Shed

2024.11.17

Today I was thinking about how snakes shed their skin and how we also shed our own layers of self throughout our life. Perhaps, in reality, the distinction is blurred when you go from one sense of self to the next. But in retrospect, you start to divide these times, these styles, into different categories of yourself.

For instance, from the moment you’re born to your first memory, maybe we can call that the Dark Ages. Then you have your early thoughts, those pre-preschool musings. From there, you move into your preschool thoughts, and then the phase of your life that spans grade 1 to grade 3. It’s interesting to reflect on how you saw yourself in those moments. When I switched schools, the way I saw myself changed drastically, influenced by the new environment. Upon reflection, you realize that the chapters of your life are dictated by your environment quite a lot.

If we think of life as a book, using the chapter analogy, maybe our books are all the same length. But for those who move around, who change contexts often, the book has far more chapters. In a sense, the more you move, the longer your book becomes too. It’s not just about the number of chapters; it’s about the thickness of the pages. When you shed your old self and adapt to a new context, it’s like shedding a layer of skin — and the skin can only be so thin, let’s say that.

Take, for example, a Southeast Asian trip. Maybe that’s one whole chapter, but within that chapter, you still have subheadings for each place you visited. I’m not suggesting that traveling the world automatically adds depth, because even within those subheadings, there might not be much substance. But different contexts do matter. For instance, on this walk around Panay, I have one mindset, one purpose. Later, when I attend an art residency, I’ll have a different mindset altogether. Even though it’s within the same island, a different version of me will likely emerge.

When I think about shedding, I realize there’s no going back. Parts of us get lost to time, swallowed by the temporal nature of life. I wonder if snakes ever miss their old skins. Because I think humans do — I know I do. I miss the version of myself that was more confident, that felt like he had the world in his palm. Nowadays, I feel tamed, like I’m inside someone else’s cage, following rules I didn’t make. Before, even if I was within a cage, it felt like I was the one setting the rules.

And I don’t know what’s better: to be in a cage and not realize it, blissful in your ignorance and confidence, or to acknowledge the cage and feel the weight of its bars and the shadows they cast upon you. I suppose acknowledging it is better, but I still miss the me who felt so utterly confident. I miss the me who was loved by his sister. I miss being the one who got to hug his sister, who was part of a happy family. Even if I’m just talking about my inner self, I truly miss the skin that felt happy. I wish I had the face that felt happy.

Now, in my current skin, in this body, I feel the residue of trauma, neglect, self-loathing, a lack of confidence. And maybe by voicing this, I’m giving it more power. But I also want to take a moment to observe how I see myself right now. I think there’s a lot that needs fixing. I still feel like I’m in flux, but I also feel older, a bit more capable after coming here to the Philippines. I hope that when I return back to my cave or my cage, this skin at least will remain a bit longer.

Or if I must shed this skin for a new one, I hope it’s fresher, clearer, more present, and not holding on to the things that make me feel less like myself.