There is a world of difference made when a woman dies. When she leaves us, there is so much more than her self that she sheds. Not all of it decays or decomposes. It is all the struggles, all the patterns she made and has encountered, a legacy that suddenly appears, and then disappears into oblivion. Every part of her degenerates something in me. It is strange, that through the festival of reincarnations and births, of women and of awakenings, of timeless strength , intuition, art and insights, I have been thinking about death. As i gaze up at the sky, it is no longer the setting sun that meets my eye; but the horizon that some of us might never meet. In your absence, I am reminded that I was never really the one for equal rights; and that in a generation that has lost so much and is yet losing more by the day, I never thought I had the confidence to firmly stand up for anything. Before you attempted to struggle for your freedom, I know not what you ate, how long you slept, or even how you moved on. I have been thinking a lot about death lately, but i did not assume that our separation would leave in this deep a pit of uncertainty. I know not, who will love us now, but when you were alive, i knew i had never expressed my feelings towards you. As deeply as I regret that, I hope I am able to weave those patterns together to the world (i will speak to the world someday, somehow). I hope I carry your frame of ambition in my blood regardless of whether i opt for motherhood. I hope, in my individual capacity, no other woman feels unloved.
I’m particularly worried about Mother as she must be lonely, and we know how it can be only too well. Like me, she has no certainty how long she will be loved and by whom. And the patterns i want to carry forward are something only the three of us could understand. With all the love of a maternal grandmother, as I never saw much of mine, you have taught us a great deal- although i’m yet to figure out- about what. Let my existence be an embodiment of the irresolute, stalwart women I discover- even if not for real.
Until then, my poetry shall never meet my insanity. Hope to hear from you soon.