Satiating my inner Godzilla.

The night before my first day at Uni, it struck me that I hadn't planned a way to distinguish myself. If I wanted to make friends, I had to be astounding, mysterious, awe-inspiring, magnificent. I couldn't settle for anything less than impressive. I couldn't resign myself to a grayscale high school career of anonymity—and the obvious next step, the key to making a dazzling first impression, was to decorate my binders.

I couldn't walk on water. I couldn't fly. I couldn't shoot lasers from my eyes or webs from my wrists. I couldn't even kickbox in heels like Scarlett Johansson. Pawing through my mental sheaf of skills, though, personalizing stationary hit me as the ultimate way to impress. It was subtle, creative, poised, like chocolate lace perched on a bed of perfectly whipped frosting.

Armed with a fervent belief in the genius of my plan, I made my embellishments from three sheets of loose leaf paper. I penciled the names of my classes in bubbled cursive letters, cut the letters out with an X-acto knife, and slipped each sheet into the corresponding plastic binder sleeve.

Suffice it to say that stationary had no impact on my first year at Uni. The friendliness of my peers and the coziness of the atmosphere quickly assuaged my fears, and I forgot about my misled attempt at individuality. The only silver lining of that panicked evening was the X-acto knife. I didn't realize it at the time, but carving paper would soon become an irreplaceable element of my life.

I absentmindedly devastate every shreddable object within reach. Any flimsy item in my possession—worksheets, styrofoam cups, movie tickets, plastic baggies—is in danger of becoming a mangled mess. Carving paper into art channels these unbridled destructive habits into a rewarding act of self-expression, and the craft forces me to see in terms of space and shadow. I no longer restrict myself to surface level thinking; I search for that which is not but could be.

It has been two years now, and I still make time for carving. In between homework assignments, over the weekend, watching TV, my fingers itch for an X-acto knife. I don't know how long this hobby will last, and I don't know if I will ever pursue this art in the future. I am saddened by the thought that I might have to stop.

For now, this craft is a comforting reminder that I am capable of doing more than rolling out of bed each morning. I can't walk on water. I can't fly. I can't shoot lasers from my eyes or webs from my wrists. I can't even kickbox in heels like Scarlett Johansson, but I can carve, and that's good enough for me.

Left: my very first carving, right: my latest carving.