It was going back to Grandma, and reminding her where we'd been.
Oh, Grandma.
Oh, Grandma.
Cooking broccoli for her, singing along to Leslie Garrett with her in the kitchen, being secretly glad when she diplomatically turned down social engagements that my Aunt tried to arrange because my own inner grandmother soul also preferred being at home, bustling about doing my own thing. She 'makes me slow down when I'm going at a mental 896 km/h'.
I started Lent Term and begun my long lasting love affair with muesli, and danced my swan song to Ballet in Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet. Cycling to ballet across Parker's Piece and realising that the sun set later and later, getting Prokofiev's score stuck in my head and writing essays to the strident melody of 'Tybalt meets Mercutio', dress rehearsals and then the final night, where Grandma, Aunty Sarah, Uncle John, Renny and Connie all came, and I slipped over a bump in the stage flooring while doing my pirouette.
Lent Term was me trying to push myself, to try new things, but also finding necessary quiet moments, eating breakfast while sitting on the floor and watching the view outside my window. That tree took so long to burst into leaf again, but I watched it every day and felt that in some measure its growth and return to life was mine as well. Perhaps it was those quiet moments that gave me the inner something that you need to create poetry, because I found the words coming quite naturally in writing this Sestina.
Lent Term was me trying to push myself, to try new things, but also finding necessary quiet moments, eating breakfast while sitting on the floor and watching the view outside my window. That tree took so long to burst into leaf again, but I watched it every day and felt that in some measure its growth and return to life was mine as well. Perhaps it was those quiet moments that gave me the inner something that you need to create poetry, because I found the words coming quite naturally in writing this Sestina.
Easter break was waking up on a train to mountains outside me, pine trees rushing by and the sound of the clackety-clack of the train on the track. It was climbing mountains with Bramina despite her sprained ankle, lying by a lake on Ben Nevis in the sun, sliding through snow near the peak, and eating bowls upon bowls Bran Flakes.
I remember a run on a day when the sun had chased away all the clouds and proudly staked its bright blue territory across the whole sky. Spring was becoming an undeniable reality (maybe because it was my first spring, but I almost couldn't believe that everything could burst into life again, so vibrantly) and the fields around me were carpeted in bright yellow rapeseed flowers. I felt joy bubbling within me and I sped up and leapt - a grand jete! - into the air! And that wasn't enough, the joy demanded a cart wheel as well, and I obliged, my hands soaking up the slight warmth of the asphalt beneath them.
Summer hit me when I walked down the back path near the coach house and got a full whiff of manure - the gardeners were fertilising the college flower patches - because for some reason smells are so much more potent in the heat. After the stress of promo exams were the heady joys of Shakespeare, punting in the sunshine with strawberries on board, cycles to Grantchester and talking about childhood memories with Alex. I remember the shock and hilarity after Rosa jumped off the punt into the water because it was just too hot.
But it was also a summer of thinking more about those who suffer. I became personal coordinator in JustLove and every committeee meeting included prayer for issues of the world, for the poor, the hungry, the oppressed. The Mean Bean Challenge was a direct experience with hunger and the dearth of choice and freedom to create as a result of poverty. The Food Justice talk not only meant stepping out of my comfort zone to speak about something I really care about, but also taught me so much more about how God cannot be estranged from what we choose to eat and drink, wear and do, how we live basically.
And yet living in Cambridge in the summer is so comfortable. I sat in the garden with Alex and we painted, and read out bits of Woolf, and watchcd Hamlet while eating chocolate covered popcorn. And then summer edged its way out of term, and after a heady day of Midsummer Nights' Dream magic, I was thurst into the on-the-verge feeling of crying-but-not-quite, before lift off and plunge into a great gallivanting adventure and a wonderful friendship.
Every architectural wonder and point of attraction was heart-lifting and awe-inspiring, but the smaller things too, were special. Listening to the hypnotic music of a steel pan drum, standing and gazing at the Tuscan valleys after chancing upon Jan Faber's art exhibition, watching the plume of foam from the back of a boat as we sped away from Capri, meeting Giovanni (and eating his pasta), whose love and care is unforgettable, stretching on a train, sampling different jams, whizzing down a hill, screaming at a murderous cat, the first bite of Kartoffelbrot, stealing bites of strawberries, stealing someone else's leftover toast, seeing Mum again, lying in the rays of the setting sun, and getting extra bread on the airplane.
But it was also a summer of thinking more about those who suffer. I became personal coordinator in JustLove and every committeee meeting included prayer for issues of the world, for the poor, the hungry, the oppressed. The Mean Bean Challenge was a direct experience with hunger and the dearth of choice and freedom to create as a result of poverty. The Food Justice talk not only meant stepping out of my comfort zone to speak about something I really care about, but also taught me so much more about how God cannot be estranged from what we choose to eat and drink, wear and do, how we live basically.
And yet living in Cambridge in the summer is so comfortable. I sat in the garden with Alex and we painted, and read out bits of Woolf, and watchcd Hamlet while eating chocolate covered popcorn. And then summer edged its way out of term, and after a heady day of Midsummer Nights' Dream magic, I was thurst into the on-the-verge feeling of crying-but-not-quite, before lift off and plunge into a great gallivanting adventure and a wonderful friendship.
Every architectural wonder and point of attraction was heart-lifting and awe-inspiring, but the smaller things too, were special. Listening to the hypnotic music of a steel pan drum, standing and gazing at the Tuscan valleys after chancing upon Jan Faber's art exhibition, watching the plume of foam from the back of a boat as we sped away from Capri, meeting Giovanni (and eating his pasta), whose love and care is unforgettable, stretching on a train, sampling different jams, whizzing down a hill, screaming at a murderous cat, the first bite of Kartoffelbrot, stealing bites of strawberries, stealing someone else's leftover toast, seeing Mum again, lying in the rays of the setting sun, and getting extra bread on the airplane.
Summer was also finding out Grandma has cancer, and knowing although not yet fully comprehending what not having her in her house meant.
And then back home, and beginning work. Both mind-numbing and exciting, especially after admin work ended and artists arrived. Late nights and bright lights of the Night Festival, and a special moment of cartharsis when I was left alone with one of the artist's trees, :Samara.
Nights also meant boardgames nights with the church friends that almost seemed life I had pressed the pause button when I left and the play button when I returned - unchanged was the friendship although cross country communication isn't our strong point. Nights also meant arriving in Pua at dusk, and having our first lesson when it was already dark outside and the children were tired, but the next days meant more and more, for us and for them. Nights also meant that long long conversation with Emily when she slept over (when we were supposed to sleep early to wake up to hike, but ended up sleeping at about 4am, and still going for a hike anyway) and feeling sad that I can't always be there for her like I want to be (our cross country communication is also not strong).
But night dissolves into day and days passed so quickly. I went for a walk with Dad and Hannah along the railway tracks again before we left. We bought food from Real Food, which I'd become a recognisable customer of since it was so near my workplace, and we sat around the table that is no longer the table from my childhood but a new one with sharper corners and a glass top. I packed, I prepared, I flew off on a plane that gave me a spare seat which meant space to meditate because the second leaving is different and the second year is different.
Second year first term, and I found myself unprepared. In my first week back I teared up seeing Grandma in Pinford End. She is happy, but she is away from where I locate her in the mind of my understanding and that shift is hard to accept, when it means accepting that she is limited. Essays I felt I was failing at (contrary to my supervisor's satisfaction with my work - perhaps it was my confusion that what I thought was bad, she still found good, that accentuated my lostness and frustration)
But I have friends who cheer me up - a ceilidh that left me breathless and laughing, a halloween party that was fun and ridiculous, weekly meetings with the Just Love crew which meant prayer and laughter as Neil came up with a serious idea that couldn't be taken seriously what with him holding a black bean burger patty in either hand. Ah, Just Love. In that little kitchen every Monday, I'd always arrive late after translation classes and after a brief wait at the door (will they hear me?) would trip down the stairs into warmth and security. The last Just Love meeting was in Downing Chapel, when Tim found the exact words I needed to hear from God (and funnily from the bible passage we'd done multiple times in church that term) and we sat eating banana bread on a warm floor.
But sometimes this term I didn't feel like praying - once, after a late essay night, filling in for early prayer the next day. I prayed with words I could conjure but didn't truly understand, only hoping that others could find God in them although I felt far from His presence. And then I went out and my bike was stuck and I cried and called Mum, and called Nat, and cried more.
And so there were storms, but now I am in the process of finding peace - and trying to deliberately find peace in God. I am far from it (I wrote in my diary in the middle of term 'I feel like what ever it is, I am getting nearer.' but I still feel far away. Slowly, patience, breathe.) but I am getting there. Step by step, run by run (and in running through the fields I find the mind space to breathe in God).
After Term ended and 2016 so quickly seemed about to close, I slipped out of England and back to June, to Munich and Nat except it was different this time, since Munich was cold and Nat was leaving. But oh, what a lot we did - climbed, skated, jumped, explored a castle, indulged in the Christmas season, and had real conversations about worth and new beginnings and light-hearted conversations about chocolate milk and Jimmy Fresh, and came home to bake.Then to Lyon, where I saw Niki's new world and also her pining for the one she left behind in Singapore, which reminded me of me when I started in Cambridge, but intensified. Then to Paris, where I had to reproach myself for judging it so harshly the first time I came, when I hardly knew it.
From Paris back to England it was a shift, and hearing English voices on the tube sounded harsh to my ears. Reality itself seemed harsh, and less controllable than I liked - and at the same time I felt frustrated at how days were spent often in states of transit, small talk or waiting in limbo while plans were sorted out, which meant wasted time, wasted me, wasting away just waiting. Frustration came out in many ways - mostly tears, also tiredness which exacerbated it.
But despite it all, Christmas still came through - happily with Grandma, again my rock.
Then Grandma fell and New Years Eve was again spent miserably. I got a chilblain.
And so I ended 2016 in not a very happy place, but as I wrote this post I realise again how this year has been a blessing in more ways than one. I've grown, and growing is tiring but necessary. I know there is much left to grow, and much to let go of, and 2017 will somehow make me learn even if I am sometimes resistant to that sort of learning (give me books instead, let me tell you what zeugma is and how it changes meaning, far be it from me that I am forced to change myself. But I will change - in the Potter's Hands.)
And then back home, and beginning work. Both mind-numbing and exciting, especially after admin work ended and artists arrived. Late nights and bright lights of the Night Festival, and a special moment of cartharsis when I was left alone with one of the artist's trees, :Samara.
Nights also meant boardgames nights with the church friends that almost seemed life I had pressed the pause button when I left and the play button when I returned - unchanged was the friendship although cross country communication isn't our strong point. Nights also meant arriving in Pua at dusk, and having our first lesson when it was already dark outside and the children were tired, but the next days meant more and more, for us and for them. Nights also meant that long long conversation with Emily when she slept over (when we were supposed to sleep early to wake up to hike, but ended up sleeping at about 4am, and still going for a hike anyway) and feeling sad that I can't always be there for her like I want to be (our cross country communication is also not strong).
But night dissolves into day and days passed so quickly. I went for a walk with Dad and Hannah along the railway tracks again before we left. We bought food from Real Food, which I'd become a recognisable customer of since it was so near my workplace, and we sat around the table that is no longer the table from my childhood but a new one with sharper corners and a glass top. I packed, I prepared, I flew off on a plane that gave me a spare seat which meant space to meditate because the second leaving is different and the second year is different.
Second year first term, and I found myself unprepared. In my first week back I teared up seeing Grandma in Pinford End. She is happy, but she is away from where I locate her in the mind of my understanding and that shift is hard to accept, when it means accepting that she is limited. Essays I felt I was failing at (contrary to my supervisor's satisfaction with my work - perhaps it was my confusion that what I thought was bad, she still found good, that accentuated my lostness and frustration)
But I have friends who cheer me up - a ceilidh that left me breathless and laughing, a halloween party that was fun and ridiculous, weekly meetings with the Just Love crew which meant prayer and laughter as Neil came up with a serious idea that couldn't be taken seriously what with him holding a black bean burger patty in either hand. Ah, Just Love. In that little kitchen every Monday, I'd always arrive late after translation classes and after a brief wait at the door (will they hear me?) would trip down the stairs into warmth and security. The last Just Love meeting was in Downing Chapel, when Tim found the exact words I needed to hear from God (and funnily from the bible passage we'd done multiple times in church that term) and we sat eating banana bread on a warm floor.
But sometimes this term I didn't feel like praying - once, after a late essay night, filling in for early prayer the next day. I prayed with words I could conjure but didn't truly understand, only hoping that others could find God in them although I felt far from His presence. And then I went out and my bike was stuck and I cried and called Mum, and called Nat, and cried more.
And so there were storms, but now I am in the process of finding peace - and trying to deliberately find peace in God. I am far from it (I wrote in my diary in the middle of term 'I feel like what ever it is, I am getting nearer.' but I still feel far away. Slowly, patience, breathe.) but I am getting there. Step by step, run by run (and in running through the fields I find the mind space to breathe in God).
After Term ended and 2016 so quickly seemed about to close, I slipped out of England and back to June, to Munich and Nat except it was different this time, since Munich was cold and Nat was leaving. But oh, what a lot we did - climbed, skated, jumped, explored a castle, indulged in the Christmas season, and had real conversations about worth and new beginnings and light-hearted conversations about chocolate milk and Jimmy Fresh, and came home to bake.Then to Lyon, where I saw Niki's new world and also her pining for the one she left behind in Singapore, which reminded me of me when I started in Cambridge, but intensified. Then to Paris, where I had to reproach myself for judging it so harshly the first time I came, when I hardly knew it.
From Paris back to England it was a shift, and hearing English voices on the tube sounded harsh to my ears. Reality itself seemed harsh, and less controllable than I liked - and at the same time I felt frustrated at how days were spent often in states of transit, small talk or waiting in limbo while plans were sorted out, which meant wasted time, wasted me, wasting away just waiting. Frustration came out in many ways - mostly tears, also tiredness which exacerbated it.
But despite it all, Christmas still came through - happily with Grandma, again my rock.
Then Grandma fell and New Years Eve was again spent miserably. I got a chilblain.
No comments:
Post a Comment