good atlas

To belong and to be a part of something bigger than ourselves ties us to the magic of being alive.

Leaning into both consistency and flexibility is part of threading our humanity into our work, into what we do. Leaning into both structure and space is part of letting ourselves be ever-changing people.

—

These bigger-than-ourselves things, I notice, are small things. They reside in the beating, fleeting yet unrelenting presence of nature. In the gentle and honest exchange and endeavours of humanity. Revealing our humanness.  

Spaces in a spark of conversation. Spaces in time spent doing nothing. Just watching the world exist.  

Making space is always more difficult than it seems because making space is an intentional thing to do. They are not the interstitial minutes between huge bouts of doing. They are not always accidental. The space you make, you carve out, deserves your attention. It deserves devotion.

💡 What does making space look like to you?
💡Where and when do you find solace in your space?
💡 How can we better attend and attune to the space we’ve carved out for ourselves?

Here are more loose threads from me:

1. Running my fingers through a leaf I’ve never seen before.
2. Saying hello to my dog and cats in the morning.
3. Staring into space.
4. Resisting the urge to do anything I don’t feel like doing.
5. Reading a really good poem.

Episodes / some thoughts / and links to our favourite places in Ipoh:

1. Lyn and I made a trip to Ipoh (again) over the weekend.
2. At a vegetarian restaurant we frequented, the restaurant owner called us mei mei. Gave us free fruit.
3. At a non-descript restaurant with dated menus and furnishing. Probably would have closed down if it was in Kuala Lumpur. In there, were three generation of owners. A grandmother, a dad, the dad’s daughter. Felt like everyone who patronized the restaurant were regulars, striking conversations, patrons saying hi to other patrons. What a sight.
4. Karaoke by the street, drinking todi. I took a stab at Coldplay’s Fix You. Chinese couple near us sang beautifully. Indian uncle asked the guy to sing Beyond. Which he did.
5. We noticed how clean the back alleys were. Perhaps, when stores and restaurants are run by owners, they take good care of it like it was their home. An extension of themselves that they care and tend to.
6. Met a stray dog that we named Kiki. He followed us all the way back to our Airbnb. Heavy-heartedly, we said goodbye and please have a good life we will see you soon, before closing the door behind us. And then rushing up to our room’s window to see if he was still there.

### Poems that made me pause

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on.
Meanwhile, the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

When The World Comes Clear by Andrew Colliver

When the world comes clear,
changeless in its changing
and everywhere revealed,

the sun might be lighting
a rendered wall inscribed
by winter tree’s shadow;

when the world comes clear
light might seem to shift
to show a morning free of any other time;

when the world comes clear
something pulling tight within
your mind might fall away

to leave a formless space,
a fathomless space in which
eternal life cannot be granted,

or even offered,
but only recognised, so simply,
as what you are.

Look Into Your Screenshots Folder by Meera Ganapathi

Look at the bedroom walls you loved,
poems you collected, texts you gathered
as evidence, memes you stored as
ammunition, sentences you hoarded,
dresses you long to own, ideas you wish
to practice, places you may never visit
but perhaps one day…, pottery you hope
to make, songs you never want to lose,
accounts you don’t want to forget,

recipes, recipes, recipes, that quote by
Anthony Bourdain, a dialogue from an
obscure film that defined your state of
mind perfectly, a seasonal chart of fish, a
memory circa Facebook 2006, a
hedgehog in a hat, a desk by a window
looking into the Mediterranean sea, your
father- aged 21 laughing in a chikankari
kurta, three paragraphs on grief, the
world’s oldest tree…

Look again at all that saved material and
you’ll find a picture of who you are and
even, who you hope to be.