Gardener

I have become Gardener
planting seedlings in mulch
fermented from blood and the sap of
cracked bones,

given life with salty tears.
Hyacinths, orchids, birds of paradise,
forget-me-nots, and an almond blossom
tree (I place the seeds, I watch the ground breathe)

Project Community

This is a manifesto on community I wrote in my sophomore year, outlining something I felt that I was missing and wanted to create. It took a few years to cultivate, but it manifested in The Meraki Collective. I wanted to share one of the early visions I had for a community I felt I was missing.

that chair has been waiting for you

There are glinting filaments in the corners and seams around you. They whisper
how many heartbeats can you hear? An elbow bumps an arm, the table tips, overeager

lips stumble over consonants

The Beginning

For V

I want to tell you a story.

The story begins one morning, the first morning. He wakes up and smiles at her through half-closed lashes. Overnight, every color has shifted ever so slightly – the teal of the bedcovers holding them has a sheen he has never seen before. The last drops of rain patter on the window, and tendrils of sunlight drift in and settle on a strand of her hair.

Serendipity

Parlez-vous anglais? He asked, and the adventure began.

Let me show you the places where artists go to share ideas… the modern day Salons. Let me show you the best bookstores and coffee shops in Paris. And, what’s your story? He asked, as we meandered down the bustling street.

The Leaves are Beginning to Fall

The leaves are beginning to fall and there’s a feeling in his chest that reminds him of happiness.

There’s a slight chill in the cafe he waits in. His foot taps a little too fast to the music playing through the speakers – white rubber earbuds sit loosely in his ears. People trail past the brick wall he faces – tall, tall, short, couple, child, dog – only the dog has its nose pointed away from the ground, sniffing the air as if looking for a long-lost scent.

Mystery

It’s a dark night, the kind of night where everything except the flicker of light inside your home is muffled. Outside the windows, everything that used to exist has lost its hold on its outlines – there is nothing left but a thick silence and wisps of dissipated forms. Your room, with its table edges and yellow wallpaper, is the small haven of reality that remains. In the kitchen the radio plays gently, and a speckled cat warms itself against your thigh. There is a book on the chair beside you but this world right here is too present, too heavy to lose yourself in another.

On Watching Snowfall from a Cafe

I’m holding a warm coffee, watching the first snowfall through the panelled windows of a cafe, and I’m struck by how incredibly captivating it is.

If you blur your focus, the snowflakes seem to pour down steadily, slanting their way towards the round. But if you watch each one for the few seconds it’s in the air, it drifts haphazardly, changing directions in Brownian motion. There’s a confused urgency to the way they spiral and bounce, as if they have no idea where they’re going, as if collision with the ground is as unanticipated as their sudden descent from the clouds.

The Meaning Question

Questions about meaning have been on my mind lately. What makes people happy? What do people want most out of life? Are they finding it? Why not?

I decided to talk to people about it, to satisfy my curiosity and to find a source of inspiration. I had no plan for the project: rather, I hoped the story would craft itself based on what people said.

A Collage of Fingerprints

“I fall in love just a little ol’ little bit every day with someone new.”~ Hozier

I don’t remember when I met N, but I remember when I fell for him. It was late in the evening in the college library, and we were whispering about the sort of things you only ever whisper about. There was an unspoken pull between us but both of us enjoyed the challenge of restraint – for a while, at least. One day, I toppled, and he steadied me without asking questions. The silent agreement, in that moment, was shattered and we began to seek familiarity in each other’s skin with the intensity of two people drifting through strange environments. The conversations yawned at 3am became lifelines that pulled us through each day.

Collision

in environments with high levels of energy, particles become excited and collide with each other

I said hi it’s nice to meet
you; he said tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine
I said I appreciate the little
things; he said sometimes it hurts to love so much

The Lonely City

During the day, New York is a hub of aspirations and purpose and buzzing personality. There is an excitement that accompanies the freedom of having so many possibilities, and on every street corner – whether in the ripped jeans or immaculate hair in the crowd waiting to cross the road, or in the carefully planned design of the corner cafe – you find self-expression.

A Blip

It took me four months to step inside the art gallery across the road from where I live. It’s a contemporary gallery with striking colours angled across its façade, a little blip of artistry hiding in plain sight.

I wander past it each day, shuffling under its reeves to escape the rain, but somehow I had always been too busy or distracted or tired or oblivious to actually go inside – until now. Yesterday evening at 6:34pm, after walking past, pausing, swivelling, and being suddenly struck by the fact that the semester was almost over and neither of us had set foot inside, my friend and I finally ventured in.

Hunger, Vividness, and Magic

For a little while now, I’ve been looking for magic. It hasn’t been a difficult quest: I’ve discovered that it appears everywhere, even in the most unlikely places.

It’s in the sound of the subway door hissing shut behind you. It’s in the brown paper bag you bought from that cute cafe for breakfast, that you unwrap on a park bench. It’s in the maniacal giggle that comes over you at 3am when you’re three coffees in and still have pages of essay left to write. It’s at the bottom of the tea cup you sip absent-mindedly as you thumb through a book. It’s in the smile from the cashier, the rueful grin of others waiting beside you in a long queue, the ache in your shoulders from carrying your life in a small backpack. It’s in the late night bus ride with the skyscrapers behind you, and in the cooling of the sand under your feet as dusk sneaks in.

Calluses and a Worn-in Sunday Love

Why do we do this to ourselves? We tear ourselves away from home and comfort, safety and support, friendships and community. We take ourselves to strange places and, just when we start to feel the warmth of familiarity, our restless feet drag us away and bright eyes and tired faces find themselves starting again, all over again.