Unquiet Yet

July 28, 2022

 

A long unquiet time it’s been, and the mind’s felt like a cardboard box holding hand-painted porcelain teacups that have been crushed in transit. I constantly hear the rattling of the broken pieces. I dared not open this box until today. 

 

On Tuesday, I couldn’t wake to the alarm and had to take a taxi to the group I was co-facilitating in. It was my last day at the outreach I have volunteered for all July. Rain fell in thick sheets and the large meeting room was too cold for my thin black sweater. My head hurt because the weather had aggravated the sinus again. After the large group presentation, I walked to one of the smaller rooms for the breakout groups. Mine had five young men, two of which I had seen dozing off in the first hour. I shook away the lethargy that remained after the two cups of tea and approached them.

 

Right away the young men all identified themselves as people who didn’t talk to anyone about their problems. Their ways of destressing were smoking, alcohol, football, or music. Right away they expressed thoughts and opinions conflicting with the presentation. I pulled down the sleeves of my sweater to cover my reddening palms (when very cold they lose circulation sometimes) and began doing what I know how to do — throw in all ideas presented into a pot, elicit more, and begin to cook them. The sleepy group livened up as they argued with me and when I requested them to remain open through the role plays to explore new ways to respond to crisis, they did. I ended up having the best group of the month. 

 

It felt like the river’s flow was favoring me again. I paced the corridors, by the floor to ceiling windows, to warm up before the debrief. I encountered one of the other co-facilitators, whom I don’t know very well, wearing just a t-shirt over jeans. She had been drinking hot water through the morning she said, and stood next to me for the group photo. I said she was so warm and it felt nice, and she hugged me closer. And just like that I wasn’t cold anymore and I broke into a huge smile. It's lovely when a project ends on a high note. 

 

Soon, I hurried out of the building to the warmer outside. The rain had stopped, and cloud cover made it a pleasant day to walk. I pulled my mask off and walked, and walked, beside the waters of the Singapore River, feeling my ruptured, jangling mind settle into temporary quietness. I found a quiet place to eat, ordered chicken curry, and drew in my journal. 

 

I have moved away from True North again it seems. Or rather True North is being redefined internally. I haven’t been able to see myself clearly for a while. It’s all been murky and sluggish with a sense of ‘non-starting’. It has been so in my swollen sinus and throat, and my always roiling stomach. My state reminds me of what I felt in those times, 1992 and 2003, and places when the raw material of myself was being sorted through to be re-organised. 

 

Today I opened the cardboard box and began sorting the broken teacups. I wrote for a while about the raw ingredients within me. Unsure if the cooked product will be palatable or will have to be discarded.