I was running by the river the other morning, listening to a podcast as I’ve begun to do recently (it’s a very wonderful cocktail that allows me to completely detach from my thoughts for a glorious half hour — tiring my body and filling my ears enough that I can take space from my mind for a second, not in an avoidant way, I just need a break sometimes).
The people whose words I used as sand to shovel in my ears (in the best way) — goodness, why do I have to say it like that? The podcast hosts, they were podcast hosts! You don’t need to read my fluff, but you do like the way you know I want to escape myself, too, I digress — they were talking about parents they’d lost, and little synchronicities that had shown them they were still there, so of course I was looking for a sign of my mom’s dad, because he leaves them for me most and by most I mean once, and I don’t believe in much but I do believe in believing for the sake of believing.
As I listened to these people I’ve never met, likely never will meet, know as much about as you know about me, as I put one foot after another, just like I always do, I saw him, and how shiversome is it when our ghosts are our neighbors. Shiversome: a shaking that feels warm, a moment frozen in twisted serendipity. Serendipity: are all words contrived because of the internet, or is fortune something I take too much for granted? I love the nothing that I know.
There he was, an older Asian man, in sweatpants that maybe used to fit but now looked more like they were drowning him, perched on one of those metal calisthenic machines they put in parks that people carve their names into to prove they exist.
He had a dime-sized birthmark on the side of his face, and a pair of sunglasses folded onto his collar, the telltale sign of Peter Lin because the bulky black frames screamed of the times my grandpa went to the doctor to have his eyes dilated and then would wear the glasses they give you for days after, as some sort of statement, safety measure, or simply because he could.
I had to laugh at my ability to find the things I wanted to find, in the moments I wanted to find them. I had to smile, because isn’t that what we must do when our loved ones return to us? “Mustn’t” is too all encompassing, you don’t have to love someone the same way they don’t have to love you (the same way that will always hurt, until it doesn’t). Once I’d run past, I mustered up the strength to turn around and see if he was ever really even there, and I keep that for me to know.
a note:
September ended and I could’ve said nothing.
The past few months I’ve been learning, hurting, marinating, sitting, wondering, all the same as the months before and the months before those and, unsurprisingly, the ones, the ones, the ones.
I’ve been writing less, meeting myself more.
There are a few of you who are new here — thanks for joining us. I’m not sure how much I can offer you, besides musings and a moment with each word on the tip of your tongue, each word calling you back to its root (where does this word come from? what does it really mean? who was the first to say it? how did it become mine? oh, but these things can’t be owned), taking a big deep breath, saying doesn’t it feel nice to just be with one thing for a second? Who am I to think you don’t have a million other things going on in your mind, of course you do, that’s how we’re raised. With background-programs-tiny-spinning-circle-of-death-my-computer-overheats, no that’s just my mind — why do I compare spiders to TV channels and landscapes to screensavers?
This is where we are. If you are new, we are musing. If you have been here a while, hello.
September ended and I could’ve said nothing.
September came and went, I lost myself in many ways, I found myself in so many more.
I’ve become, begun, becoming, unbeknownst to you, I became, a million things I never thought I would — happier, mostly — I met silence, and I said I love you, and I meant it all.
September ended and I could’ve said nothing, instead I asked you to hold me one more time, here we are, inching forward, the way we just keep doing.
Ways I’m feeling close to my parents this month:
Making: homemade granola with cinnamon, pecans, dried apricots, and raspberries (feels like fall, fall feels like home)
Sharing: songs like Mitski’s new “Bug Like an Angel” (thanks, becca) and saje’s “Desert Song” (and you, izzy) — something very vibrational about both of these
Asking: for pictures of my dog
Reading: Nicole Chung’s “All You Can Ever Know” paired, fittingly, with Jane Wong’s “How To Not Be Afraid of Everything”
Having: my dad read through this newsletter first to see if it even made any sense and if he had to circle back anywhere (he tells me: “but that’s a good thing.”)
Question to ask your mom: What is something you realized this month?