Writing

“You are in the time of your grandfather dying,” a new friend had stated to me earlier in the week.

During that conversation, I didn’t know if the timeline of that statement would be drawn out over years or condensed into days. After all, there was still a chance for some kind of recovery. But I wasn’t convinced that was what he wanted.

I had a special bond with my gramps. I would come over from the mainland to visit him regularly, to share in conversation about his life, his ancestry, his experiences.

We would occasionally talk about death. “I used to be afraid of it,” he candidly shared once. “Now I’m kind of curious as to what’s on the other side.”

I see you,
coyly trying to mask your brilliance.
Your seeds of creativity
tucked away in secrecy
waiting for the opportunity
to germinate beyond passivity.

The “not yet”s and “what if”s
clouding your inner childlike instinct
to share, with non-attachment.
To be vulnerable, without hesitation.

Sometimes I am asked how I select the projects I work on. Frankly, it’s not a straightforward answer. But someone once reflected to me a beautiful visual that I feel encapsulates my project process. And so I’m going to share it with you.

Envision all your creative dreams, desires and future projects. Some may be new seeds, others could be long-lost ideas that have been lingering in your consciousness for some time. Now picture them on a shelf in your imaginary creative space. As new ideas comes up, the shelf simply grows longer, larger, to accommodate all the yet-to-be materialized ventures.

“What do you think of when you look at the moon?” he asks me.

My eyes land softly on the illuminating orb in the sky. Where do I start? I’ve been fascinated with her for some time.

The way she is always there, and yet always different. The way she speaks with the oceans. The mystery of how my body syncs up with her. And how that’s not just me, but so many women.