Home is where the heart is
Unfinished and open for comments!
It's Thursday, December 15th; we're already half-way through December. Today I think I broke my mind. I've thought, been thinking, thunk too much about things I have? need? to do. An impossible task it is, to clear your to-do list because the work keeps piling up and the longer it takes to pridefully, satisfyingly, strike through a clump of directives from your previous self. I do admit that I felt that I was on top of the world and on top of my tasks. I found peace, felt zen that though the pages of my calendar/planner/journal Hobonichi Cousin felt like a bottomless pit, I thought to myself “hey, thats normal”. But the reality is that you can't trick your own body from feeling exhaustion. You can logically believe that everything is fine, but then one day, half-way through December, the week almost about to end, you find yourself your mind to be an empty-vessel and that your cold is still on-going and there's no stopping a coughing fit, logic and brain power simply cannot challenge the microbes that have infected you. Logic and brain power cannot simply change the weather, in the same way that logic and brain power cannot make you get-up and take a cold shower first thing in a winter morning.
Instead of panicking and self-flagellation, I opted to write what was on mind, got-up and made my bed, unloaded the dishwasher, and put on some outside clothes. The less time I'm on my phone, the less time I'm in my PJs, the better. Today, I opted to let the mind wander, to let my hands do what they're supposed to do (not scrolling!). I ended up battling myself in the end, sitting in my white turtle neck, bleach-stained black leggings, and my most (only) expensive pair of boots, I hesitated to get-up and get out off the house after quite literally almost 24 hours of staying in bed. I pause, I observe myself, and I think: I'm anxious of breaking the cycle. The case we have on our laps today is that yet another victim, fallen into the depths of despair and caged in a box, is a girl living with an unhealthy routine. Everyday I struggle to open my eyes without checking my phone for at least one hour- maybe two. By the time it's too late I hop out of bed and get to work. By work I mean I prepare for my classes, and then eat some variation of whatever's in the fridge for lunch, shower, rinse, repeat, then walk to the bus stop. When my classes are finished, I hop into PJ's and scroll again. I don't need to paint more of the picture. But I like to think this only happens thrice a week.
I didn't think of it then but I've already broken the routine then, I was already wearing something else. All I had to do was go out and see the world; but wait let's read a bit of Writing Down the Bones first.
I came out of the house and felt like a sponge absorbing my surroundings. I don't know what makes the air being crisp and cool special to me, but it somehow reminds me that Winter although relentless in its temperatures, is a beautiful season. Now, in Elche it doesn't snow nor do the leaves even change during the fall (they just… fall) really the air is the only definitive characteristic that changes. I like it because it feels like the fog has been lifted and I'm breathing air that hasn't been stuck in the atmosphere for 2 weeks. I also really love seeing other people dress up. Winter fashion is also fun.
I digress. But really all I wanted to say was that I had a good morning. I surrendered myself to my senses, and watched everything around me. Have I ever told you that I live next to a Moroccan family? And that right next to the Moroccan family is a taller flat than mine and on the first floor there is an office for Speech Therapist? Today I noticed their minimal Christmas decor. On their window they had stickers of letters that spelled out FELIZ NAVIDAD in bright red. I find it funny, that the Z was backwards. Was it because speech therapists helped the dyslexic? Was it a joke or a casual mistake?
I thought, I barely write about where I live. Isn't it a kind of social history to write about stuff like that? I was barely out of the block I was living in when I thought that when I become rich and famous, they're gonna want to read about my time spent in Elche. You don't know that when I turn right the moment I step out my door, I'm a few steps away from a school and a park. The fact that I live by a school means you don't even know that around 11am I hear kids screaming from the top of their lungs. Sometimes I feel like they are being slaughtered, really it's just kids being kids.
You also don't know that when I was living somewhere else I always sat in this park. It was a half-way point for me and Oscar at the time. We took our first selfie infront of what eventually became, our most-sought out Churreria. I remember I sat there and thought it would be nice to live in this area. Specifically it was because I saw a flat close by that was beautiful. The building itself stood out from the rest, but it was their beautiful french-looking windows, tiny patios circling around, and huge plants that made me think all of these things. Now, when I cross the road, 5 seconds later I'm in front of it. Classic example of manifestation I guess.
I noticed more things; but let's fast forward to when Oscar and I arrived at the cafe. The cafe of my choice was Macademia. It is around a 5 minute walk from me, it's by the bridge, and in May you get to see the beautiful trees in front of it blossom with lilac-colored flowers. I think its was they call a willow tree; I wish I knew the names of the plants more. In the past two years since its opened it's steadily become the cafe of everyone's choice. It's pretty, the windows are big, the view is nice and I am there for the same reasons as everyone else.
I always get lucky and I find a seat. Even though my morning came to a late start, everyone else was still chatting. What I love about Spain is that people are always engaged in conversation. When I walked in the warmth of their heating system enveloped me. We got one of my favourite seats in the house. Their staff has increased but I bet the waiters already know me. I always order a tostada and cafe con leche, sin lactosa. It's become boring to me now so we got Cola-cao, and a crusant for myself. We decided to read together and to leave in 30-ish minutes. I decided, however, to continue being aware of my surroundings as I read Why Read the Classics? I was on the first article the night before and haven't finished yet. I sat and was wary of getting chocolate on my off-white turtle neck; I'm usually clumsy and messy and spill things on myself so I'm happy to rreport I came home unscathed.
What I love about Winter is that it reminds me of the first time I've ever been to Europe. The air was cold, the heaters embraced me with warmth, the days were short, and the cafe's (and their service) were not “picture-perfect”. It takes a bit of time for waiters to clean up tables, they rarely put on a smile when they ask for your order, and the table next to yours are drinking beers. This never bothered me until years later, as I became more like an entitled Karen. But today I realize that this is just what the world is like. It doesn't have to be transactional to the T. You can sit in any cafe and still enjoy your time as the mugs and platitos ram against each other each time they clean-up their kitchens. The cafe music is never quite cafe music, and who cares, really. Today I saw my little world and thought there was nothing to be ashamed of here, where people of all ages were knee-deep in their conversations and their coffee's cold. Where the oldies are on their excel sheets, typing in incredibly small font. Where each table people are eating a variety of things: tostada con atun, crusant con chocolate. The drinks were either a cortado, a cafe con leche, two cola-caos, or beer. Sometimes an older lady dressed up really nice would be in the corner sipping tea.
You don't know that for the longest time I think I've held my breath back home, nervous, wary of everything around me and how people might perceive me. You don't know that my little world has actually allowed me to be myself. The mere fact that you can order what you want, beer at 10am, orange juice at 11, people won't care. You only know that my world is small and I've been frustrated getting out. It's worth some appreciation, that actually my world is a home I've crafted and am continuing to craft.
(insert rant about how I never actually appreciated anywhere I've ever lived here)
💌 I've recently discovered *for myself* the idea of a digital garden. It is simply a garden, coded by yourself, where your homepage on the internet is a mix of inter-connected webs not in chronological order, and nor is anything finished. You take a stroll in a garden and everything has its place. I first found this from Kindered Spirits from her substack. This is her digital garden. I've take inspiration from her and have decided that things can be edited later. Ideas can marinate more in my mind. When I come back to it, it still wouldn't be “finished” and that's one of the beauties of writing. Coding a website on the other hand, is a project for later. I especially love the idea of your space becoming a rabbit-hole.
Rabbit-holes of the week:
Hanya Yanagihara in an interview: What do you find most beautiful? Anything in which you can see the artist's hand or mind.
Who Said Science and Art Were Two Cultures?
A Recommended Reading List from the Guggenheim
Booktok drama on Babel: An Arcane History Or The Necessity of Violence
A one star review has been all over booktok, bookstagram, and … booktwt? The one star review in question has felt that Babel had made “her miserable as a white-european.”
I was really only looking if anyone had uploaded the Annotated Bibliography from the B&N pre-order. I stumbled upon tea instead.
As a Rebecca Kuang stan I say: read this book, and if you do, consider buying a signed copy as there is no additional charge for it. If you are in/from the US, Babel as well as The Poppy War Trilogy are available through Harvard Bookstore and Potter Square Books. UK and everywhere else, you can purchase a signed copy from Oxford's Blackwells, Waterstones, Daunt Books, etc. I personally prefer Blackwells because of the free-shipping.
what my friends** kasi HAHAHA
a secret: ive always loved reading your entries. it feels familiar, or like catching up with an old friend. i often wonder my friends are up to, how they go about their day. thank you for showing me yours. it felt warm, honest, and fuzzy. the digital garden was engaging! and i dont know how to describe it, but when you crafted your speeches way back in college, it was always refreshing and worked so creatively. i still think the same when i read your entries. all the love <3