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I was fourteen when my father passed away. The funeral seems like such a blur due to the depressive mood set that day. My mother struggled to walk in those doors of the church. She was indescribably shaken with the shock and future without the man she loved since she was seventeen. She’s turning 40 soon, three years since.
Before we arrived at the ceremony, I was pondering on what to wear. In a rush I had to put on something formal. I wore this big tie that covered half my face, this oversized blazer that made me look six, these trousers that would occasionally slip off and I had to shave – the first time I shaved my beard was on that day (even though it wasn’t that long). I walked outside to my relatives all staring at me with some sympathy. I felt uncomfortable. I walked over to greet one of my uncles’ who was standing in a line of the other men of my family. He said a joke, “You smell like roses”. Unaware that he meant that I smelt slightly feministic, I turned, “Thank you”. I took it as a compliment.
I wasn’t much for words that day; I didn’t really have a lot of friends at that age either so I didn’t have much extended support. My sister had many friends whom showed up at the wake and funeral to give her the support and to keep her mind off of the death. I, on the other hand, thought about for days and months and years. The days keep going. We all sat down in the front while the priest was talking. I didn’t concentrate, I wasn’t much of a religious person anyways – I’m religiously confused, but religion was the least on my mind. All I could hear was my mother and sister shedding tears and weeping. I had no tears to cry and I’m not sure why I couldn’t. Probably it was shock.
I was asked to say a speech, and I was so nervous that I said the whole speech loudly. Belting it out like it was a song. It was a short speech, I was fourteen – I couldn’t say much. I walked back down and sat while everyone stared at me. I couldn’t look back and give them what they wanted, a sign that I was ok.
Today, I was sitting at school excited to get home to make a look for LookBook.nu. I was quite sure what I wanted to make a look about but when I was looking for stuff to wear…I came across these shoes stacked in a small box above my cupboard. Pieces just started to fall together and I like to think that maybe the look found me and whole different approach was set. No doubtable I have found my favourite shoes today, they are worn and vintage. When I wear them I feel as if my father is next to me holding my hand, telling me he’s nearby.
Having said all that, I have come to the realization that LookBook.nu has become somewhat, for me, a visual diary.