Disculpas a mi País

I have traveled thousands of miles to see my home.

5,295 miles.

8,521 kilometers.

 

Familiar faces, food, streets, buildings,

music, expressions, language, accent, slang,

 

Familiar life.

 

Nevertheless, I left.

 

So I am sorry.

I do not know your pledge of allegiance,

Or your national anthem.

 

I cannot name your twenty-three provinces.

Or the number of amendments in your constitution.

 

I cannot speak every single word with confidence.
But one day, I will.

An artist. What is it to you?

What gives you the right to call yourself an artist? Is it a college education? Is it a skill you’ve procured? We tend to see artists as, quite simply, someone who is skilled with a paintbrush. Or perhaps, you have heard a musician of some sort being proclaimed as an artist.

But who or what defines this spectrum of arts and artistry? I ask myself this question quite often, but the truth of it is here: No one can determine your authenticity of being an artist, because an artist isn’t to be a singer, painter, or a musician. An artist is a creator. Someone who has a thriving passion to leave their work out in the open for others to see. An artist is someone who takes pride in what they have created, regardless of what it is. An artist is a writer, a photographer, a sculptor, a filmmaker. Someone who is creative, and has the ability to produce something beautiful, regardless of what it is.

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