An Empty Space
"When I was very young, I accompanied my grandmother on a trip, and while I was away, my mom decided to thoroughly clean and organize my bedroom to a perfectly put-together and essentially unlived-in state. I was a bit of an unbridled hurricane at that age, but there was creativity amongst the chaos. We were a family of little means, so writing had become my solace: winsome poetry and rambling prose, song lyrics and abstract sketches. When I learned about her plans, I cried inconsolably, fearing that my private hamlet would be invaded and conquered, my whimsies and words all cast away as if they were meaningless scribbles and scrawls. Once home, I found my room devoid of color and character, turned over and barren like fallow earth. It reminded me of the set dressing in a film, with carefully arranged assemblages of stuff and things, all meant to give the impression of coziness and comfort. It felt disingenuous, a mirage: like when you close your eyes after a sunward gaze, and you see an impression of brightness that fades away into black. That room never felt like my own again, and it was the genesis for a poignant shift: I stopped feeling like I had permission to be childlike and free, and as life became mired in upheaval and trauma, being reined and restrained was sometimes the clearest path to emotional survival. We would move several times in the following years, we would lose one home to a fire, but even when everything I owned was swallowed by ash and smoke, I just kept trying to rebuild the refuge I longed for: one more time, desperate to make my bones ..."
Thank you so much for your tremendous generosity and kindness. Missed you all sincerely. With love. ♥