometimes.
Photo by Fernando Cervantes
Back in New York, pale again.
Confused at times, methodical at others. Nothing is never as it seems. Behind a person is another person and behind a place is a different kind of place. The grass is never greener on the other side. Assumptions shouldn’t be made about things or people, just be prepared for every type ofpossibility.
Every journey we choose to make is to better our lives. The fact is, that everywhere you go, there you are. After every journey lays a lesson.
So, here’s some advice thats a great shortcut to happiness.
"In order for true bliss or rapture, you must first learn how to love yourself. If you cant love yourself, then strive for the person you’dwant to be.” - Aysha Banos
Keep in mind that, I don’t considerably take my own advice. I’m aware that it isn’t as easy as it sounds. Though, I am right there with ya, striving everyday for the ideal me.
Photos by Fernando Cervantes
So, this is my first post on this blog. I figured I would make one separate from my photography so not to confuse who is behind and in front of the lens. This will be, what I’ll call, ‘My Posting Blog.’
Since the internet needs a face for everything these days, I chose to show more of my own.
Perhaps, I will write my thoughts.
Perhaps, I will flaunt my jaunt.
Perhaps, I won’t give a fuck.
Photo by Brian James Kip