Splash No. 218 - Body of Work
Body of Work
Shockingly enough, I continue to be a writer even on the days that I don’t feel like a writer. There are days like today, where I’m tired from poor sleep and can’t even imagine writing. Some of my old writing has been popping up in different forms — an internet friend responding to one of my old blog posts, a publication deciding to publish a couple of poems I’d completely forgotten about. It’s as if these words could sense how un-writer-ly I’ve been feeling and sought me out, like a possessed Chef Boyardee can.
Revisiting these words is surreal; I find myself identifying with only certain pieces, like a muddied reflection in a puddle. At one point, the words would’ve triggered a clearer set of memories, and I’d know exactly what I was talking about, all of the things that I was thinking but not writing due to some fear or another. Yet, with the passage of time, I find myself reading more like one of you would — working with just the words, rather than the larger context of the person.
It’s bizarre to me that I can forget like this. I used to think I had an infallible memory, that I’d always remember the feelings I held at different times and that my writing would only ever need to be a little clue to remind me of the larger picture of who I was at the time. I used to be so intensely nostalgic that I was constantly revisiting memories from only a few months before, constantly rehashing and living in them. Nowadays, I find myself doing that less, and my looks backward are more limited, often dependent on what artifacts I kept around.
In some ways, this could be a depressing realization, or a reason to change how I write. I could shift gears and look to capture intricacies of my life in my writing so I can look back at a beautiful record. And maybe it will. As I stare at the fallibility of my own memory, I realize that everything I write has the possibility of being the way I write my past. I can choose what’s worth remembering, and I will.
Drops of the Week
PLAYLIST - august 22 - another month another playlist
ARTICLE - "You'll Forget Most of What You Learn" by Adam Mastroianni - "I’m here to tell you that learning is all about vibes."
POEM - "Amen" by James Baldwin - I feel death going: having thrown up his hands, for the moment.
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Sleepily,
Nikhil