Not sure how to tell my neighbour to stop feeding me through the mail slot. Jelly sweets from Ile d’Orléans. Naan. Two handmade donuts the morning after I have sex for the first time in forever. One donut is blue and one donut has cereal on it. Congratulations? A little more quiet next time?
Thinking about the shower I took before my date, how the shower curtain wasn’t where it should be, how the floor leaked. How my landlord started his email with: Ho.
Big wave of despair yesterday. Had half forgotten about oil lobbies. Oil and the creation of Israel are connected. There’s a thing I do when I swoosh back into my body. Open mouth wide, scrunch eyes shut. Or just one single shiver.
I remember being 14 with the assignment to pick a piece of news. I scrolled on my mum’s computer and just kept collapsing inside. The ache rebounded in me with nowhere to go. On Monday, everyone had their news item on a poster and so did I.
I know it makes a lot of sense that I’m this far from my body. I know I make stuff about the disconnect all the time, but it’s still there. No way to think my way back inside.
Yesterday, dye garden. There’s reliable magic there, just like at the gay falls. Isabelle bought small bottles of pear juice and I bought peppers from my CSA basket. Daisy glowed as she scraped the BBQ and Abby just generally glowed. They all do, I don’t get sick of it. We spent hours there, talk came easy. Good to land in crisp sun.
— October, 2024
In this Palermo airport where time is doing its timeless thing, my jellyfish sting is unsightly but not painful.
Yesterday I went to see an orchestra for the first time. No lyrics. The little man left and came back, left and came back, left and came back. There were moments where I wanted to clap and was not allowed to, and moments where I was supposed to clap and didn’t want to.
The orchestra was in a dome with chapped murals of half humans, half horses. One thing I won’t be missing: Sicilian drivers.
I like how all parts of me are heightened at an airport. Young me wears bug eye glasses just like my Unaccompanied Minor days. Wise me says don’t call them that and leads us to the bookshop.
Yesterday, Lily read a thriller to Gaby and I on the beach. A horrifying scene crept up on us, set on a beach at night. It did not thrill me. It made me nauseous and I swam to shock it out of me.
๑
Tuscany is slabs of green and yellow and red, a bit. Realising how often I need things to be mediated by a screen or drawing or word. Like it’s my protection, between me and all the outside.
Actually, maybe my body can take some of this in. Specks of lime lichen and grey lichen. They remind me of Anya’s broken pot vase. Or an ancient looking creature with ash stuck to its backside.
I’m hard on myself for not perfectly matching Gaby. My mind says “bad” so I try to do better, hold on tighter. It’s how I’ve learned to grasp love. It’s a strategy I can decenter.
In Euny’s artist statement she quoted Anaïs Nin: You do not see the world as it is. You see it as you are. I’m big time farting from all the food here. I’ve cried multiple times seeing Gaby so surrounded.
Travel magnifies and destabilises and more happens in less time. My sleep has been good… in the hostel with the dudes and their “meaty calves” (Gaby), in the shared bed on the island. I’ve eaten well. I’ve laughed to tears. I’ve listened with all of me. I’ve seen Gaby tired. Harden. Seen her goofy, grateful. Myself, I’ve seen me anxious, self-soothe, melting into Gaby, finding myself again.
Sometimes I’m embodied, calm, grateful. Sometimes I’m feeling so much and it’s aligned with what the moment asks of me. Sometimes it feels out of place. Just a tiny bit. My green purple bag matches everything. It’s the perfect bag. My hair is getting rained on.
I spoke with Victoria at the dinner table. The 3 course meal I wasn’t sure if I was paying for or if Gaby’s ceramic school was. Probably the fanciest place I’ve ever eaten at. It’s weird to be 25 with a memory like mine. Feels like things are firsts but your guess is as good as mine. Anyways, Victoria knits her own sweaters and went to a 3 year ceramic course on a cold island.
Wow. And Julia was a leather worker before this. I met Suzie the chef slash painter. Miia has no baby, Euny is 40 and single, T got divorced at 60 and she is now sleeping with a head nun!!!!!! Anya travels somewhere new every 3 months, makes a goblet and plate for each new city. So many, many ways of living.
๑
Bodies in Sicily seem to know no insecurity. Just well exposed butts and ocean bellyflops. My jellyfish sting got blistery. Today we did communal stretches, the six of us. I napped and forgot to read my book. The Airbnb guy is pissed we put the compost in the freezer. We tell him it’s a Canadian thing. When Gaby laughs in the other room, I don’t mind.
“Parmesan in dust form”, says Elisa. “The good thing is coming out”, says Euny. She is talking about the cream in the holi cannoli.
๑
I’ve been drinking apricot and pear juice. Been less anxious in the silences. Pistachio butter from the jar and in between pastry. I had a dream of an earthquake, with ricotta coming out of the cracks. Mozzarella in thick slices with tomato and olive oil. Gaby navigates the Coop with ease and efficiency. I find it harder than her to read Google maps. Yesterday we saw a marble forward fountain. [Crush of the moment] told me about the marble steps in Italy. To look out for the places where they’re soft from so many steps.
Neither Gaby nor me can spend too long with the history. I walk into a church, see the labour of those I’m not supposed to see. Sometimes I make parallels between tourist and consumer. My voice trails off.
๑
Lily, Gaby and I shoved our last Italian meal in our mouths before the orchestra. Margherita, beers mixed with lemonade, caprese, pepe pasta.
Lots of couples climbing all over each other in this airport. Like fish with mouths glued to each other. Kids who are perfect mixes of each perfect parent and who I try not to resent. I let Gaby’s waves roll off me, focused on my waves. I learn to name my hurt, watch with less judgment how it mixes with hers. Wise me sneaks up on me, knocks me out with compassion. Sitting in silence together, laughing forever. Nursing our wounds. I know deep friendship, platonic partnership. All the care is paying off.
— March, 2024
Updates: Just like you, I’m tired and hungry for change. And yet, I’m held and I’ve been holding.
Abby recommends this podcast ep on grief x capitalism and adrienne maree brown says that grief is “the growing up of the heart that bursts boundaries like an old skin or a finished life”, that the heart is “a frontline and the fight is to feel in a world of distraction.”
Sego shared a red lentil soup recipe with me and I’ve been making it over and over.
Alexis Pauline Gumbs writes that: “we are already living archives of so much love and generosity. […] Staying strong is not an individual achievement. It is not a performance. It is not something to prove. It is not possible in isolation.”
There’s a lull in moving museum work and I’m searching for mutual aid efforts that may need my time especially if they’re vetted by people I know. Lmk if you have leads <3
— zo