When I look at your face I see me. Then as I look around I am surrounded by a sea of unfamiliar features. Who. What. Why. How. Where… Do you come from? I return inward. To you. Your face. My blood. My skin. My hair and eyes and nose. Your inflection and speech pattern.
But then I look behind you. And I am lost. Behind you lies the Peshwa, Kashi, and the Persian tile layers. A land and language far from here. Far from the portrait I look at in front of me. Who are you? And I guess now… Who am I? And What am I?
In this context of identity I am your blood. Your lineage. In this context of identity I am the outsider trapped in my mind because of these barriers. Language. Space. History. Training. In this context of identity I am the outsider on the inside. Privy to the “next big thing” because it is something I already know.
And then there lies what is in front of you. I look at you see ahead of me the plains of confusion. The distance that I’ve chosen because I wanted to “find my own way” and “create my own identity.” But alas, what lies ahead of you is me. A new story that has little evidence to go off of. With only your face to inform me.
Page 2: Self-Portrait
Page 3: Hyphen
Page 4: “What do you remember about the Earth?”
Page 5: A Language That Opened My Mouth
Page 6: Help Me Get Ready: Monologue
Page 7: A Color I Can’t Escape