2025.

I live within a bubble a protective layer and a prison. I imagine it in glorious tones, colours I’ve chosen to self-soothe: soft pinks, glossy blues, the comforting palette of childhood toys. Plastic dolls, swings, roundabouts. These hues calm me, but they also conceal me. They keep me trapped from the real world.

Sometimes, I feel the courage to burst through. I inch toward the edge, ready to step out. But the bubble senses my defiance it hisses, threatens, recoils. I cower. I retreat. I remain.

Over the years, the bubble has changed shape, taken on new forms. But its purpose has never wavered. It shelters me from pain, yes but also from growth, connection, truth. I remain caged, wrapped in colours that once brought joy but now echo confinement.

This piece is a meditation on emotional safety and the cost of self-protection. It asks: When does comfort become captivity? And what does it take to finally step through?