Ikan mas enggan bergerak
I feel so in the beginning of things and in the middle and also so in between. I have a habit of starting over every year or two. New blog. New website. New social media account.
Another habit: I save things for later but then forget about them. Sometimes it's cold water in a glass. The last Lindor truffle. Succulent meat in a meal. Things passed through me. I let them. I told myself I could come back to them later. Â
Stockpiling for winters is something I always felt compelled to do because time moved strangely for me; I was always treading water in the past or future.
I'm always running from my ghosts. All this time, all that mattered was that I got somewhere safe to actually begin living my life. I never got far enough to consider what I'd do once I arrived.
Now. After a decade of waiting, I’m here. No more winters. This is total freedom, and I know in my mind that it's time to live. But I have an entirely new issue here before me, which is that I don't know how to live.
What the fuck?
What do I do with this newfound freedom to decide who I want to be and where I want to go? How exactly do I savour a moment when I barely even let myself cry? How do I taste and touch and hear and feel and let the beauty of things destroy and remake me?
The coffee. The tea. How things smell. How things feel on my fingers. I've found myself saying: Fuck, what is going on?
Where am I? How did I get here? How do I know I won't slip backwards into danger?
I know that these aren't 100% helpful questions so I am trying to develop a new, slightly more productive habit. I ask myself: Do I like this thing?
Beyond simply experiencing it or understanding-that-I-am-tasting-a-thing: do I love it?
I want to surprise everyone by my newness. I'd like to be a plant. A crocus. Or a zombie, only beautiful and free of rot and actually alive. Resplendent and shining with springtime.
I don't want to forget anymore. I don't want to delay the beautiful things that are meant for me. In his words: Since I'm aware this kind of meeting is rare, unreal, like a scam — I'd like to live a better life from now on and respect this chance that life has given me.
Last week we went to Masagi Koffee to drop off a friend’s order of roasted beans. It was a rare opportunity to enjoy some alone time outside together. The last time we sat down at Masagi was for his popup nearly two years ago. He ordered a flat white (35K); I a black lemonade (38K). At the only empty table, we kicked back with a drowsy orange cat.
The lemonade was extra-tart; the interplay of acidity and sweetness inspired me to make a similar drink at home afterwar by combining our green tea kombucha with espresso. Such a drink has proven great for hotter mornings and early afternoons.
I was alone for such a long, long time — and pervasive numbness was how I made it through each day alive. But on that October morning, as realization came to me in parallel with all manner of foliage skittering to the ground, I counted my regrets: I should have been less self-conscious. I should have appreciated the price of his coffee beyond the beans’ monetary value. I should have recognized the full weight of his attention and realized how monumental it was for someone like him to decide to love me for the rest of his life.
The wind and dappled light of the weeks-long amalgam of drought and rain is unlike that of any other season, and bathed in that atmosphere I decided I admired him. He is quick to understand and capable of paying attention from start to long, long finish. He is self-aware and principled about what he’s willing to take and give. Beyond being being the man I love, he is also someone I aspire to be like.
I didn’t realize that from that first moment across the cupping table, he’d already found me out as a lesser iteration of Ötzi, already knew I’d need a defrost. Sure, it took more time and was more painful than he expected — in retrospect necessary to avoid snap breakage of any extremities — but now that I’ve thawed I can feel how warm and tender his rare love is.
Enveloped in his attentive affection, I am safe. From such a strong foundation I can grow anywhere and become anything. The inane joke behind this entry’s title is: carpe diem. These are my moments, and from now on I want to feel them all.