I’ve spent the last four months thinking of writing this post. Microsoft Word is my best friend. It allows me to say what I want, re-say it, un-say it, say some more, say nothing- all without any consequences. Few documents have seen the light more than once after I’ve written them. Sometimes, I remember a strange word that I used in a file name and I chance upon a treasure from the past. In most cases, I edit the past. The only way one can, no? This particular past, to be precise, is eight years old- as old as my rock-solid now-desktop laptop. In these eight years, other than ridding myself of the baggage of carrying this beast around, many things have changed. I’m no longer nineteen and the starry-eyedness of my first romantic relationship is (thankfully) long gone. But all that is going to be part of the larger story and that story is not confined to my living years.
For now, I’d like to introduce myself as a thinker. No, not so much of the Socrates variety, but more in the way of that heads-up game playing inside my head. I think about people and relationships, about places, about being and knowledge, about art and about waste, and mostly about privilege. As I say this, I’m stung by the amount of privilege it takes to say that I think. Sometimes, like you, I too find it difficult to acknowledge the privileges I have.
I am- generally happy, a feminist, a dancer, a painter, an aspiring educator, an enthusiastic and pretty decent phone-photographer, a hungry cook, a newly-initiated gardener, a sometimes avid reader, a slow-and-meticulous shopper, a never-tired story-teller, an obsessive cleaner, and a master procrastinator for anything with a deadline. I’m currently on a voluntary break from organized life. My non-metropolitan existence includes a fireplace, snakes, kingfishers, and a personal masseuse. I hope they let me come back here.