Human. Deborah Lin

It’s been a while since I curled up in my closet and carefully pried open the lid of my Blue Box: 5 X-Acto knives with 10 interchangeable blades and an array of 5 different handles. A cutter’s dream. Mom would always warn me when I borrowed that Box, for an art project or some school presentation or for cutting out magazine pictures to paste on my bedroom wall – “Be careful, they’re sharp.” A wry smile comes to mind. Proceed to art project/ school presentation/ magazine cut-outs, sitting cross-legged on carpeted bedroom floor and complete art project/ school presentation/ magazine cutouts. Then retreat to closet for some acquaintance time with blade of choice, a continuation of personal art project. You know it goes: the sharp tip my pencil; my forearms the canvas; my heavy, thudding heartbeat the studio music.

This issue of self-harm, or self-mutilation as others call it (which brings to my mind gruesome situations like deliberate amputation of a limb, or someone actually taking the initiative to visit the dentist) seems so touchy and uncomfortable in general public discussion (probably because it is). But escape to that almighty, all-knowing haven of infinite knowledge and the like-minded anonymous, the World Wide Web. There...