(Fiction inspired by illustrations)
Some days I wake up and ask myself how I’m going to get through the day. Correction. My first thought is related to how I’m going to get myself out of bed. Before I can think of all the good things that life is sure to bring, I’m considering all the likely and unlikely natural disasters, traffic catastrophes, fatal possibilities, and awkward moments waiting for me.
I roll off the bed, asking myself whether this is reality or just another day in the Matrix. Some days I think I’m living a false life while my body is locked in a pod somewhere. Most of the time I shrug it off and hope for the best.
There are days when I’m lucky and blessed to have dodged every chance of sharing an awkward silence with someone in the confinements of an elevator or foyer. However, on the days when there’s no avoiding it, I just rock my heels back and think of ponies galloping in a random field.
Do other people spend hours, days even, trying to remember the line of a song from a movie they saw when they were a kid? But because it’s not a very popular movie, nor that much of a personal favorite, the melody just haunts you until finally remember it. Then you’re stuck humming it to yourself everywhere: on the bus, on your ride home, in your sleep, even at the bar right at the moment a handsome stranger is sitting next to you.
My therapist recently found the courage to ask me if I’ve kept the same clothes I had since I was a teenager. So I came clean. I do have some stuff from my weird adolescence, but it’s too precious to wear on regular days. I explained that my wardrobe is made out of things I buy when I’m feeling a little down and need some retail comfort. Yet that too is being saved for a rainy day. What most people see me in are the same black skinny jeans and t-shirts I repeat at least twice a week.
I wish I could be more normal, but alas, that ship sailed off long ago. At this point I can only accept myself as I can’t help but be, and hope that other people can see past my nervous, anxious, ridiculous, clumsy self. I’m not exactly sure what they’ll find there. But I hope there’s a more put-together, functional human that can make my usual bizarreness passable and understandable.
(End of Fiction)
These illustrations are the work of Bianca Xunise, a graphic designer and artist from Chicago. She uses humor, self-deprecation, and optimism to color her drawings, which also include plenty of social commentary.
It’s through her comedy that she is able to open the conversation about difficult topics that most people are usually unsure or uncomfortable talking about. These include –but are not limited to– the need for representation of people of color in the media, as well as the impostor syndrome and anxiety.
I think almost every woman living in today’s world has felt one or all of the feelings and emotions present in Bianca’s drawings. It’s during our hardest moments, those that bring us to tears or make us not want to leave the comfort of our room, that we find ourselves through comedy and self-awareness, so we can continue to follow our path towards our goals and dreams.
You can find more of Bianca Xunise’s work on her website and Instagram. Including several comics that you might or might not relate to, but will find comforting either way.
Images of nakedness and infinity
Dive into the bluest of all melancholies
Are you shy or introverted?