Weekly Check-in, a Bit Boring.

October 1, 2021

So where am I this week? I can only do this in bullet points today. I'm tense—a generalized anxiety around never-ending covid, I think. And my perennial sinus and sore throat which adds to the constant doubt of whether I have covid or not. Imagine living with that for a year and half now.

 

·       I'm sleeping 6 hours a day and that’s better than last week’s five.

·    I wake and slowly drink a pot of the new strong assam tea I ordered, while reading, or writing and sometimes watching a news debate. This morning I almost finished The Reader. It is such a powerful book and, in some ways, related to the story I want to write. Finding connection to the other side through confusions? Understanding the other?

·       I then worry about my teeth each morning. Stained badly from the one hour of slow black tea drinking which the dentist had told me to avoid. But that is one daily source of joy in my life, and I don’t want to give it up. But I hate how much I worry about my teeth then. I even preponed my cleaning appointment by a month.

·       I also preponed my covid booster as I felt a bit freaked by all the messaging suggesting that over 60’s should stay home for a month. Part of me is happy to stay home as I am doing a lot more just sitting on my butt and writing these days. It’s not anything I can pull out and show but I’m just happy doing it. 

·       I postponed my eye appointment as they feel fine. 

·      So, what am I writing? The story of friendship torn apart by political differences is just not unfolding, though I have a file of about 5000 words with little unconnected snippets. I discovered the dictate feature in word this week, and delightfully read all the little musings around this story, from all my notebooks into the file. I feel sad because I spent ages over it and the sense of loss of having nothing despite the focus on it is huge. I'm thinking though about the turning point events in the life of my narrator and  also about how one boring day in her life might look like. 

·       I have managed to get my mind into Boiling Frogs again. Chapter One is ready for submission to my online class for critique. 

·       I still am enjoying the class. Zoom on Tuesday mornings, even the nervy free-write. The first Tuesday I couldn’t write a word. The second I wrote a few lines and even read them aloud. Some in the class are so creative with the prompts, and I love listening to their pieces, but I am ok just being where I am. Another person in that class loves fountain pens too. She had a gorgeous Mont Blanc. I felt inexplicably thrilled knowing that. 

·       I love the podcasts from that class. They’re addictive. I learn something that I can apply to my writing process from each podcast. And it is easier to listen than make the effort to write, though I do both. 

·       It is Friday and I'm still struggling with how to structure my karate classes. Now we have to train in pairs that remain the same throughout. And some still join by zoom, so to have a balanced class takes preparation. I've said this before and I will again.

·       Today I was supposed to walk with a writer friend whom I haven’t seen for three months or so (she was travelling). I was excited to finally catch up with her, but it got dark, rainy and thundery and we had to postpone. 

·      Oh, and now most of us do weekly Antigen Tests at home. I sometimes feel that with this testing of asymptomatic people, that is seeing numbers climb quickly, soon all of Singapore might be in quarantine. Just kidding, but not. 

 

This week’s check-in is a bore. Not all weeks can be exciting. I'm now going to watch the rain which has already ‘wiped out’ the distant buildings. I can barely see the indoor stadium. It's so beautiful to sit on my writing room futon and sip a green tea while letting my mind drift into the rain. 

 

PS – prepone is not a proper English word but an Indianism. And eeks—the bullets disappeared when I published, and so did the formatting.

Round and Round the Thorny Path

 September 26, 2021

This one is a request from a friend. Thanks for prodding me to write a post—you know who you are.

 

I’ve been busy and I’ve been muddling through a mixture of doubtful feelings about hmm… what else karate and writing. Been feeling very tired and frustrated teaching karate in continued covid times. I thought the restrictions would be done with at some point but they go on and on. Meanwhile attention to all, and subsequently the curriculum, suffers as I am forced to stick with the same group of five throughout the class. Also, either the zoom attendees get a good training or the ones present in class do, as I make choices about how much partner work to include. Round and round and no way out, but perhaps the circle is not closed but is an outward-bound spiral?

 

Battling with these thoughts I made my way to the library after training yesterday. I had a pile of books that I had borrowed but not read, well I'd read one out of six, to return. These days I seem to be searching for answers to life issues outside myself, often in books. I browse books, carry them home and feel disappointed when they resolve nothing. I do this a lot, but at least I am not buying them. Yesterday I looked at the shelves of book choices curated by the librarians and picked up three. I’ve found writers I’ve never heard of but loved once I read them, on these shelves. Two sounded interesting but something inside knew that I wouldn’t read them. I put them away. They don’t have the solutions I need. I walked to the back and pulled out a few books of poetry. I read for the hour they allow one to sit in the library on weekends. I borrowed three.

 

At home, I heard a podcast. An interview with Walter Mosley. The interviewer quoted from his book, ‘You need poetry in your life or your words will never sing with the divinity of the ordinary.’ I felt a quickening. I wanted to write the divinity of the ordinary but was so far from it at present. 

 

I’ve enrolled in an online writing course. It has shown me so clearly the ways in which my writing has diminished. It is painful but I feel a sense of detachment about it too—like I am looking at myself from outside and deciding what steps to take to find the beauty and truth in writing again. Also believing, despite having no reason to, that I can do this. 

 

And a report on my progress. After re-writing chapter one of the novel I couldn’t find my way into chapter two. But I’d managed to map out the story arc, and I’ve lived with this book for so many years that I moved on and re-wrote one further along. Then fleshed out the ‘skeletons’ of two more. I could have worked further on the novel, but I really wanted to unfold the temple story. I wrestled with it five days a week for two weeks. It is the story of a friendship torn apart by differing political opinions. I began writing it from the perspective of the person closest to my own opinions, those critical of the government, but was unhappy. I wanted to write this story to explore the pain I feel that conversations about politics end with neither side changing even an iota of their opinions. This wasn’t always so and I need to find a way to the other side. So, I changed perspective and wrote from the character who supports the government so thoroughly that she never challenges or questions their messes. This is hard but if can proceed it will be worthwhile. So far all I have is the name of my MC. Last Sunday I was able to recite the entire story to my spouse. I said this happens and then this and then this. But I still cannot find the words to write it on paper. I don’t know in which sequence and shape to tell it. It’s extremely frustrating. I think I’ll shelve it for a while. As for the work on the karate writing, I haven’t done anything, not even read my older pieces which I have printed out and put together. 

 

This is where I am. Writing more, happier with it, but not making much tangible progress yet definitely brewing internally. Also, I am struggling with lack of sleep. It leaves me perennially exhausted but forces me to prioritize and make choices, drop out of things as I no longer have the energy to do everything that wants to be done. I think this was one of the messages of my obliterator. My symptoms still guide me but I'd love a ton more sleep, just one night would be great.

Weekly Accountability!

September 6, 2021

Last week was productive. It feels strange and scary to say that after such a long arid period. The part of me that is superstitious says, don’t publicize it yet. ‘It’ is not yet 3 months old. Many cultures don’t share pregnancy news till the second trimester. 

 

But I need to. I realised that the 27 days of blog writing besides building trust in words also was a way of being accountable to myself to write daily. 

 

So here goes…

Last week I finally rewrote the first chapter of Boiling Frogs. I had been very blocked but kept going back in thought to it while sitting in buses, or walking, or being treated at the physio. No words emerged for two months but then on Thursday I manged a rewrite. Long way to go yet as at least 12 more chapters (out of 33) need rework. Rewriting a completed novel is so difficult. The narrative feels set, in stone, and it’s hard to see what other shape it could be. 

 

I also collected all my karate writings from over the years—most written at times of doubt or of experiencing something new—and put them in a word file. I will read them to see what they are saying. I do feel a need to write more about my journey in karate that I began recording in the last week of the 27 day blog. 

 

The last thing I did was write the names of characters for the temple story—for now it is a short story that I hope at some point might expand into a novel. I made a plot ladder of sorts, sketching very lightly in pencil on a A3 white sheet. It is exciting. I have fewer skills writing short stories than a novel so maybe some reading will be needed when I feel stuck. 

 

There might be something about the two new projects that are exploring something that overlaps internally, but I don’t know. I have always worked on one writing project at a time yet in some ways having more is good. When stuck on one I can dip into the next, till one springs into the foreground and demands to be finished. It is a mix of hope and fear, of hard work and intent without too much pressure, of learning new things and trusting in what I already know about fiction writing.

 

I woke this morning steeped in doubt. These are still uncertain times. Long term plans are impossible. Each day something within wakes wondering what the virus has in store—new variants, new symptoms, new clusters. Writing for an unpublished writer is such an uncertain thing. Who knows if the new work will be worthy of publication. It feels like folly to do something uncertain in this uncertain time. Perhaps doing something safe, concrete, may be a better way to spend time. I’ve used the word uncertain five times in this paragraph. I could change four of them—unpredictable, unknown, hazy, precarious might be good replacements. 

 

My shoulder injury has flared so typing is hard after a while. It was healing and I pushed my luck last week in the gym. I wanted to start the strengthening and used light weights and perhaps aggravated the tears. I don’t know why I do that at times, and later curse myself for messing up my recovery. I called the physio to pre-pone my appointment but they don't have an opening till Wednesday. I’ve fashioned a sling from a scarf to remind me to not use the arm too much. My right hand can write or sketch ‘forever’ though. I need to remember that I cannot force progress on these projects too. 

 

I will report in once a week and see if that helps or hinders the projects. As I write a black and white spider has been wandering at my feet, on the edge of my desk, and now on the curtain behind it. Spider energy is good. I will ask it why has graced my work area today.

Procrastination

 September 1, 2021

It is a welcome hot and sunny afternoon, after days of clammy rain. The birthday month is done. I’ve woken myself up with four cups of tea—one black Ceylon, and three from a pot of white tea with champagne tones. I am still struggling with sinus problems which manifested as the fearsome symptom of vision blurriness and intense headache on July 31. This time I don’t want to see the GP and be put on antibiotics. A part of me knows the sinus will only resolve if I travel away from this humid Singapore climate and allow the sinuses time to dry out. That is the only thing that has worked in the past, but this is not yet possible or desirable. So I curse these empty spaces in my cheeks that are not functioning as they should, and I treat the symptoms with warm liquids and home remedies that include lemon, honey, pepper and ginger. 

 

I wrote the following on my birthday:

‘Some times are bright, easy. Things manifest in reality almost the moment you desire them. This is not one of those times. It’s a demanding and dense time where any movement is almost non-existent. I’ve been a huge fan of such times, endorsing them for the learning and insights they bring. I’ve bonked people over their heads with, adverse times are the best teachers.

 

But now I am weary.  It is also true that when such times are prolonged and seemingly endless their learning value diminishes considerably. Of course one could say that they are testing times and I am failing that test, but it’s difficult to keep moving while a barrage of fists are battering me from all sides.

 

It is hard to set goals or feel hope for better during such times, but I don’t know what it is about being human that makes us keep going on the worst of days. I’m not talking about myself. I’m talking about the millions in India, and elsewhere, that toil on with so little expectation of better. Their covid year has been a thousand times harder than mine even on my worst day. Their resilience defies the odds, it inspires.’

 

I had arrived at the beginning of the birthday month hoping for respite in which I could reflect on and absorb the covid year after my 60^th birthday. But right from the start, I had anxiety, scary symptoms and time spent in docs offices, instead.  

 

Nevertheless I hoped for a magical shift that would usher in lighter fortunes and after suspending visits to specialists, I set about planning my birthday week. Hmmm… why should the week be any different from the month or year, and it wasn’t. A new symptom had appeared—pain in the shoulder joint and immobility that I feared was from a torn tendon in the rotator cuff. It was on the left shoulder so I could still write in notebooks but typing and definitely karate were impossible. I persisted with leg stuff—kicks, running and biking, the things that release endorphins, dopamine, serotonins. 

 

On the eve of my birthday I surrendered to that Giant Obliterator—from the work on my sinus symptoms—who seemed to be pushing me to wander. I opened the drawer to pull out my backpack and was greeted by a terrible odour, dust and 'must' filled my nostrils making me sneeze, and setting off the current intense sinus bout. I found the least smelly bag in there and packed library books, a notebook and pen. It began raining the minute I stepped out. I felt disheartened but ran to the bus stop and just made the number 12 to the library. I dropped the books off and went up to the café. Chicken rendang pie, iced tea and a window seat. I stared at the rain and didn’t write in the open notebook. It had been sunny when I dressed for the library and I shivered in my sundress. I had not been out in so long that I had forgotten how chilled indoor spaces in Singapore are and not packed a sweater.

 

I went to the basement and wandered the shelves till I reached the back corner—poetry, biography, letters etc. I pulled out a pile of books by poets I had never heard off, took them to a chair and dipped into them. I drifted into a slower more beautiful space. Time and life felt real, felt true. 

 

I began to lose my fear of the birth day. I had been tense, worrying what disaster would explode the day, after the horrendous month I’d traversed. It was a pleasant day which began with stationery gifts—kanso noto notebooks with the tomoe river paper that fountain pen lovers covet, ninipies, a folding ruler, sticky notes and two black cat cases. The spouse and I spent the day eating dim sum and later mexican, drinking wine and margaritas, and chatting. The celebrations with other human family were reserved for Saturday and with cat family for Sunday. We drank a bottle of orange wine (my first try) with sea bass, prawns and burrata at Latteria on Saturday. Followed with an exquisite tiramisu, a raspberry and lemon meringue cake, and frozen vodka shots. On Sunday it was homemade Parsi style egg curry and a ginger pudding cake with toffee sauce. It was an indulgent 61^st after a time of sparseness and control. 

 

There is an opening in energies, a loosening of shackles in my mind. I have ideas, I have excitement about two writing projects—one karate related and the other a renewal of Boiling Frogs—though words still are flowing only like thick molasses, heavy and laboured. I know writing this a distraction from the hard work of plunging into the projects.

Clearing

August 20, 2021

 

It’s been a ‘twilight’ kind of day. A soft light from an invisible sun has permeated the cloudy hours. I woke to a dark, very dark rainy sky, with lingering dreams wanting attention. In the second of the ones I remembered a wall in my living room became a collapsible door and the Japanese man from the adjoining apartment walked in and placed a dish of food on my dining table. We had never met but he walked around the apartment like he was ‘a familiar’, asking my spouse, daughter and I, questions about it. His family followed with more food, and then his guests, a family of white persons, also joined them. My family was surprised as we were sprawled on the couch not dressed for company, or in a party mood. 

 

But the dream didn’t feel intrusive, in fact there was a excitement of change in it. 

 

At 10 am I spoke with a very dear friend, a soul friend, whom I hadn’t been able to connect with since moving to Singapore. I told her that I didn’t understand it but I felt I, my persona, my intelligence, my awareness, my consciousness, had shrunk so much that I felt ashamed to speak to her. Fearful that she would no longer find me worthy. How silly, I added, I also know you would never judge me that way. I still don’t know where that feeling came from but instead of waiting to understand I am just going to blunder ahead and start breaking more ‘silly’ walls that have built up. We have a date to speak again. 

 

I don’t know what I am writing about. I know I want to say that though my healing from symptoms is not complete, I am done with doctors for now. I had a consultation with an eye doctor that confirmed, this time with thorough examination, that my eye is fine. Right now I don’t want to know more about the other symptoms as I feel convinced they are from my sinus infection, and I want to trust my body and mind to tell me things, and not necessarily experts or medical reports. Our bodies have wisdom. 

 

I don’t really want this post to scatter away in many directions, but I feel it is. While I was talking to my soul friend my phone started beeping with WhatsApp’s and I felt myself fly off in chasing so many conversations. Like dandelion seeds dispersing when blown by the wind or by human breath. I didn’t like that feeling and I knew that this was why I didn’t want to become that wall extending into infinity. So far from the centre, though I also knew for a wall like that the centre is everywhere. But I felt that I didn’t want to stretch myself, what if I became too thin. What if? Isn’t that like the collapsing apartment wall in my dream. 

 

I do know that allowing the hand, of that Giant, that symptom maker, into my life means sweeping away everything. Good and not so good. What works and what doesn’t. It is the thing about hoovering off that which works that is scary, right? And how do I know what will replace it? But the energy about scouring clean feels right.

 

I did clear a friendship that no longer worked, earlier this month. Or rather I understood why it didn’t work anymore. It’s one which I’ve had trouble letting go though the other person has brushed me away more than once. I had to know for sure if all the possibility from the friendship was done before I allowed the wind to carry it away. I knew possibility was when I saw her words, now she is immune, after I wrote to her that my sister had covid. I knew I couldn’t follow her into that light, that brilliant positivity, that ignores the shadows and truths. 

 

But perhaps it was that clearing that gave me the courage to reach out to my soul friend. That feels right, doesn’t it? At dusk, when misty clouds descend to the skyscraper tops, everything feels wiped, clean. 

 

What things do you need to allow the wind to carry away?