Greetings [:
This will be a long one, I know because I hammered it out. I have convinced myself that I will allow this one to flow unapologetically. The self-consciousness that comes with feeling how most people might not have the attention span or interest to read long things - I’ve bagged it. The gunny sack is right beside me. It’s a shame to want to say something, to feel like saying something, yet not go all the way.
So without further ado…
Seasons
Seasons. Of course. How can we start or end this without making any mention of it. Spring is in the air. The days are longer. The clocks have changed. As I write this, we’re at 16 deg celsuis, the warmest it’s been in the last 3 months since I arrived. I’m sitting on the balcony, reading and writing, with a beer. The river is flowing again. The ground has been more muddy than frozen. Gone are the pristine white plains. For awhile it will be all slush. I’ve heard, and so far seen it for myself — it’s true. I hear the subtext when people talk to me about the transition between the seasons… there’s a little whoopeedoo about winter passing by, yet there is also some meh about having to endure (damn….) the muddiness and slush before it becomes utterly and wholly Spring.
And here’s where I segue into the discomfort that comes with dwelling in the liminal spaces in life.
Wayfinding
The past few months have left me wondering, as I participated in whatever comes knocking, letting the drifts of the days and weeks carry me without resistance. The amount of time we spend indoors and the things made available to me outside the confines of my home has meant that I turn to what I have access to — the internet and the computer. I have allowed myself to explore the possibilities of delving deeper into programming, into UX, into design, into art. And I have been wondering…is this me? Or rather, I have asked, is this Sixian?
I feel very blessed and grateful to be offered an opportunity to be part of a Circle of Trust while I am here. The theme for this series is Transitions. Very timely. It landed in my lap, offered to me out of generosity and thoughtfulness by Dan Hines who facilitates these circles. The last time I participated in a circle was some 4-5 months ago. It has felt as though I have moved on from that part of myself. Or shelved the need that I’ve always recognized to be deeply essential — connecting with other humans through rich and wholesome conversations. In a way, the circle has allowed me to get back in touch, to touch the places that has been shrouded and forgotten for awhile. It has been 4 weeks now, and these conversations have allowed me to see the nature of transitions, to experience and articulate this time of our lives in the company of other kindred folks. To share in the collective experience of figuring out.
I’ve seen and heard myself speak about how much I experience drift, and seek shore; the unmistakable frustration of having to continuously navigate. I’ve heard from others too, how common it is, to experience impatience, and to want to come to the end of the tunnel. To arrive at clarity. To declare a new season. To be done with this liminal space. We don’t know what to make of ourselves during these times, when the ending of something is behind us, but the new and the next, has yet to emerge. When the identity seems flimsy and without integrity, when we do not know what to name ourselves. When the maps we know have become obsolete, out-dated.
I like the metaphor Dan always turns to — that this process of wayfinding out at sea mirrors our personal seeking and journeys. Last week, I learnt about bounce waves — the waves that are the subtle reflection and refractions created by islands. Bounce waves are how the future shows up in the present. They tell stories and leave hints about what is ahead, both near and far. I find the metaphor of wayfinding particularly interesting because it reflects more accurately the life is; it speaks of a way of seeing where paths and fields and forks in the road are ahead and all around, rather than what maps usually afford us — the bird’s eye view. It is a way of seeing that inspires courage in me.
I am reminded though, and I always make sure to remind myself, that action and reflection are polarities. Polarities that we have to manage. Each of these being a season or phase of life to go through, but not something we dwell and marinate in, with a degree of permanence. We can’t always just be reflecting and introspecting, like how we can’t always just be doing.
No, but I’m not done with the naval gazing. I can’t go out right now. There’s this room I have yet to dust, at least not thoroughly. That window, and that other one too, I have not looked through.
Sometimes, we do not need to have combed through all the windows of this home. Integration is a continuous flow, like a river.
“The bigness of the world is redemption. Despair compresses you into a small space, and a depression is literally a hollow in the ground. To dig deeper into the self, to go underground, is sometimes necessary, but so is the other route of getting out of yourself, into the larger world, into the openness in which you need not clutch your story and your troubles so tightly to your chest.
Being able to travel in both ways matters, and sometimes the way back into the heart of the question begins by going outward and beyond. This is the expansiveness that comes literally in a landscape or that tugs you out of yourself in a story.”
— Rebecca Solnit, The Faraway Nearby.
Home
There are many things I miss about Singapore, alot of it is nostalgia. I miss the streets, the food. The chatter in a familiar accent. As I settle more naturally into the scene here, I begin to recognize more and more, the elements that make home. I begin, more and more, to recognize my own belonging within a certain landscape that felt quite foreign a few months ago.
The process of seeking home, is otherwise a search for restfulness. I believe this to be so. The possibility of resting, undisturbed and unrushed, is such a precious feeling. I have found it in the woods, laying on earth laced so thickly with frost, looking up at the haphazard splaying of bare branch amongst bare branch, set against the pale sky. I hope the same peace and restfulness is within reach for you, not too far away.
Wild Geese
As the ground thaws, we’ve been spotting geese as streams reappear. They often appear in pairs, one standing guard, while the other pecks around in the mud and marshes. That’s how it appears, at least to us, and always brings about a chuckle or two. The way geese takes flight, the sounds that they make…all of these so new to me. It’s all quite beautiful. Today as we took a walk and saw geese in flight again, I am reminded of one of my favourite poems by Mary Oliver. I’ll leave you with her poem here and also wish you a very good week ahead.
Wild Geese, by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Thank you for reading this, it means alot to me to know that there is someone on the receiving end; as much as I write for myself, I also write for you.
Writing, with an audience, about my reflections on life is a weird game. It has some semblance of journal material yet not completely hushhush private. It’s not news, so not a news-letter in that sense. It is also not quite the kinda material, i think, would make a reader feel more knowledgeable having digested the whole gamut of things I hurl at him/her. I treat it as a personal letter from me to you. The attention that you give me by reading this, simply as I air about my life, is a privilege i recognize. To me, it is also relationship maintenance. I am more than glad if you reach out when you feel called, to tell me about your days and how you are doing. Tell me about the questions you wish someone would ask you but haven’t. And I will. I will ask, and listen closely.
If you know another kindred soul who may enjoy this, do spread the word. There is much weaving to be done. Till next time [: