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 In my youth, self-expression reigned supreme. Conforming was never my style. I'd coat my hair in Elmer's glue and tuck my camouflage army pants into my father’s original Made In England Doc Martens, passed down to me. My mother nearly had a fit when she discovered "fuck you" scrawled on the inside wall of my bouncing sole, a message intended for my classmates whenever I sat cross-legged Indian style. I guess you could have called me a punker back then.

These days, I mostly opt for blending in, choosing the plainest clothes possible to move through life unnoticed, undisturbed. But every now and then, the urge to stand out creeps in. I'll admit, when I summon the courage to do so, people look at me differently, especially when my hair is buzzed. And that's okay. It's okay to repurpose old sheets into a back patch, remnants of nights shared on a twin bed with a girl who bore a striking resemblance to Perry Farrell, even if they still bear the faint stains of past mishaps.

It's a shame she absconded with my sweater adorned with the old Death/Traitors shirt patch, featuring an executioner proclaiming "NO MERCY" and "DEATH DEALER" on the front. But what about the back? A bunny rabbit? With the words "SUMMER CHANGES EVERYTHING" beneath? Is it a reflection on the duality of human nature? Each article of clothing holds significance, a tribute waiting to be deciphered. For me, it's another avenue of self-expression, a way to peacefully pass the time.