Reflections on grief, healing and transformation
#21 Goodnight stars, Goodnight air
After a bout of rain, it’s sunny outside my window today and the air has that lovely, crisp quality that raises goosebumps on the skin. This is the last piece in this series, and I think it’s a great place to end what has been an illuminating, creatively rewarding and honestly wonderful experience. When I conceptualised this series, I had no idea how it was going to go. I didn’t plan it, and every time I posted, I would be filled with dread about what I was going to post the next day. Yet, I found that each piece spoke to the other while simultaneously exploring its original idea or conceit. I’m happy with the results and though I’d originally intended 30 pieces, I feel like I’ve explored what I wanted to explore.
One of the challenges of writing many of the personal non-fiction pieces in this series was finding that place of emotional vulnerability and giving voice to it. In the past, I haven’t dug deep when it came to writing about my experiences. In some way, writing personal non-fiction is a performative act, where you paint a picture of yourself for the reader. I used to construct a self that was intellectual, humorous, witty — all the things I wished people to see in me. For this series, my main goal was to go beyond that and into the core of what an experience was. Every time I would sense that I was putting on a show, I had to stop myself. I wanted this series to be an honest exploration of some personal things I went through.
Writing about the family is a taboo topic in our culture, especially writing honestly about your relationship with your parents. You’re taught to respect your elders, honour your father and mother and never wash your dirty linen in public. Pushing beyond this kind of social and cultural conditioning can be difficult. It brings feelings of guilt and the sense that you are being ungrateful. Finding the balance between my experience and portraying my parents as flawed but human was difficult. I didn’t want to paper over what has hurt me and shaped how I move in the world, but I also didn’t want this to be a story with villains and saviours. To what extent, I’ve achieved this balance, I don’t know. Writing emotion is tough; sitting with uncomfortable feelings is tougher and I’m definitely on a learning curve. Still, to me, there is nothing more radically feminist than cultivating a rich internal life and finding a home for it in creative expression. This gives me purpose and encourages me to keep trying.
Two people haven’t featured largely in this series but have been my sustenance in the worst days of last year. I see them every day. My husband and I have just taught our son how to group hug and three of us often wrap our arms around each other, our heads close while we repeat the word “Huggles” in very solemn voices till we all start giggling. It’s silly and sweet and our new tradition. It’s my current, favourite joy in a world of significant, undignified, laugh-out-loud joys.
Thank you for following along in this exploration of my story. Thank you for your encouragement; thank you for your love, and thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for reading. It has meant so much to me. Keep in touch and keep following this space where you will see more of my literary stylings, creative experiments and scribbles in the coming months. Goodbye for now. I wish you a day with some interesting, fun, jolly moments that will keep you sparkling and smiling till you fall asleep.
