And hello from the dreamland, my people. Sorry for the hugest delay ever, every move is all fun and games for the first couple of days when you’re just walking around taking in all that you missed, hanging out with friends you left behind, blasting through venues you craved, BUT when you settle in and life starts knocking; it’s damn overwhelming!

It’s not just because it’s been a while since i posted, but i’m super excited about this post. I just love it when I accidentally run into something that ends up impacting me. Sometimes we look around and we search desperately for something that was there all along, something we knew before we started to know. A life goes on, and we lose ourselves.

I have to admit, my life was a epic roller-coaster before I moved back to LA. The work got mixed with the private life, a private life got mixed with everything, my head started to get blurry, I could not see: where, why, who, how? Where am I, why am I here exactly and with those people around me, I honestly could not see my path, and I’m one of those freaks who knew what they want to do in life and how they want to live before stepping foot in teendom. I just wasn’t there all of a sudden. I let everyone cloud me; the people, the surroundings, the location; everything.

Brain, off. Just let it ride out.

Last couple of days before my move, I went to see my family to kiss them all before I go (they’re used to see the tail of me in the wind by now), and also to drop some stuff I didn’t want to carry overseas, with my mom. I was digging around her place to find some secret spot (OCD, yes, thank you) for my stash, and I came across of boxes and boxes and boxes named simply – MIRANDA. Well it’s not actually a treasure hunt when there’s my name on it, still, it felt kinky to dive in and see what’s in there! I could not believe what I found. I could not believe what my mom saved throughout the years.

My mom is an amazing artist, she can transform a rotten piece of furniture into a brand new amazing looking piece, she paints, draws, sews, and I got all my artistic talents from her. The only difference, she did not pursue hers, I pursued mine. She went on to study medicine on her parents order; me, I did not follow anyone’s orders. I studied what I wanted, and I guess looking at me pursuing my dream, she always regretted not pursuing hers. And that’s the reason why she religiously keeps all my art stuff, even from when I was a small child.

The boxes blew me away. I found my childhood scribbles, all my 3-6 y old attempt artwork, my actual artwork, all my high school art pieces; my college pieces, the copies of art pieces that I sold for an exhibit, all the graphics and numerous prints, just EVERYTHING creative I threw away like it was nothing, and she picked up after me year in, year out.

Starring down the boxes was like staring into the freakiest of times, the one you wanted to skip so quickly then and “grow up already”, and realizing how silly we were, how easy we forget, how easily we lose ourselves, and how it’s important, specially at times when we skip a beat, to remember where we started!

I could not drag and “steal” all her saved treasures of House of MV, mainly because she watched me like a hound dog, but couple of pieces you see in this post, I just had to! To see how I did Moodboards before I even knew what Moodboards are (or the rest of the planet), to see my enthusiasm of how I studied someone’s clothes and what they meant to society at that time, to see how I was engaged in details and just rawness of where I was going with it, a clear path of what will become me later on, it’s just……..priceless.

It was priceless to find out how we knew stuff even before we knew stuff, how we knew what we are before we became it, and how it’s important to always be clear of what you want and try not to get clouded by experiences, people, time, life. Sometime when we’re lost, it’s good to go back to the beginning of it, take a peek how we started, understand where we detoured and figure out what we knew all along; exactly where we should be.

What’s in your boxes? Or better yet, WHO’s in your boxes?