We are born into the world as clean canvases. As we live though life and take part in its numerous experiences, the canvas becomes filled. Joy, sorrow, pain, pleasure, desire, jealousy, pride, excitement, regret, passion, indifference, love, hate and so much more. Each of these things leaves a mark upon our canvases. Gold strokes of joy are covered by purple drips of lust flowing slowly down the canvas alongside red splatters of rage and green curtains of jealousy. They all flow into a mass of black hatred and eventually fade out into a grey expanse of indifference. Is this the personality we are to bear, the identity we are to accept? Not exactly. A person’s being is determined by what the entire image is. A painting never has a definite shape. It is manipulated by the whim of the one who views the picture. As we gaze upon our painting, what life intended to paint through logic as a dying puppy may be seen as a murderous tiger or a loving mother. We become what we see of ourselves. Red need not be a red of rage but may be a red of passion. Green can become a majestic luster and black, fortitude. It is not the condition of our environment that defines us; it is how we decide to accept it. A lowly patch of dirt, a monster of hatred, a stern defender, a loving companion. Make the decision yourself. No more excuses, no more comparison. Just you and your decision.

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