this week’s Thought (singular)
been walking a lot
a very warm welcome to all new readers. i love new readers so much that whenever i get an email about a new reader, i manifest that they never have to do a group project again. thank you for joining us. may you be at peace.
a very warm welcome to old readers as well. may good sense continue to prevail.
hi
here’s what’s going on.
i’ve been taking pictures of flowers, having a lot of orange juice, and recovering from a nasty flu. the weather’s turning, turning, turned to a scorching heat, and i step on dried, fallen leaves to hear the satisfying crunch. it breaks the monotony. there’s a stagnation in the period when things end. it’s like they’ve been ending for so long. the finish line is always farther than it appears.
the first day i was sick, i spent hours in front of my laptop screen, too weak to get any work done but too guilty to properly rest. so i did neither. i’m deeply embarrassed by this. i can’t promise it won’t happen again. i keep telling myself that rest, in general and not just when i’m sick, is important and necessary, but it’s a tough thing to pay heed to when my whiteboard is full of Tasks.
i read a mary oliver poem, and i feel like my life is being saved. and then i think it’s not that serious. and then i think every bit of saving is that serious. if i don’t treat this act of saving with gravity, then what do i mean by serious? things don’t need to be doomed to be saved.
i’ve started a new book, which was supposed to be a sort of filler between two bigger novels that i had planned, but i realised too late that this filler novel is quite long and quite bad, so i’m trying to decide when the right time is to give it up. i always think it’s now. when is it time to stop doing something that isn’t serving you? when is it too late?
things are ending (the first half of my degree), things are beginning (an internship), things are halfway safehouses (a quick visit home), and things are continuing (moving back to the city that made me grow very much very fast, my hair growing past my shoulders). it all makes me think of grand plans i had made for myself that have fallen through, unexpectedness fitting in seamlessly instead, realisations i still haven’t come to terms with and that i’ve convinced myself i never will, and everything i’ve found that i’m grateful for. it’s a lot of thinking and feeling, both heavy businesses. i’m thinking about where i was a year ago, where i am now, and where i’ll be a year in the future. i’m holding all of these things simultaneously, recognising that i can hold all of these things simultaneously, and that they can exist with me, rather than against me.
after many days of heat, it’s raining now. the sort of rain that rages and storms and makes trashcans fall over in the wind, that makes my room cool, that feels heavy with what has gotten over and what is about to come, that leaves me sweating any time i get out of it. i wonder when it gets easier. i hope it’s soon.
if you liked this post, please hit the like button! it’ll help more readers discover thodi and join this lovely community. thank you!
English Recitation Competition
Incognito Grief: A Blues, Allison Joseph
Who knows the secrets in my gaze? What holds me back when I might choke? Who sees beyond my taut hellos To see the grief etched on my face? Nobody knows what lurks within; Nobody brings me back again. Who needs to disappear for a while? Who sings my name beyond the veil? Who has my memories, my tales? Who’s lurking in my carpet’s dust? Nobody feels this weight beneath my skin. Who knows I’m grieving as I walk? Who has the list of gravity’s costs? Nobody but the man I’ve lost.
Not Waving but Drowning, Stevie Smith
Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he’s dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.
The Coming of Night, Skipwith Cannell (read the full poem here)
The sun is near set And the tall buildings Become teeth Tearing bloodily at the sky’s throat; The blank wall by my window Becomes night sky over the marches When there is no moon, and no wind, And little fishes splash in the pools.
The Good Side of the Internet
… has been permanently shifted to The Good Side of the Internet. subscribe for many many links at the end of each month, and tell your friends about it :D
this week’s Song
find all shared songs here.
thank you for reading, and see you next week <3