The fire is burning a little low

I live and work in multiple creative spaces. I am blessed to be allowed to write in a way that feels natural, make videos on a regular basis, learn, express myself and share what I find. I am constantly inspired by the women, in all their diversities, that I work with.

I am lucky to have what I need. I do not struggle as much as the women I get to work with. I live the way I would like, I am not restricted in any way other than by reason and recommendations. I am able to live with my family as well as with my long term partner. I am lucky.

Yet, despite all of this, I feel my inner fire, my passion and drive dimming slowly. I feel tired. It might just be a "today" thing - I was up super late because, because, because ... I was working. I was both utter disappointed in what I made as well as overjoyed because it seemed far too hilarious at the time.

I showed it to a colleague and she laughed. I was so scared. I was nervous because what I had made was meant to be funny, but I wasnt sure. But it did keep that little fire flickering inside me, just a little.

So as I struggle to do what I do on a day to day basis, I keep trying. I cant let that fire go out. Im terrified it will, as it has before, but I cant let it go out. Not again. Its far too hard trying to reignite it.

Not goodbye.

The 31st of August. I was woken up by my mother skittering around. She was rushing to the hospital. It was something I had never seen. We expected it. We knew it was coming. But it was a dreary Friday outside and the candle in front of the photos had flickered out at some point last night.

My grandmother, after her early morning bath, left this world. We joke, she was waiting for the Friday or checking the bills or something or other. She waited till her bath, she must have told my Grandpa Ben Bhagwan to wait, just wait, she was coming. She even shocked the doctor who had given us the "few days left" and she gave us about a week.

Strong. Passionate. Quiet. Creative. Amazing. Beautiful. Just... there's so many words for her but none of them really encapsulate who Rachel Ayesha Bibi Bhagwan (nee Yusuf?) really was. But she was, simply, my grandma.

My grandma who had me over for Friday night sleepovers. She's let me hang out as a little one shirtless as I watched cartoons and made dough. She would put me to sleep, be there, offer advice and guidance through her actions... she amazed me as she worked a room at a pinktober event last year. I saw her guide a woman out of a violent marriage without even a harsh word about him (out loud really).

As I sat in the church she was baptised and married in for her funeral, I did reflect on my own sense of faith. I dont know if I really have one. I dont pray. I find it awkward. I dont know who to thank, get angry at or question about all of this.

"Why her? Why didnt we find out about the cancer spreading? Why didnt she tell us how she was really feeling? Why did she compromise her own health? Why? Why? Why?"

Im not sad. I miss her, fuck, I miss her so much. But it was weeks before she passed that I actually got to see the woman who moulded me into what I feel I am today. Sometimes I daydream about the soft clink of her bangles, her high noted humming and singing, her longwinded cooking, her teasing way... I miss you but I dont want to.

GUHH

I have no idea whats happening. No, truthfully.

I feel a slight bit of pain in my lower belly extending down to my knees, just like every other day.

Im at work, trying to concentrate, just like every other day of the week… but my head won’t stop buzzing. Im terrified. Im worried. Im confused.

I don’t know if Im supposed to be any of these things but I can’t help it.

My grandma will probably leave hospital soon. She seems to be getting a little better but… I feel so awful. I feel awful because I can’t fully express how worried I am.

Yes, she started to say a few words, wake up a little. But that doesn’t mean what’s wrong will go away. People don’t live forever. And because I have these things in my head I feel terrible.

I would like to think Ive made my peace; that I want to see her comfortable and surrounded by family and calm before the inevitable comes and turns everything over for a while…

But what if that just makes me more broken than I would like to be?

I mean, sure, I, just like everyone else, have been to my fair share of funerals. I hate them. I think they’re strange spaces where we pretend everything is okay instead of actually healing.

Or you know, you’ve just got the wailers that annoy the crap out of me.

Eugh, here I go again. Yeah, I feel salty. Im stressed out. Im a human being. But… I guess Im stuck between feeling awful and hopeless and useless and mad and devastated and annoyed and just… lost.

I don’t know how to feel, what to do, where to go, how to help. Im trying, fuck, Im trying… but youknow, how youre always in this dumb little bubble that is you and your mindspace – and everyone has that so you’re stuck trying but you just don’t know if you’re going to make things worse or help or if it makes through it at all.

Im rambling. Yeah. Im going to just… get back to trying to work I guess.

Dear Whoever You Are

As a person of mixed faith (or none - it depends on our outlook really), I don't know who to ask for guidance.

Ive worn a little Ganesh pendant for about 4 years now. I say it got me through Mums Cancer and Uni and everything in between. But i dont know any prayers. I dont know how to offer thanks.

I made a conscious choice to be confirmed, to serve in the church, to be the little human that got to ring the bell thrice. But after Dad passed I lost all the connection i thought i had to that big building with its cold floors.

I bow my head as others pray. I will say grace. I will listen to a sermon. I have tried to read the bible. When I did I found my favourite passage because it just... fit... at the time.

Ecclesiastes 3: 1 to 13

There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

²     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
³     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
⁴     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
⁵     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
⁶     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
⁷     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
⁸     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

⁹ What do workers gain from their toil? ¹⁰ I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. ¹¹ He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. ¹² I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. ¹³ That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God.

As we go through all the yaya we moved into our new house, as we wait to see how soon my Grandma may leave us all, I reflect on this passage I found years and years ago.

I find no comfort. I find just words. I find words I stumbled on as people wept over the idea and memories of my grandfather over a decade ago. Words I brought up every time I couldn't understand something. Yet I cant recall the feeling of comfort I thought the words gave me.

So, yes, dear "whoever you are" - you awesome, unfathomable power, or you one aspect of a whole, you entity that could never be understood or simply Im talking to the uncaring push and pull of the universe - be gentle. Not for my sake. For the multitude that call around for updates on her condition, who visit the hospital, who work around her, who stand by her bed and who say prayers wherever they are.

You dont know what you are taking away from them. From us.

I want to, I do.

Hey hey hi howsit going?

So in case you didn't know I'm documenting my 23rd year for reasons unknown. I dont know, I guess I wanted to put a pushpin in time and see what happens when I come back to it. Just like when I look at any of my old videos - where I used to sing, and said dumb things and all the while knowing that was me coming off the back of a breakup I didn't really understand and still trying to figure out what cancer meant for my family.

I wanted to vlog, I did, but Im exhausted. Im tired at work, Im tired at home, Im driven as ever but energy is down at an all time low. I know its mostly worry, insecurity, just all round feeling really really lonely and I don't know if its my depression/anxiety flaring up or just realising that at 23 Im not sure who on earth I am.

We never know though, do we? We're always changing, moulded by whats happening around us and to us and near us. I wanted to be a storyteller. I could say that I still am. But I have no idea how true that is sometimes. I miss drawing. I miss singing and playing music. I miss going home and feeling like I have hours to kill so I fire up a game. I dont know where all of thats gone. I feel like my inner light has been put somewhere for safekeeping and Ive lost the key and cant even remember why I did it in the first place... or maybe I do.

Im scared. Yup, Im a terrified human being. Im scared about bills, my grandmother, my job, my country, my partner. Im drawn out and pulled mentally in all these directions and I just cant get a handle on the fact I have no idea what Im supposed to do and who Im supposed to be in all of this.

I know what I would like to do, to be. I want to be sane. I want to be happy and calm and relaxed. I want to just move house and build new memories and continue in life and try make people happy. I want to work and do good in this world. One day I want to make my stupid movie with tropes and a weird father character and I want to, at some point, figure out how dancing works. I want to teach my cat things, I want to make time to hug all of my dogs and tell them how much they make me happy. I want to put flowers on my fathers grave that I havent seen in years. I want to one day buy a house for my family so my mother doesnt have to worry ever again. I want to do good. I do.

I just have no idea how.

What colour?

I never realised how often we use labels. Trans, of colour, gay, straight, while, cis, etc etc etc. It made me wonder... why?

Don't get me wrong, I don't have an issue with labels. I wish that I had cool ones too. I just think they're wholly unnecessary to give (keyword here: GIVE) to people. Does that make sense? Maybe not yet but just hear me out:

Use a label to help you identify yourself in the crowd, or to someone you've been trying to wink at from across the room for like an hour now or something, if that's what you want. What I would hope is that labels aren't dished out because the cis, straight, vanilla's trying to figure out what is what and who is who.

That's we saying something as a cis, straight, vanilla... for all intents and purposes. It's funny because I was scrolling through social media and I wonder “what are my labels” and “would my labels be celebrated”?

I was never the kind to fly the halfcast flag because I didn't know my “other half” like everyone else seemed to. I felt out because I didn't look like the rest of that side of the family and I couldn't compensate with language. Ive never felt comfortable in my body but I know it's not a case of dysphoria. I don't have typically exciting hair, features, lilts in my accent or anything in particular. I like wearing pretty dresses and I like throwing on my raggedy pants and vests. I didn't like very many people so I was never all over the place and my hormones were mostly in check. I grew up knowing that I was a mix of this or that and the other but that whatever I felt, I was me.

Does “I dont like what my reproductive organs do to me on a regular basis” count as a part of my identity? “3 years and counting in a relationship and I want to marry him and avoid having babies as long as possible”? “I dress for comfort and context”? “I don't like hair removal because I cant stand how itchy the growing back is”? “Sure I love socialist principles but how do we make sure everyone actually contributes”? “I played a male character in an MMO because I didn't want awkward, special treatment female toons sometimes get”? What really is there to celebrate among my experiences as an all-purpose wholemeal flour kind of human?

From all my reading of people coming out, coming to terms, identifying with the past and present to determine the future – it's about the self, right?

It acts almost like a kind of justification. “I am the way I am because I am (blank)”. Insert label here... and that makes me angry. I get angry because people, maybe even those like me, fall nicely (more or less) into the box of the expected.

Never questioned, never had to explain why I am x, doing y or hanging out with z. I don't want to have blind privilege. I just want to do my part in whatever way I can so that the kids I may eventually have never have to worry about what their labels are.

Can I just not be here, thaaanks.

Things are getting weirder. You know when a layer of calm settles over the way you thought things were and youve completely forgotten why things are the way they are? No? Oh.

Well, Im a human of habit. I like rules. I learn rules. Understanding rules and sticking to them were why I loved maths and physics and all that good stuff in high school. I made up rules as I went along to help myself how politics may have worked or how journalism is and was and so on when I got into uni.

And of course, all of this seeped into my personal life. Yes, I talk to the "big bad ex" because he's my friend several timezones away... but I taught myself "the rules" of what we say and don't say. Early on in the whole relationship with the Owl I thought those rules applied as well. It didn't bode well and I had to re-learn everything about intimacy and what I thought a relationship was because if I didn't I'd still be the far more nervous wreck who'd lock herself in the bathroom and cry whenever I got invited to something.

Then there are dealings with my family - the close and the not-as-close. Those have rules too. You never say anything too rude to the face, you don't take our attitude out on someone else, you don't discuss who weird periods are or how weird someone's face is (no matter how PMSd or tired you may be).

Then society has rules. However, Ive been shying away from sticking to those to be honest. For the most part, yeah Im a hairy (and yet perhaps sexy? who knows!) beast. I dont want to shave. I dont need to shave my legs or underarms. My skin hates it, I hate it, and that's it. I may for a special occasion but it always just goes back to me hating the fact I have to wait until its grown out and manageable again. Then theres the eyebrows. Please. For the love of god, please, don't judge me for them.

At the core, sticking to the rules for me has always been about respect. Sure, I have the same amount of respect for all strangers on the street but not the institutions that tell me Im disgusting if I grow hair or dont look or dress or act like Im "supposed to" as a female. But, when it comes to friends, family, my partner - rules are kept with express bending coming at a time where everyone agrees to it or when its needed. Rules never for rules sake because that's just silly - because that the end of the day, they're your rules.