Among other things.
some readings, some writings, some lessons on starting a fire
Days turned into nights, nights into more days, and all these days and nights collapsed into weeks, and all that this space has seen is absence and a lot of waiting. I have been working through the next one for here, and I have let myself get distracted more than I could have chosen to avoid it. But in truth, I find it enormously unsatisfying, so I am letting it sit for a while. Meanwhile, among other things, there has been a downpour of thoughts and feelings, some that have been pushed to their bare limits, while some that refused, and continues to, to be held down, so they still stroll about in the world of my mind. On my part, I will try to bring some of them to you.
In April, I finally picked Mamang Dai’s Pensam, which I intentionally kept on hold until recently, as I had too much to say, and share about it, with more people while I read it. However, just 11 pages into it and I kept feeling a sense of distraction and restlessness, so I changed lanes into Salesses’ Craft In The Real World. Very soon, I found my attention fleeting and all over the place, again, and I decided to settle into Real Life by Brandon Taylor, thankfully I am still reading from it. Besides reading, my time and my attention has been required elsewhere too. I have been doing some serious writing, writing a lot of emails, and trying to put my foot out into the world.
Sharing parts of myself among various tasks, doing and thinking, at once has given me scattered attention and made me feel many many many times that I am not doing enough, and that I am running out of time. It is starting to feel, sometimes, that I have grown amoebic limbs all over me, and therefore despite so much, I am unable to finish not a single task I have started. All of these, in turn, propels me to become anxious, and scared, that I won’t be able to make it - wherever that I am headed for. Then there is that stupid distraction known as the internet, where, before I even realize it, I am spending hours, doing god knows what!
Yesterday, I spent time waiting, sprawled on the sofa with my book, for the evening supply of water. Where I laid, just over my head, the rays of the sun started dancing and I turned to look at it. A light breeze was caressing the hair of a tall areca tree, and just tucked behind it, was the sun spilling it’s light from between the caresses. I smiled at the sight as it reminded me of a similar instance somewhere else, in some other time. Some time gone, I realized that I almost (completely) missed the water. So I took to the task of filling water for the kitchen from the hand pump behind the house. It took me four trips back and forth, carrying a bucket full each time, to fill two large buckets inside. I found that it took nearly 100 times pumping the hand pump to fill one small bucket for me. I always count it. As it shifts the focus from the arduous task of pumping, to actually notice the water level rise in the vessel. Also because, I like to practice patience doing all the little things; I have always been like that. I transferred boiled water into a water filter, and set to light the evening fire. I will tell you how to start a fire in simple steps that I follow. I start by collecting the leftover ashes from the fire of the night before into a dustpan and spilling it in a dustbin meant particularly for the ashes (which we use for multiple purposes, inside and outside the house). Then I bring together the half-burnt logs and woods and sticks and huddle them together under the three-legged fire stand (for the lack of a better way to describe it; will try to do better next time) with a round top, made of iron. It is important to keep a good passage for air to pass between the collected woods, so that it’s easier to catch fire. I use a piece of egg carton, which I light with a match and put it carefully under and between the logs while it is still burning. If you are having a good day, your fire will wake in your first attempt. But other times, whether you do it correctly or incorrectly, it takes multiple attempts to start a fire you desire. I love a good fire, I love the sight of it, and I am told that I have a good sense of stirring it back to life. I also love to sit beside the fire and read, and just think, as ash flakes & soot collect all over my hair, and seep into the deep spines of my books. Sometimes, I think, I get it from my Jing (grandfather). This absolute love for the fire.
When I am not engaged in physical tasks, my mind is quietly led to venture into other things. Things that are most times injurious to the well-being of my heart and mind. I spend a lot of time worrying being thought of something I am not, I am always scared of unknowingly being annoying, or hurting someone that’s on the other side of the phone. But I cannot do other people’s job for them too. I cannot control what someone feels, of me, while in a certain moment in their life. I cannot dictate what someone should see, or know of me. I wish I could, but I simply cannot. I could wonder, and create all I want about what might be, but at the end of it all, they are all creations of my own mind, and all so far from the reality.
But more than anything now, I am very protective of the state and the being of my mind and heart. As much as it’s possible for me to, I want to look after it, and show up for it. All the words, and the stories waiting to happen, and all of my dreams, will be possible only through how well I care after them. In spite of never knowing, and in spite of the fear and sadness, of feeling so alone, and of being shut out completely without any reason, and in spite of not being able to finish at least one thing that I have started, I tell myself, that I still have to, and must show up for the things, and people that needs me, and are around. I have to show up every day for my writing, and for myself. Every day. Because, at times, when I find myself thinking about the kind of life I might have if I didn’t try, it fucking scares me. It scares me to imagine a life where I am not writing, a life where I am not able to write, a life where I am not able to see my dreams being met. It really, hauntingly, scares me. Which is why, I will be here. As long as it takes, and as hard as it gets. I will be here. I will try my best to be here.
Today, I missed the water in the evening on purpose, as I didn’t want to cut myself off the flow of writing here. I stole this time for myself, in between running downstairs as I was being called to walk and carry grandpa. And I was too scared of missing this time I had. So I made a choice of sitting a little longer, and wrote, while the evening sun set behind me and all the birds of my place came together for the end-of-the-day chit chat. And in the comforting music of the bird calls, the words came one after the other. Today also turned out to be not a very good day to start a fire for me. And just in time, electricity ditched me, and I pumped multiple rounds of a tub full of water. Now my hands are sore, and the skin on my palm burns, and have thinned. If I had to pump almost 100 times to fill a bucket of water, imagine how many times it would have taken to fill a tub of water, again and again. That is your task, until the next one.
