There are times when a pinch of struggle salts everything. Each day is rough to touch, the coarse spot your fingers play back to, the worry that catches a nail.
Then, all in a moment, you remember to miss the irritation. Things flow so smoothly it feels that each always day must have been this way, that anything else could only be a cloud you dreamed of to break the monotony of sun on sun. You know that, for now at least, the hard time has breezed on.
For me that kind of something has somehow changed. This weekend was a smile, a stretch from a sun-beaming nap.
I have been enjoying myself more than I noticed, and suddenly I’ve noticed.
Dhaka is still unknown, strange, even secretive, but I am enjoying the bustle of fumbling forward, finding more life new. I’m enjoying a flirtation, a fling, with myself and this here.
I’m enjoying carving new pictures in the flat grey blocks on the map, taking territory with phone calls, street stalls, pots of tea and icecream cups.
I’m enjoying making friends, finding strength and substance in things that are new and light. I have been knowing myself a little better in my laughter, being more generous with myself than seems quite safe and liking that a lot.
I’ve been enjoying being in my skin, the henna flowers that snake, twist and tangle up my ankles, keeping me rooted on dirty feet, making me mine. I’m enjoying the butterflies that launch over my skin with reckless fluttery smudgy abandon because they only curve and fly for my eyes, no one else’s.
At first there is resistance to all that is new, to what is not as well as to what is, but I have surrendered without noticing.
Now is a joy I would not miss to mourn another tomorrow.
I’ve surrendered to dust, bugs, noise, to alone, to starting everything again once again. I’ve surrendered to mistakes, muddles, mixed up words, stubbed toes, to laughing at myself, falling and getting up again, to smiling if I feel it even when I think I ought to be sad.
I’ve surrendered to foods that might just poison me but taste good enough to be worth it, to finger licking in its many fried glories, to lips that glow with building-burning red hot heat.
I’ve surrendered to cheap gem-jewels of clothes, the colour clashes that bully black out of my closet. I’ve found it’s hard not to smile when you’re glimmering with glitter at 8am on a Monday, that it’s hard to be gloomy striding out in cerise, and turquoise, and purple, with thirty bangles and a long floaty scarf…I’ve surrendered to this enforced dress-up being normal, and now it’s like getting to play princess on work days.
Of course, there is no catch-all cure in the cupboards. There is only life rich and abundant, in here and out there. There is present pleasure, the thick fabric of just now, just this.
So much of life is lived elsewhere, but right now I have worlds enough here.