On Shadows and Influencers

Photo by Olya Mn on Unsplash

A few days ago, trying to find some answers about the continued failures of my life, I did a session with an astrologer who read my natal chart—“a picture of the sky when you were born.” I loved it because these sessions usually just confirm things I know or want to be told: “You shine bright and bring light to people with your warmth.” “You are a creator.” “Who took your self-worth?” 

After asking this question, which I had never heard before and honestly, caught me off-guard, she said I should do “shadow work” to figure out aspects of myself that I have suppressed or not acknowledged. So, I have been doing that. I found a questionnaire with many prompts, such as: “Who do you envy, and why?” “What are your personal core values?” and “What emotions typically bring out the worst in you, and why do you think this happens?”

“Crooked Teeth: A Queer Syrian Refugee Memoir” by Danny Ramadan

Danny Ramadan came to Canada as a refugee 10 years ago. Though the identity he assumed after this event is what gives its name to his new book, Crooked Teeth: A Queer Syrian Refugee Memoir, becoming a refugee is but a small part of Ramadan’s story. 

I first encountered Ramadan through his piece “Speak my Tongue” which appeared in the 2021 essay collection Tongues: On Longing and Belonging through Language. His essay was so striking that I became immediately fascinated with his voice. Reading his memoir was a reminder of the indelible impression his essay left on me. 

Monday Morning in Suburbia (new year edition)

I have tasted defeat. I am tasting it right now. 

It tastes like cold wax from burnt candles, hardened, sharp bits on your lips. 

I tried for four years. I tried to be more than I could dream of. I tried to have a single-line epitaph (“She wrote.”). But I failed. And the fire is all but extinguished. This is no way to start a year. But I am defeated. And I am tired. I am so tired. 

Please, do not bring God, or love, or children to this discussion. Do not bring any of that. Don’t tell me I’m ungrateful. Defeat is a solitary, wrenching conversation between abstract desires that only live in ephemeral form and have now disappeared. It has nothing to do with God, or love or children. 

To lose faith, to lose god, is one thing. To lose the fragile flame that flickers inside, to have it finally extinguished, is akin to a death. And there is no epitaph. 

The Year That Was

A late 2020 meme or trope has been circulating. It takes issue with people who are ready to say goodbye to 2020 and to welcome 2021. The criticism is that people are placing their hope on a new year as if the pandemic will magically disappear as soon as the clock strikes midnight on December 31st.

A 21st Century Mom of One Tries to Write

After she had vacuumed the carpet and gotten on her knees with a stain remover, spraying freely on the dark spots, the little cloth foaming with her scrubbing. 

After she had taken out the organics to the big bin in the garage, wiping the wet spot the paper “Bag to Earth” had left on the counter. 

After she had filled up the dishwasher, put the detergent in, and turn it on. 

After she had done the other dishes by hand, sprayed a bleach cleaner into the sink, and cleaned, dried, and put away a whole miscellanea of utensils and kitchen stuff.