This is not an artist statement, just some thoughts on “of exist & exit” series.

Exist: live, survive, continue living, be real, be present, be existent, have being, sustain life, subsist, be.
Exit: going out, passage for exit, goes off stage, death, way out, outlet, depart, leave, take off, walk out, egress, door.

Life doesn’t start with the first heartbeat and ends with the last. It starts when thoughts, knowledge and meaning of life have found their ways to enthuse our actions.

We are constantly in transition to a different phase of life. I can’t speak of others’ experience, but I can speak for myself.

When I first learnt the magic of numbers, I was almost five. I started to add up the numbers and paired the number with people. My mother was thirty-five, she was thirty-four a year ago, and grandma was fifty-nine … as the numbers got bigger, the images of people faded. Where did they go? They went “poof” and gone. Buildings and houses would crumble and collapse without human care, street would be quiet without sound. Where and what would I be?

I cried on the floor.
There, the first feeling of darkness and emptiness. Thought has invaded.

I started to paint.

When I thought life was moving too slow in 1979, it took me to the liveliness of a teenager.

When I thought life was all about meaningless dating, books and more comic books, it took me to understand the dynamic of man and woman. They can be friends. (Wow!)

When I thought life was about being trapped in one place, it took me across the ocean, and the land of a foreign country. I was not scared but excited. (Who cares I was near penniless.)

When I thought life was at its last mercy, it found a way to prove it could be unpredictable. I became a wife. (Not sure how I felt then. Weird, I guess.)

When I thought life could be as simple as being an artist, it proved to me it sucked as an artist. Yet, I chose to continue the path and still suck at it.

When I thought life was all about growing old with him, it sent me a surprise gift. My mother.
I will be her caretaker.

As I exist and exit the different phases in life, I took on roles, adjusting to new identity, with previous experience as my baggage. (Baggage can be good. It stored keys, notebook, photos, check book, lost and found, curry powder, business cards and chocolate with almond nuts "a must have".)

Who was with me when all these adventures taking place?
Who was the one who saw me waving my fist high and proud as a peacock?
Who was the one who saw me wagging my tail between my legs?
Who was the one who saw me changing the seasonal mood?
Who sat next to me when I battled the irony of philosophical ideas and the temptation of money?
Who saw me pathetically trying to hold on to the last thread I believe would save my soul?
Who saw me growing up, growing confused and growing old?

The "Ping" in me.

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