I fell ill for two weeks in mid-January, my body succumbing to the internal chaos, my mind wanting a reprieve. My skin burned high with fever, all my bones and muscles aching with every little movement; my energy taken from me and my organs forced into overdrive as it worked to cure me. Years of constantly pushing myself to every possible limit were beginning to show their signs, warning me to stop and screaming for me to listen. I had forever felt that if I was not doing, not thinking, not planning, that I would lose any hope of progression; that I would slack off and opportunities to achieve all that I wanted would be lost. But one must never mistake motion for action; all change is not growth, as all movement is not forward.
And then we were surrounded by the wildest of winds, the heaviest of rains battering our rooftops like hundreds of angry little pounding fists. It didn't stop for days, bending metal, uprooting trees, flooding houses and streets already too close for comfort to Mother Nature, reliving the floods of two years ago.
The weather let up for just a moment and I grabbed the chance to photograph my first shoots of the year. I am forever in my element, full of confidence and happiness, when capturing all these different faces and exchanging stories with new people; when producing work that is meaningful and conceptual; full of warmth; human emotion; a story. It was clear to me—this was where I would work so hard and achieve so much and feel, for once, free.