003. yielding to micro mumurations

Wintering as a skillset

Greetings [:

It’s exactly 1 month since i’ve moved here. Time flew, and also plodded by.

And, how are we doing? Pretty goood, i think.

The first day that we were released from 14-day quarantine, we visited Chinatown after our coffee fix. We came back with bags of food that we filled our shelves with — not entirely Singaporean, but definitely Asian.

A friend sent me a picture of Margaret drive chicken rice a few days ago. I don't even eat chicken anymore, but that plate of steamed chicken glistening in oil does look good. Tres delicieux. Am i homesick? I am not entirely sure.

You know, I'll always be thinking about identity and belonging. I don't know how to not see it. What does it mean to represent? Here, I represent myself, and at the same time, an "Other" and also "Asian", perhaps "Chinese" too. Probably.

2 weeks ago, we had put up a sheet of whiteboard paper on the wall, something we bought on Amazon while under quaratine. We scribbled in both French and Mandarin. I attempted to deconstruct what i've known so subconsciously over the years about speaking mandarin, and tried to teach it to J.

"This doesn't make sense."

"Ya, i know."

Winter isn't so bad if you're dressed properly, J told me some time back, probably weeks before I was scheduled to arrive. And I'm beginning to see how true it is. I'm appreciating the winter. The cold. The silence of the landscape, cloaked in white. The way a river or lake freezes over at its banks. A field blanketed so fully in snow you don't see any paths, except the ones you want to take. Smooth where it is untouched. Smooth and undulating, like desert sand.

I feel like i'm coming to know snow, and the way snow sits. The way it collects on branches, the intersections, the way it sounds when i walk on it. How it glitters. I love the way snow hugs rocks.

The squirrels leave paw prints in the snow on our balcony. 4 black squirrels with bushy tails, taking their turns to come back here. We leave some peanuts and seeds out, that's why.

I've always thought about tasting snow, catching the snowflakes on my tongue as they fall from the sky. I haven't actually had the chance to do that. But today we made 2 snow angels in the city, and gobbled up some snow from J's hand.

🌀

What am I doing here?

It's becoming less surreal these days. I googled "surreal" a week ago, just to get a sense of the stories around this word. I am convinced it's a phenomenon that others experience too. A sense of not being quite sure what's real and what's dreamscape. What's real, anyway? And what sets apart imagination from memories if they're all part of the creative activities of the mind?

I'm sleeping better and better these days. I think that is a good sign.

I notice myself grappling with a familiar sense — once again toeing that boundary around transience. The reluctance to fully "make a place home" because we might soon move away. To fully settle into a job, because i am not sure about it yet. To fully claim a place and make it cosy for myself, i think i haven't felt that in awhile, except at home. I almost have to be conscious about resisting this so I can be wholeheartedly in a place and embody that sense of fully residing and settling. I'm not sure you understand, but it's clear as daylight to me. It's week 4 here, i think i'm doing fine for week 4 actually.

To call a place home, I have to stop acting like a guest.

We got some pieces of wood from Home Depot and J built me a shelf for my clothes. I told him i feel like i've moved in. Half joking. But true. We bought a wire mesh trap thingum to prevent the sink from getting clogged again. I bought myself a kneeling chair on Amazon so i can sit better while I work on the computer — that arrived yesterday. All of these feel like baby steps, slowly easing in. Making home.

To settle into a place, to break into it like a pair of new shoes, i often walk. I wake up early and i walk. But these are strange times - I find myself asking after encountering the streets empty, is it the pandemic or do people here not really walk?

I walk to know a town, a city. I'm used to places that are more populated, where there is someone making use of some street corner all the time. There is a certain buzz from a certain level of activity. To break into a new place, i hang out. In cafes, parks.

We just received news 2 days ago — lockdown in Quebec’s extended to early Feb, with curfews in place too. Hmm…

With that, i find myself at a loss — stripped of all previous breaking-in devices. Also, it's winter. I turn to cooking, baking, yoga. I have an oven now, and i am baking things and roasting vegetables. It's a big deal to me - i've always wanted to be able to make my own roasted vegetables and baked chow. Writing, not so much - this is my first extended one, really. We’re also both learning how to code now, together and apart.

Every now and then, the air in the room stops moving. It gets stuffy. Shoulders get tense. I yank open the balcony door to let some outside in. Fresh air is essential. Even when it's cold.

Blue sky days are the best. I find myself noticing the sunlight once again, like how it was during monsoon in India. It sounds ridiculous to say this. What does noticing sunlight even mean? There's a certain elation that comes with observing a break in the clouds, the light leaking, coming through the windows, beating down on the balcony. Too much glare from the sun? Thank you! Yes please!

A bruised tailbone reminds me that ice can be slippery. I must be mindful when I walk. J tells me everyone learns by falling, except that they all learn it when they were a child. Oh well.

Walking into 2021

I've received 2 letters from the past in the last week, written my moi. One from early January days of 2020, a tradition i've honoured for a few years: i write a letter, and send it away into the future where it'll meet me a year later. The second letter was written during early days of the lockdown in Singapore in April, penned when i was finally in a good place after emotionally and physically resisting the upheaval for weeks. It feels good to receive these letters. All these years, they've brought me great comfort. It feels somewhat, like being in the company of a good friend — a friend who knows what matters to me, knows my language, knows to be compassionate, and also to kick butt for accountability.

New living partner. New people. New surroundings. New thresholds. Sights. Smells. Taste. My body is adjusting. It has stopped pushing away "cold" foods; i didn't think i would be able to eat salads and down a cold drink. But I have. I think I'm beginning to warm up inside in a more balanced way. I'm eating very differently than i'm used to, for better and for worse. I've also had the best donut in my life, a few days ago.

Music these days? Pop, and lofi.

Movies? We've watched .... a handful. And i’ve gotten quite abit out of many of them. I think i will write about them soon because they touch on so many things my mind has been revisiting recently — internet security and privacy, meaning & purpose, courage, intelligences - artificial and otherwise. Most recently? Soul.

“I heard this story about a fish. He swims up to an older fish and says: “I’m trying to find this thing they call the ocean.” “The ocean?” the older fish says, “that’s what you’re in right now.” “This”, says the young fish, “this is water. What I want is the ocean!” — Soul.

Wintering

I started on a book Wintering by Katharine May — i tend to seek out books that speak to my current situation, wherever i am. Wintering, as May puts it, is a skillset. The ability to accept and let certain threads loose, allow certain seeds to lay dormant.

It was only in the middle of Week 3 that I got used to the really short winter days. The sun sets at 430pm here. At 5, it becomes quiet and dark like it's 9pm. That was very trying at first. I was feeling lousy and self-conscious about wanting to go to bed so early. I couldn't last. Couldn't make "full use" of a day.

These days it's getting better. I wrote this at 11pm. I'm learning to recognise what my body needs. Learning to be patient. Learning to draw from the lessons delivered through winter, and to extend myself some grace.

So, uh-huh. A lowdown, of all that's happening, here, in my life.

🍃

I had started this newsletter a little while back and intended for this to be one way I could walk with myself into and through this threshold and transition. But I soon found myself quite reluctant to write while wading through my own murky waters. Here I am again, with the whirlpools a little bit milder, while I make a new place home.

As Terry Tempest Williams says, we can reweave our world anew, not from the places of fear and doubt, but from the intimate spaces of belonging. For 2021, that’s how i would like to commit to using the internet as a space — to engage, not isolate. It’s one way I keep in touch with you and keep weaving these threads of kith and kinships <3

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The fact that you are swept along
by the river is no excuse.
Watch where you are going.
Lean in toward what you love.
When in doubt, tell the truth.

-Lynn Ungar

Thank you for reading this, it means alot for me to me to know that there is someone on the receiving end; as much as I write for myself, I also write for you. I hope this has enriched your life in one way or another. Feel free to reach out, drop a note, or something. I’m here, promise [:

If you know another kindred soul who may enjoy this, do spread the word. There is much weaving to be done.