ae-1

All I know is now

Today.

I wished I had said more in a three hour presentation . . .

or at least I wished I shared more of my true feelings.

I wished I followed my instincts more.

I wished I had a dog to take on walks.

I wished I was Indian.

I wished I had a child.

I wished I went swimming.

I wished I always walked places.

I wished I was back to work at this dark desk in Delhi.

I wished I was the couple making out in the grocery store parking lot.

I wished I had more days like these where I crossed most things off my list.

I wished all the things that seemed urgent and scary at the time were put into perspective.

I wished (for a moment) I was the girl on the bike pretending she was really on a motorcycle.

Then, I stopped.

I stopped wishing.

I wanted to be me.

Walking home on a hurt foot and with a backpack too heavy.

Always with too many feelings. Troubles. Ambitions.

But I’m all I know right now.

All I know is now.

And today taught me this.

Sundays are for:

Looking back at places once familiar to you (*like this place near Patan outside of Kathmandu) // drinking tea in bed with a stack of reading to keep you company // toast // morning light // making plans to clean you room // trying to stay warm under bed covers.

Plus, thinking about a future:

+ I dream of one day working and creating things with leather

+ I like thinking of Sarah’s food adventures in Paris

+ Words to live by

A lost day

Today is one of those days where you run around in circles//make messes//try to make connections. . . I feel inspired by more than I can handle, but I don’t know what to do with it. Or how to make sense of anything.
. . But, inspiration is out there and it is near.

Immigrant’s Song

Let us not speak of those days
when coffee beans filled the morning
with hope, when our mothers’ headscarves
hung like white flags on washing lines.
Let us not speak of the long arms of sky
that used to cradle us at dusk.
And the baobabs—let us not trace
the shape of their leaves in our dreams,
or yearn for the noise of those nameless birds
that sang and died in the church’s eaves.
Let us not speak of men,
stolen from their beds at night.
Let us not say the word
disappeared.
Let us not remember the first smell of rain.
Instead, let us speak of our lives now—
the gates and bridges and stores.
And when we break bread
in cafés and at kitchen tables
with our new brothers,
let us not burden them with stories
of war or abandonment.
Let us not name our old friends
who are unravelling like fairy tales
in the forests of the dead.
Naming them will not bring them back.
Let us stay here, and wait for the future
to arrive, for grandchildren to speak
in forked tongues about the country
we once came from.
Tell us about it, they might ask.
And you might consider telling them
of the sky and the coffee beans,
the small white houses and dusty streets.
You might set your memory afloat
like a paper boat down a river.
You might pray that the paper
whispers your story to the water,
that the water sings it to the trees,
that the trees howl and howl
it to the leaves. If you keep still
and do not speak, you might hear
your whole life fill the world
until the wind is the only word.

– Tishani Doshi

Have an inspiring, productive, and memorable Monday.

[Photo: Getting lost in the rain in Patan, Nepal//Grace Farson]

Work hard | Play hard

Day off (*sorta).

Day off at school // Day on at work.

An almost four-day weekend = a glorious blessing. I’ve worked a lot, read a fair amount, seen friends I haven’t seen in a while, made a lot of late night food, surprised him, stayed up late, watched movies, learned to play poker, and thought a lot about hair.

“Looking beyond life’s imperfections allows one to be able to find happiness. Life is not perfect, ever. For me, remembering that life is flawed, people are flawed, and therefore relationships are flawed, allows me to look at the flaws and imperfections as part of life itself. A perfect life includes all of the flaws associated with what and who you surround yourself with. My life and my means of living it are no exception. I was, as all people are, flawed. I accepted myself as being flawed no differently than I accepted others as being so.”

– Scott Hildreth

[Photo: What some of the work I do looks like//Grace Farson]

Move over

And its the start of a brand new weekend!

Today has been a day of hats//fancy sparkling water//mandelbrodt//food writing @ Duke//and time in the sun with mosquito friends.

Have a happy weekend, and remember this:

“Sharing food with another human being is an intimate act that should not be indulged in lightly.” – M. F. K. Fisher

[Photo: The kitchen table, Carrboro//Grace Farson]

The weekend

That was this weekend, but now it’s back to another school week. I’m confident it should be a good one for the most part too. Today’s day involved some hot yoga, hw, time in the grass and in the sun, roller blades, class, photos, giving haircuts, making butter chicken, a walk, and even some sacred time at a garden.

[Photos: Emerald Isle beach with Jord + the trusty, though sandy, AE-1//Grace Farson]

The art of moving

I haven’t quite mastered the art of moving. I leave and go back to Carrboro life today. The car is somewhat packed and I honestly believe it is the worst packing job I have ever done in my life.

I’m just fed up with packing, with moving, and with going. I know within a week of being settled again, I will want to go all over again, but for now, I’m really excited to stay put for a bit. . .

[Photo: Abandoned place in Chapel Hill//Grace Farson]