Ever since I was a child in primary school, young and green in the springtime of life, art has been a central part of my identity. Not just art, but the act of creating something with meaning and solidity, anchoring me as life's turbulent river roars around me with breakneck speed.

Amid the tumultuousness of growing up, when I put pencil to paper, I felt weightless in time. The motions of the pencil filled me with contentment and happiness. Moments drawing would hold the same dreamlike quality as a hot summer day where the air lies heavy and still. Time itself would feel like a construct as the sun moved across the cloudless sky at a snail's pace, and I found eternity in the motions of my pencil.