Picking Myself Up

29 January 2014
11:54 PM


So these have not been quality letters at all, the past few days. I wonder how Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell did it, how they manage to weave profound thoughts with each letter.

It’s just–I’m having a tough time, M. I suppose it’s obvious. If there’s one thing I want to learn how to do is to be articulate in my anger and frustration. I want to learn how to give voice to those thoughts because they are important, even if my heart is heavy and it feels like my lungs are on fire. I want to be able to say them with the strength of my feelings, yet devoid of sentimentality (though not sentiment).

I know grief, and loneliness, and perhaps a little of happiness. I have tried writing from all those places. Anger though–it’s a different sort of beast. So is resentment, and defiance, and bitterness. These are feelings I am trying to master. Not in the sense of using them as weapons, but more of keeping them in check, I guess.

These past few days I feel like we are all of us, here at home, we are all of us hurtling towards a climax that we cannot avoid. We are waiting, we are standing along the plot line, and we are waiting for the pages to turn. There is nothing else to do but play our roles, and hope that by the time the big reveal is thrown at us, we are ready.

Meanwhile, I am picking myself up again. Dusting myself off.


P.S. Have you heard of Warsan Shire? I discovered her poetry a few years ago and have fallen in love. I haven’t seen her read until today. She’s fantastic.


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