This year, that I call the year of loss and endings, is coming to an end. And as the year dwindles down, once again I am restarting the engines to go on a quest to find… me, I guess. Or hold onto me — onto something that resembles me, or that could morph into something I could become.

The more I learn to see myself clearly and analyze myself, the clearer it becomes that I am filled with quirks, emotions, fantasies, insecurities masked as personality traits — just enough to mimic some kind of personal substance. I am, however, void of dreams, aspirations, devotion, passion, real intentions… all of those things. It hasn’t always been like this. And I… I remember her — the Amber that did dream, and worked on those dreams, however careful, however futile.

I remember myself sitting at my little desk in my one-bedroom apartment in Kiel, working on my laptop, making a video for YouTube. It was a compilation of my paintings, with the Depeche Mode song Enjoy the Silence playing in the background. Of course, within minutes after uploading the video, it got silenced due to copyright issues — and I still facepalm myself over this. A little while later, I made another video. This time, it was an image that I drew, and it was my voice in the background, narrating a little essay that I wrote. I thought it was the shit back then. Regardless, I was a little anxious, but I put myself out there. I’m not entirely sure what exactly I was feeling that compelled me to do these things, but I can’t deny that there was a pull — a desire to be part of something I saw, and a longing to connect with a world bigger than my own.

A similar feeling overcame me when I was much younger, when we had just gotten our first computer. I learned about these websites that let you build your own page — and it was all for free (gawd, how I miss the early days of the internet). Mind you, the address always had the provider’s name in it, but I clearly remember wanting to put my drawings and writings out there into the world for others to see — and so I did.

You’d think that somebody who had her own website at the age of (maybe) 11, and who has had a blog for about a decade thanks to her husband, would actually use it. Let me assure you: attempts have been made. Many, many, many, many attempts… then many, many restarts. The number of pages I’ve owned, some with different concepts… the amount of stuff I’ve written… just to delete it again afterwards.

I believe the reason why nothing ever stuck was my pretending to be whoever I envisioned becoming at the time — without actually being who I am, regardless of how little I am. I would tell myself that I should write blog entries, so I did. Like I was somebody who does that. I would tell myself that I’m finally getting fit, so I’d blog and post as if I were really on a journey to a healthier life. I would post like someone who is empowering herself through a journey of self-discovery. I had all the best intentions to be — or become — those people. To become better.

Now I’m thinking… I have never sat with who I am. Never accepted — let alone loved — who I am. I may be thinking that there is nothing to love. I may be convinced that there isn’t much to me. But I have memories of who I once was. Even if I’ve grown older and can’t possibly be the same person again, it might still be possible to rediscover parts of who I was. And perhaps even who I was meant to be, if I had been honest with myself from the start — and stopped trying to be somebody I’m not, rather than simply being the best version of me.

The thought of sitting with myself and working with who I am is not a very sexy thought. It’s not exciting or new. It’s challenging, and somehow… gooey. Will I stick with it this time? Will I discover something of meaning and value — something that won’t fade when the novelty dissipates?