...dear diary, after lurking in what can only be a scribe's bathyal zone, words are being reborn at midnight on the 3rd of September. To be honest, my pens have weighed more than they should during the last week and I have felt my scribe shrink amid personal storms.
...death visited and left with a toddler in tow and her mother's tears have watered my mothering paranoia. I have just left her last wake as she will be buried later today and my claustrophobia won't let me handle travelling the miles they will cover without leaving me weak from nauseousness.
...there is also the possibility of my soul being unable to move past such an emotionally taxing affair for weeks so I thought I save my already tormented mind the misery. I mean, how does death get to have such an audacious attitude? How are we here one moment and then gone the next regardless of age or class?
...and because I have started filtering what I can publish and what I feel I can't, I willingly chose to mute my sentimental pens. The agony of free writing from the perspective I do is the inability to tuck away my feelings well enough for my readers not to sense where I am or how I might be fairing emotionally.
...to fill up the time I rant through this ink, I am working on my balcony in an attempt to turn it into my little workshop and essential escape. I already have my thin layer of privacy up -a second-hand sheer that cost me five dollars- and I can see my DIY ideas finally coming to life, my love of art, succulents and more words.
...every chance I have had, I spent it on researching watercolours, brushes, canvas -paper and such. Art is an expensive affair but I am willing to cling to it. It has been a love of mine since primary school and I feel it is time to explore it a bit more. There is also the embroidery and the knitting part of it that I feel compelled to do to reconnect with the beautiful memories I have of my mum.
...reading has also kept me company as I am rereading Yann Martel's unmatched Life of Pi. I love the idea of rereading anything I initially found interesting as I enjoy the craving it comes with. There is always a different perspective especially if I relate to anything the author created.
...this read is such for me. I love how it sweeps me off to India unceremoniously to take me on this life-changing journey that began at a coffee house somewhere on Nehru Street before it reminds me Tamil-speaking people call their uncles the same thing my tribesmen call ours, mama.
...and so, I have been wading in between dreams and disappointments while letting myself swim in my misery but I have also been reminding myself to surface for air. I am learning how to hold space for my inner world and sit in my broken truth enough to say that I am witnessing my rebirth.
...who knew there was a beautiful way of dealing with the lawlessness that lives here without necessarily losing myself? Who knew that I would finally allow this pain to shred my ego into pieces to then watch me rebuild my humanity again?
...better must come.
wambuku w.