I stared out into the patio of our old apartment from the patio of the new one. A warm cup of milky chai held by my dusty pink ceramic mug, one that fit like a glove in my child sized hands, holding my Goldilocks “just right”12-ounce serving, much unlike the supersized tabos that flooded the market. My bare feet planted on the unfinished concrete floor that held the grains of soil, crispy oak leaves and twigs. My body cradled by the lounge chair; butt cheeks and thunder thighs peeking through the smooth acacia wood slats. I inhaled the crisp air, chilly yet radiating warmth from the morning sun, a signal that spring and a new beginning is near and here.
Behind the closed patio door were dusty slate gray tiled floors, void of the once beige carpet that brushed against the soles of our feet, a mountain of flattened, folded cardboard moving boxes, and a recreation of the layout of the old apartment. This new one was an echo of the old - inside the building next door with the exact 700-ish square foot floor plan, but with higher ceilings creating that illusion of space, pristine white quartz kitchen countertops that delivered the so-called luxury feel, all-new stainless steel appliances together with the not-so new dog, filled all the old furniture and stuff. Loads of ‘em - a decade’s worth of clothes, books, magazines, gadgets and their charging wires, tools, food, plates, silverware, empty bottles and unopened wine & liquor bottles. A decades worth of memories that started with a tabula rasa of four suitcases and everything we thought we needed inside, US visa stamps on our maroon Philippine passports and the naïveté of unlimited possibilities.
This is the beginning of a new era (another ten years in this residence perhaps?), but I can’t help but look back. The buzz of this fresh start was muted, as swimming alongside it was a wistfulness of the past. Is this what it feels like to enter the Middle Ages? Or rather MY Middle Age?
It conjured up the Three of Wands. In the traditional Rider Waite-Smith, a person, stands atop a mountain with the view of the waters with ships traversing it and the lands across it. His hand grasps a staff planted on the ground. Is he leaning on it for balance or is he leaning on it for rest after the arduous climb to the top? Behind him are two more upright staffs, staked into the ground. A checkered black & white stole draped across his torso from his left shoulder. A white band is wrapped around his head. His hair disheveled. One wonders what is going through his mind, but his line of sight grazes the vast expanse ahead.
When one pulls this card in a reading, it signals an exploration, the beginnings of a new adventure, a revelation of a vision of the future, of what lies ahead, a great unknown, but a bevy of possibilities. At the cusp of that embarkation is a look back into the past, on whether we string along lessons or unnecessary things that we can’t seem to let go of that weigh a ton, slowing us down in the journey ahead.
Looking forward is never a clean cut from the past. We will always carry something with us, whether we like it or not. It is like a bug, a virus, bacteria we unknowingly ingest or inhale that could bring us down with an illness, maybe even resurrect the plague, or, let us not look too far behind, but infect somebody else with COVID.
I looked behind me and saw Curly’s brooding eyes peering through the blinds. Nothing like your dog stalking your every move. My reflection on this chapter of life - one when I’ve accomplished some, abandoned many then upended and starting over again - interrupted. I stood up, mug in hand, turned the knob and opened the door. He squeezed through the opening in his furious anime-like running style and I sat back down again. He plopped his behind right beside me, by the lounge chair. My other hand reached out to scratch his shoulders. His gaze looking at same view as I.
There are days I feel the exhaustion of the bear crawl to the summit to see the splendor of the view, looking behind at what’s passed. There are days when the unbearable guilt and privilege of survival in the present with the indispensable support of my husband against the drive in becoming a strong, independent woman. There are days that I swell with pride on what I’ve accomplished at the moment, building from the burning embers and ashes of what was. There are days when my logical brain and Catholic shaped soul still can’t wrap my head around the inexplicable pull towards the esoteric and unknown against all that I’ve known to by “right” and true. There are days when I revel in the surrender to the simplicity of this barebones routine and life.
I come to a more loving acceptance that I crossed the threshold of a new chapter in my Middle Age. One when I feel old enough to have seen life, yet have more years in me to live some more. One without the heels clacking, rubber soles squeaking against the cold floors of corporate office hallways. One without the fluster of the circular chase of efficiency and productivity and the climb of the social pecking order that left me hollow, plunging me into a darkness like no other. One without the undercurrent of malaise that gnawed on my soul as each day flew by. One which faraway shores I still cannot clearly see in 4K ultra-HD that remain to be a blur. But not formless as an outline of this vision is starting to take shape. This new land dotted with words, stories and the magic beneath a star stricken sky, illuminated by the fullness of the moon at night and the glare of the blazing during the day.
The adventure still continues, filled with the roller coaster of triumphs and failures, exhilaration and sorrow, growth and contraction. As this is the cycle of life: always creating, sustaining and then transforming. The birth moving forward and onwards with the descent into a rebirth. Rinse and repeat.
What I’m reading:
As a subscriber of the Home With The Armadillo newsletter by Andrea Grimes, I was updated with her release of the third annual study of Texas Writers Byline Scan (TWBS) that covers bylines from Texas print magazines in 2023. I’ve not been published on any of these magazines, but always curious whether my gut insight as a non-white in this state is validated. And yes, as with any changes in life, it is moving at a glacial pace like the long and winding journey from the edge of East Texas to the fringes of El Paso in the west. Sounds about white and it will continue to do so. Of course, we hope, but, again, in time.
I am also in the middle of “Greetings from Utopia Park: Surviving A Transcendent Childhood” by Claire Hoffman. I share the same meditation practice, Transcendental Meditation, which I learned and started around this time last year. While there are red flags about its history and the movement, I focus on how it’s benefitted me personally, flushing my ever frenzied mind, bringing an even keel to my explosive emotions. Like anything, including belief systems, religions and faiths of all colors, sizes and shapes, proceed with caution about taking anything to the extreme.
What I’m watching:
Like many, I am catching up to film awards season winners with “Poor Things” directed by Yorgos Lanthimos. I enjoyed the aesthetic of the color of whimsical innocence and bombastic indifference in contrast to the rigidity of the world of “polite society.” I feel it’s a Frankenstein cross between Tim Burton’s darkness and Wes Anderson’s kitsch. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but surely, it was mine.
What I’ve written:
The start of the calendar year is filled with celebrations including that of Lunar New Year and Ramadan. I wrote two profile stories of people of the culture, involved in the festivities - Carol Nguyễn of Ngon Viet Kitchen in Dallas and Faraz Ahmed, the husband of the husband and wife team behind Halal Palate, the Texas Halal Fest and now Texas Suhoor Fest. Whenever deep into this work, I feel like I was meant to do this. I don’t know whether this is simply the fleeting joy of creating or a green flag towards wherever I am supposed to be.
If you’d like to read more about tarot cards and their meanings, head on over to what I’ve written below:
Major Arcana
Minor Arcana
Wands
Cups
Swords
Pentacles