Dei, there is one question we fail to ask
Dei,
We are sitting across one another. A plate of chili paneer is placed between us. We understand that we will share this dish as we always have. Corn flour coated cheese cubes. Stir fried with chili sauce, capsicum and red food colouring. We eat this twice a week, if we can. You tell me about your general plans. You tell me about my general plans. You tell me what it should be, could be, would be and I nod. You insert an analogy drawn from an exhausted list of fables I have come to memorise. We eat until it is enough. The portion is always too much. You continue talking. I dip my finger into the coriander chutney and draw two circles. You tell me about someone else’s plan. I tilt my chin up towards you. I ask you why. Why are you telling me this? You appear stunned. Your face stings from my betrayal of our social contract. Why are you telling me this, now? You stop talking. We stop eating. You say you’re just telling me. That is the last thing you tell me. We will not eat anymore. A third of the chili paneer sits abandoned between us. We wait for each other to be the first one to rise from the chair. I leave. You leave later. I always accept your non-answers when instead, I should be asking myself why. Why am I asking you why, today?
May the light lay against your skin just right,
Melizarani
On repeat this week
I walked. On the second day of non-Covid-but you’ll-need antibiotics diagnosis, I wore my mask and walked for 15 minutes. I was out of breath and slept for 11 hours. On the third day, I walked for 35 minutes. On the fourth day, I walked for 45 minutes in the morning and 20 minutes in the evening. On the fifth day, I repeated day four. On the sixth day, I realised this was the additional assistance I needed for the body to heal.
My father said
“Have faith. Good things come with delays.”