Shame can be a shadow that creeps around every single thing I do. Shame hangs around every time I feel like I am about to attempt something new. Shame reminds me that I can’t speak my truth when I meet new people. Shame is a feeling in my chest, raw but heavy. Many things have taught me to be shamed. Be ashamed of having a voice. Be ashamed of not fitting into Eurocentric beauty standards. Be ashamed of the foods I grew up eating. Be ashamed of speaking Chinese. Be ashamed of my accent. Be ashamed of myself. Be ashamed of being a sexual assault survivor. Be ashamed of my immigration status. I want to bring my shame to light. I want to face it head on so that its shadow won’t continue to dampen my light. 

One of the effects of depression for me was desperately trying to feel something other than hopelessness. 2020 had a lot going on and I was extremely homesick and frustrated with the situation with COVID and my immigration status. I drew this during one of my depressive episodes. The act of drawing cut-up skin felt painful but also liberating. It was therapeutic repeating lines and layering in colors. It helped me cope with my depression.

I miss the entrance to the apartment building that I lived in in Guangzhou when I was a child. It was the tree that distinguished our apartment building from the rest of the homogenous buildings. I drew this in memory of the tree that served as a witness to my childhood.

I find it hard to see myself clearly sometimes for who I am. I painted this piece in a time of confusion. I needed to create an image of myself to better understand and accept myself.