an alternative valentine
I once wanted to write about loving myself. I pitched it to a publication which is responsive otherwise and did not even get a rejection email. Of course, it was too self-indulgent. This was a pitch I did after a couple of years of deliberately isolating myself and letting terrible melancholia take over.
I did not even realise that today was Valentine’s Day until I saw way too many things on social media tying up the Super Bowl, Taylor Swift, and the famed day of romance. There are lots of marketing gimmicks around me in Colombo, but I am now beyond all of that––there are more problems to solve, and more moments that require resilience that I perhaps do not have. It feels like being underwater. Cliché, yes, but maybe that is what I need to remind myself of to move on. The unavoidable clichés and sentimentalities that keep me going.
In a random writing exercise from three years ago, I have tried to describe what being underwater feels like:
I rather like breathing underwater, so long as I can come back to the seashore, I guess. At the moment I don’t know if I can come back to the shore…
Reading this now, despite its lamentful nature, it feels more positive than whatever Valentine I am experiencing today.
I had also been avoiding all beaches around me because of the physical ickiness of the sand. A few weeks ago, when I happened to be near the southern coast, I went to a small cove which happened to be empty except for a few fishermen who told us to be “careful”. It was clear water yet full of rocks. My sister refused to get in because it was too “adventurous” for her taste. Usually, it would be for me, too. But I stepped in, remembering that I had to stay away from the daily grind for at least a few hours. I am glad I did because I have the beach, sky, and company of a sibling to remember that weekend by.
In December, I forced a friend to “take stock” of their 2023. They did a terrific job and recounted the significant and the mundane––any moment that had made them feel a particular way. I did not do such a great job. Even after we parted ways, I kept thinking about why I could not think of many positive things. Maybe the year was too difficult? Maybe I was still drowning in melancholy? Or, maybe I was not ready.
Maybe now is the time to be ready. Thanks to another friend who reminds me to write more on my blog. So, I am being a little self-indulgent today and admitting that I have some incredible people around me. After all, I would not be able to breathe under water had my parents not taken me for swimming lessons despite being unable to swim themselves.
I am not sure yet about what kind of content this blog should contain. There is too much chaos around me and in me. It will most likely be a mixture of everything because I am still trying to navigate my personal and my political. This excerpt from a poem by Marwan Makhoul rings more true than ever:
In order for me to write poetry that isn't political, I must listen to the birds
and in order to hear the birds
the warplanes must be silent
