names.

I find myself chasing memories. As if playing hide and seek. I am always the seeker. I don’t get to hide.

I imagine these memories floating around in my head like some amorphous nebula. Most of it is a blur, speeding by as I try and pluck something into stillness.

Actively trying to remember works sometimes. It seems like more and more a struggle as time passes. Sometimes I’m left with just memories of memories. I remember having remembered it, but I can’t reach it now. Is it gone forever?

Other times some adjacent memories will return with no warning. I was reaching for something else and now I have this one. I wonder what to do with it. Once I let it go now I wonder if it’ll ever return. I wonder how true it is. Maybe I’ve revised it over time to be something more suitable to who I am now.

Right now, for no particular reason, I’m trying to remember two names. Friends from high school who I haven’t seen since. I remember some vague specifics, but not their names.

One friend was a tall brown boy. He was legally-blind. We’d hangout on and off during lunch breaks and we were in the computer council. This one time I had sprained my ankle playing basketball in gym class. I remember him helping me from the gym to… I don’t remember where. My hand around his shoulder as I was hopped on my good leg. As we passed by the library I remember some kids telling me how silly I looked hopping on one leg. They told me to use the sprained ankle but not put too much weight on it. I remember all this some how – bit and pieces – but I don’t remember his name.

The other friend was a goth-ish white girl. We were just in one or two classes together. English was one of them. We had developed nicknames for each other. We would yell them to each other whenever we saw each other in the hallways. We continued to do this long after we were in classes together. I remember her hair and that nonchalance in the way she walked. But I don’t remember her name, nor the nicknames we had.

Did they even have names? Were we even friends? Did this even happen?

Perhaps I could look them up in a year book. Just that I never bought a year book.

What would I even do with their names?

notes.

I haven’t written much. It’s been a long time.

I used to carry this tiny notepad where I’d jot down thoughts as they appeared. I would make sure never to be far from this notepad. Who knows when a thought may strike and wilt all at once? Leaving just enough time for me to capture it.

There’s many reasons to write (or not write, I suppose). Motivations, muses and moments all count. Sometimes you have them all, but don’t want to write.

Back in 2015, returning from a work trip, I stopped at the waterfront. And started to weep with a friend. For clarity’s sake, I wept and the friend watched/listened. He made a comment about how I could turn that sadness into writing, as if there were a correlation. Maybe there is. But we’ve all written during sadness and joy. I did write quite a bit back then. Most of it was horseshit.

Ultimately, I love the turns of phrases. How one word welcomes the next. You can image a word clearing the way for another, whispering “we need to stick together,” as the next one arrives. Like words tying themselves together and to a tree at a climate protest. Making themselves known. Making their cause known.

My muse now is the passage of time. There is no legacy to leave behind. I hope to be forgotten in a flash (or two, maybe three). So there’s only the moments we make and share, in the moment we make and share them.

Anyway, I’ve started to take notes again. Some vague inspiration has struck and I’m trying to give it shape. The thoughts used to come more or less completed before. I’ve been out of practice. I just get patches now. Hopefully this is just warming up.

There’s a lot of work to be done.

wither.

Seems like I only come by here in the oddities. The down moments.

I’ve been largely away or silent on social media the last many years. Since after the knee surgery anyway. That was in 2016.

I’ve been away before as well. Disabling accounts on and off. For whatever reason I didn’t consider the media going away. I thought that the flow would still be there once I returned.

That’s not how this works. The world changes with or without you. When it changes without you the way back only gets farther.

I logged into facebook recently. To see what people were up to. To see the flow of things. It’s a ghost town. Not sure if people have moved on to other places or if they have just moved on.

It saddened me. I’m sure all the folks are fine. It saddened me for me. I thought perhaps I could get reconnected in some way. Peek back on updates of old friends. When Google decided to discontinue gchat I lost touch with many folks I had otherwise kept in touch with regularly. Yes, I am a bad friend and there are others ways to stay in touch. But the power of the medium gives me pause.

I mostly just look at Instagram stories now. I respond in positive emojis like an old uncle giving people encouragement. I wonder how long it will be before these connections wither.

passage.

I am coming to dread the passage of time. There’s a twitter account that tweets the percentage of the year passed. It seems like every time I blink it goes up 15%. I’m trying to come to terms with it but struggling to do so.

If it were just time, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. Time has a way of pulling you in. You can’t stand still. Time will drag you through. I know this because my back pain reminds me regularly. Not to mention the knee pain. My body is betraying me because it is more loyal to the passage of time than it is to my sense of self.

My problem is that I didn’t plan for this. I move forward unprepared. I never imagined myself at 40/50/60. So I’m ill equipped to deal with time’s unkindness. One might think that this is a wake up call. That I would now prepare myself to make the passage of time more palatable. But alas.

Youth is wasted on the young, no matter how old you are.

ways of seeing.

There is something about it. Isn’t there something about everything though?

When you start performing magic, right at the very start, not only are you nervous but you are looking at your hands. This somewhat defeats the purpose. The interaction in magic is not with your hands, but with those to whom you present. But the eyes of the beginner are on the method, not on the interaction. This is the price you pay for a lack of experience and practice. You haven’t paid your dues, so you’re subject to have your sight on the method.

Once you’ve put in the work and practice, you’re able to free your eyes. This moment is magic on its own. You’re not just caught up in your own actions but are able to engage in the interactions. This elevates the entire experience.

A few months ago in tabla class, I started to look around on a more regular basis. I find myself no longer fixated on my hands. I don’t need to double check my every move. This is an awesome feeling on its own. However, it turns super awesome when you are playing with someone and you are able to make eye contact with your partner(s). It is something I enjoy while watching a performance, seeing the musicians see each other. To recognise the presence of your partner, to say, “I am here with you and in sync,” is a beautiful thing. It is a moment I would not have imagined myself to be in. There is both a subtle and elaborate joy in this.

It makes me wonder. Who would I be if I didn’t try? I am not quite there yet, but would I not be robbing myself of all these moments? What does it mean to continually defer desire to a time unknown? It is so easy to fall into that trap. It saddens me that I did not start sooner. I let desire linger for so long, the reasons for which aren’t even clear to me. What was I protecting? Who knows?

Another moment struck me a few weeks ago. I was practicing material from class and of a sudden I felt like playing something. I wanted to play a feeling. bas, baithe yuheen, ek khayaal aaya. So I played it. It was simple, nothing complex. Maybe 10 or 15 seconds long. Just a few simple bols (notes). It felt good, so I recorded it. Yes, my timing is still off. As I said, I am not quite there yet. It will be yet a whiles. But there was something about it. I grew up listening to Jagjit Singh’s ghazals and somewhere in there would be a tabla solo. I remember, time and again, being awed by this instrument. Here I was hearing myself play it, and it felt like just maybe I could have the potential to play something like those solos one day. Maybe. What is so cool is that a line was drawn. From what had felt impossible to a potential of possibility. A line that can only be drawn through trying. Through a practice that expands your being of your mind beyond its own thoughts. There is both a subtle and elaborate joy in this.

So here I am, at the edge of something that seemed – not too long ago – unimaginable. I am flirting with yet another way of seeing.