To say that last month was overwhelming would be an understatement. I was in a new city. I did not have a bed, no walls, clothes had been falling out of my luggage onto the landing area I was sleeping on, the bathrooms were dirty and my feet bruised by the sheer exertion. There has been no time, no weekend, no therapy, but some snuck out episodes of Modern Family, slices of cheesecake, podcasts in transit and cheap alcohol before bed.
And I noticed how whenever life becomes overwhelmingly eventful, the delight of a realized ambition overcomes me and I lose the ability to write. Looking at the vast sea of experiences I had, this time I traded this ability for a big profit, I’d say.
A sister passed away, I wrote about it but couldn’t post, I lost A, gained a new career path, I met people who make art about things that matter, who care for teaching and fight for equality, who are mindful of things and actively change the world. Most importantly I saw people go astray and make it. I met a lady who records sounds of cities and plays them to people from other. She says playing children sound the same in all languages. I met a man who made rainbows on streets, women who made others see how constricting the world is for women, a lady who taught children to juggle. I met a people who taught me the evolution of stars through metaphors that are now etched in my mind. Metaphors and analogies are such strong teaching tools, no? I met a poet, a girl who created safe spaces for people to talk in, another who helped people listen to the sound elements make.
I went to a museum of conflict. I read on empty jars wishes of people unsaid, on strings on a tree their regrets (unspoken), I heard stories of the marginalized in their words (unnoticed). I went to this Conflictorium on the edge of a poorer mouhalla of a richer city of concrete river banks. I saw a woman take medicines from a priest, children flying kites on the street, I saw a girl smile at me from her window of a broken house.
I tried new food items in Goa. Rassa-omlette, Chorris-pav, King-fish. I realized it’s hard to find vegetarian food in Goa and felt glad I taught myself to eat meat. I found the best cake. It had layers of dark chocolate in vanilla, my favorite kind. I got myself hugs, one drunk evening, eventually. I realized I love Goan bread. I got sick twice and tended myself back to health. Today I got told I am awesome. I played Fooseball for the first time, I played better than I give myself credit for. I realized why I hate competitive games. I rediscovered Simon and Garfunkel. Amazing how much better songs sound once given a beautiful context no? I drank and sang along a group playing pianos and guitars. I did not buy a book, I am broke. I snuck out of work to take a nap one day. I went to the beach and floated on water. By the third time I didnt care for the people staring. I made a friend. The nice kind, who remember to invite you to dinner, look at you sometimes while singing and click sunset pictures of you. I saw the best form of art. Got origami flowers. Worked my ass off. I was made to think of an alter-ego name. What do you think of Cecelia?
We got done with work later than we had anticipated. We had spent the whole day wearing swimming costumes under our clothes. It made the heat hotter and the wait unbearable. When we finally got to the beach, it was past sunset. We ran into the water well aware that a lifeguard would whistle us out any moment now. I jumped in. Lay on water. That’s my favorite thing: float on water and see the sky do wonderful things to the world. That day, as I floated, I saw the night turn the place into a beautiful postcard, a book cover, a scene waiting for Marquez to write it.