emptybeginnings

  • Day 26

    Day 3 – 8 minutes of meditation in the apartment + 18 minutes on top of Lion’s Head = 26 minutes (Unintended coincidence on day 26)

    I sit for the third day of meditation. After 8 minutes, I pack up my stuff and drive to Lion’s Head.

    I notice a cyclist stopped on the side of the road, looking out into the sea. His camera is out. I think he’s crazy. What is there to see?

    At first sight, I think it’s the sun rising, but it’s barely 5:30am, and sun is asleep. Stars are twinkling still. Mind making up stories when it doesn’t understand what it sees.

    In the middle of deep blue sky, away from the mountains. Between heaven and water, a thin layer of clouds hang in the middle, covering the bottom half of the elongated orb. Blood orange moon is in the middle of descent, towards the ocean. Tomorrow is full moon.

    On the foot of the mountain, I start my ascent, with my back pack on, with a set of head lamps, jacket, half bottle of water and car keys. It’s not busy yet, passing only a few sets of people and their head lamps.

    It’s darker than before, barely seeing the contours of the ground beneath my feet. Only once, do I misstep, almost losing my balance. My body knows how to move to the steps. Breath becomes heavier and faster, towards the top. Not stopping. My body is strong and fit. Left hook of a grip for my right hand, and crevice for my left foot, the mountain creating paths back into my happy space.

    I recognize navy blue silhouettes of the peaks and terrains of the mountain ranges I’ve grown to love. Atop, jutting towards the water is a couple of flat boulders. I sit like buddha and close my eyes. Feeling the wind cooling my body, senses heightening. Mostly foreigners talking among themselves, and some South Africans. I hear someone rolling a joint, taking a puff. A familiar scent.

    I recollect fleeting thoughts.
    Instead of avoiding the discomfort, lashing out, or giving into unhealthy craving, defaulting into past patterns.
    I choose to learn to accept things as they are.
    To sit with the discomfort, like I am doing now.
    With my eyes closed, sitting still, trying to feel the faint current pulsating through my body, from the top of my head to the tip of my smallest toe.

    This love letter goes out to discomfort.

    Discomfort is where growth takes place. This is the arena where we have to fight our egos to accept life as it is.

    This requires massive action.
    Stop running away from situations and people, no longer mistaking it for self-preservation. Clenching our fists as if we’re clinging for dear life on the edge of a cliff, fear consuming us. If we let go, we will perish. We roll ourselves into a ball, like a porcupine, closed to life’s blessings and teachings.
    All we have to do is let go, and admit that we are not coping. We are copying the past actions of avoidance of survival.
    We are ready to thrive. To come to life.

    I vow to shift to openness. Open to feel the pain and sorrow, the only way forward. Also the joy and happiness. Moments of magic. Enjoying moments like this, alone. And with others. Every moment, every minute.

    I choose what matters. I choose my thoughts, the seed of all intentions and actions.
    Choosing where I want to go. Unshackling myself, letting go of the prisoner of the past.
    Choosing the destination is the first step. The second is taking the first step. Path isn’t created from thinking or ruminating.

    Like the recent trip to Johannesburg for eight days. I thought I went to supercharge my career with a leadership course by becoming visible and renewing professional relationships. Instead, it was about seeing the past life I used to lead. Unveiling the facades of shiny people wanting to rub off of my shine. To see the importance of staying true to who I am. I am fast, I am good at what I do. I like corporate people and its rhythms of life. I choose happiness still, despite the ego wanting to revert to who I used to be.

    These days of love letters are meandering thoughts trying to make sense of these emotions and events. Like a body of water finding its way to the ocean, with small streams joining bigger bodies, turning into rivers, flowing into estuaries.
    I do not want to reincarnate. I don’t want to repeat past lives. I want to let go of old connections that no longer serve me.
    I choose active verbs.
    To creating. To living. To letting go. To inviting the world to give abundantly. Because my hands are open. The clenched jaw is unlocked, I am not frowning. There is a smile on my face. I relax my brows, my eyes, my eyelids, my jaws, my mouth. I relax my shoulders, my hips and my feet. I am supple and soft, feeling and accepting as things come. Letting go of what must be gone. Ideals, people and places.

    This love letter is to discomfort. Greatest teacher of them all. I become willing student and creator of my own destiny.

  • Day 25 – Prime

    Day 2 of meditation.

    For five days, I was here last month. To work and celebrate my birthday. Busy reconnecting and celebrating, I remember feeling happy.

    This time around, why does it feel like an eternity, these eight days? The same place I used to call home feels unfamiliar. Grey and wet, there is no sun to be found. I find myself going deep inside.

    I still get up at 4:30. After meditation, I go back to sleep. There is no promenade. There are no mountain ranges. Things open later here. So I get to work just after sunrise, getting things done, working late, going back to the hamster wheel spinning days.

    I came up to attend three leadership meetings and deepen professional connections. Seeing the world through non-neurodivergent perspective, I see people are not as interested in engaging with me. No longer a shiny object with the CEO’s ear. Not working on key projects.. Not in the know. It’s been humbling.

    Do I care? I do because I’m inherently competitive. I like corporates. I like other overachieving, professional and articulate folks who are always trying to get things done. But do I care enough to become shiny again? To live in the city of hustle and bustle of concrete jungles with no sea breeze and access to gluten-free, plant-based dishes that I have taken for granted as mainstream, after having lived in Cape Town for the last seven months? No.

    I used to work 12-hour days, first one in and last one out. Exceeding targets, being called on by name, with people asking me to be on their team. The thing is, I can still exceed targets and work on more projects. However, with limited visible comes fewer invitations.

    I see how much I have changed by living in Cape Town. Or, have I become more of who I am? We are the product of our environments. I like myself better in Cape Town. I am more of myself.

    This love letter is dedicated to the city of Cape Town. This love letter goes out to my new home.

    Lesson learned? Don’t look back in the rearview mirror when trying to moving forward. Don’t look back. Keep your eyes on the road. Set your destination and move on. It’s your choice to move on or be left behind.

    I look forward to boarding the flight in an hour. Arriving before 10pm to sleep in my own bed. I look forward to getting up early to hike up and down Lion’s Head, to ground myself to the place I now call home.

    25 is a perfect square. 5×5 = 25. It is also a prime number. It’s like me. I’m the 5. In Johannesburg, I feel like a single integer. In Cape Town, I feel multiplied, into a stronger prime. In my prime, living my best life.

  • Day 24 – ginger lemon tea

    Day 1: One hour Vipassana complete

    It’s 3am. Rain drumming on the glass ceiling jolts me awake. Just a few hours ago, scattered laughter turned into a painful cry. Not even four years old, little one feels pain on her throat, medication wearing off.

    The next morning, I find the dad in the kitchen, drinking tea. They survived the night. She is okay.
    I grate some ginger, squeeze some lemon and add lots of honey to a pot of boiled water. Straining the seeds and fleshy ginger before serving Jon, then myself, then I make a cup for Biki.

    I cannot find a thermos, and I need to get going. I empty a 500ml of sparkling water into a mug. Drink as fast I can, before filling the bottle with lukewarm liquid.
    He’s supposed to be here, and I see his badge and bag at his usual spot. I leave it by his badge, take a photo. I saw him yesterday and the day before. He looked grey and sad, the light inside dimmed and weary. I was thinking of him when I made the tea. Therefore, is it a surprise that I made just enough for four adults. The mind is a powerful thing. Our thoughts planting a seed of future actions.

    It is now 7:39pm. Biki has given Aya a bath, Jon is away, and she finds me sitting at the kitchen counter. “Can you make me the ginger honey tea?” Sure, since you asked me so nicely.

    As she sees me grating and squeezing, she is shocked, “I didn’t know it was going to be this much effort!”

    It’s not. I like working.
    I make three more cups. Pour her a cup and me one too.
    We chichat and laugh about nothing in particular.
    “Money allows me to be generous”, I say.
    I’ve never heard anyone describe money that way, I like it.
    “Cool!”
    This love letter goes out to the act of generosity. I am grateful for being able to do things and find ways to nourish friends and colleagues. As I sat here writing, I ask myself. Would I rather be in my words, or speak to my wonderful friend, Biki.

    So we speak, and we laugh.
    This love letter is to myself for taking interest in people. Doing small things to bring joy. I’m grateful to be surrounded by people and opportunities. Like when Aya threw all the balls out of her pool, I had fun picking them up and throwing them back in.

  • Day 23 – Shaman Sean

    “Just checking in and how you have been.”

    Me: My energy is hypersensitive when around negative people. I need to let go of some people and spaces. I need to meditate.

    “You must learn to protect yourself from negative people and places. Remember. Negative people don’t make you hypersensitive, you are already hypersensitive. You have to learn to navigate them. Do not run away from them, in order to protect the hypersensitive. Learn and heal from them so that you don’t attract the same in other people.

    Meditation means to know thyself. It is not to be used as a distraction, but as a tool to help you navigate your thoughts and emotions in the real world. Meditation is a way of life. It’s not for fun”

    Sean reminds me of a childhood memory.

    A sack of egg, black and white one day starts moving. A massive head with a little tail swims around. One day, two bulging eyes with slimy skin of a body grows. Where did they come, these two hind legs? Another morning, three legs. Shortly after, the fourth leg emerges. Out, it hops, into its freedom out of water.

    Sean reminds me of the time we first met.

    The day after my first Vipassana meditation, I sit for 4 or 5 hours straight, without moving. Enjoying the silence. The stillness of observing respiration and diving deeper into self.
    Sitting, I feel my heart tighten and knot coming undone. I feel my right leg shaking. Then my left leg. Few days later, my whole body starts to shake, as if I am possessed. A worry that subsides when my hands moving without conscious thought pat my chest gently, as if signaling, ‘you’re going to be okay. I am here with you, in your heart, in my hands. I am not here to harm you. I love you’

    The body no longer a carcass I drag around. The mind no longer the master. Heart center opening and letting go of the seven oceans of tears that continue to pour out of me.

    Shaking gets to be too much. Legs shaking while driving, bathing, relaxing. I lose balance and I don’t know how to stop the earthquakes and after shocks.

    Do you know how your car works? The starter motor draws as much as 20 times of current to kick start your engine. Once engine is up and running, the starter motor needs to kick out. If not, it’ll burn out, as it is designed to start, not continue to run.

    It was like that with the shaking. I needed the jolt to wake up my body. My engine was up and running yet the starter motor continued to run, burning me up.

    What to do? Who do I call? What is wrong with me? I call the Vipassana center, and they cannot help me. I scour the web, and find that maybe 10% of the meditators experience such vibrations. I am lost in this spiritual world, with nowhere to go and nowhere to turn to.

    I am wrong, and I will be wrong again. I am more wrong than right.
    I am always surrounded by guardian angels. The universe is kind.
    She and I become friends during the 10 days in silence, sharing bunk beds, rides and Moro Gelato. I get the ice cream for us, and the total comes to R88. How auspicious. She encourages me to go see her Shaman, and I think she’s crazy. A shaman? Seriously? You must be kidding me.

    For my birthday, she gifts me a free session with the Shaman. Fine, I’ll give it a try. I lay there with my eyes closed. One hour passes, and my body feels calm. The shaking is gone, and I am not moving uncontrollably for the first time in 3 months. I see him once a week for few months, with him opening up blocked chakras, guiding me spiritually. The biggest lesson of all: empty beginnings.

    I’ve continued to gift the session with Sean over the years.
    One colleague was suffering from long covid symptoms with average resting heart rate of 88. After seeing Sean, it went down to 50. He brought his wife and child. His wife tells me they would have divorced, had it not been for Sean. They are expecting their second child any day now.

    I gifted Sean’s session to a colleague last month, and she is seeing him regularly, and paid for a free session for her daughter.

    The gift of paying it forward continues.

    I am grateful to the friend who gifted me the session with Sean. And on the back of his recommendation, I tried Trauma Release Exercise (TRE), where his partner mentioned, “I see literature in you.” Another shaman before Sean asked, “Do you write?”
    The universe keeps sending me the same message through different people.

    On day 0 of 100 days of love letter writing, I willed myself to write the truest words that are kind and necessary. To continue the journey of not telling a lie. To be honest with myself.

    And to do so, we need help from the universe. A nudge perhaps.

    Thanks Sean, for checking in on me and being a spiritual guide and healer. For showing me that it is in the unseen and unknowable the truth resides, in the deepest parts of our body and spirits.

    Thank you for helping me. I am grateful for your service.

    PS. I will extend the love letter writing to 113 days.
    PPS. I will add on the daily meditation for the remainder of 113 days, or 90 days in a row.
    PPPS. I will set high expectations for myself and others around me.

    23 is a prime number.

  • Day 22 – Ziggy

    Dear Ziggy,

    I vacuum around you. You refuse to move, laying on the green carpet, the color of Christmas.
    I need to shower, and you plop yourself next to the entryway. I step over you and shower with the door open. No one is home. Your mom and dad are at work. This is your house. I am only visiting, so I respect your wishes. We spend few days like this while I visit your mom to attend your parent’s wedding.

    A year passes, or is it two? We are meeting in San Diego, near your dad’s brother’s place. As my little sister and I get close to you in the car, you start jumping around. You are so happy to see me. You’re even excited to see my little sister, knowing that she belongs to me. How do you know that? Does she look like me? How can you smell us from inside the car?

    Your mom is amazed. You’re anti-social. You only let your family get close to you. You remember me from our special time together. You jump around me, licking my face, happy to see me. You don’t bark at all.

    Ziggy, you were a great dog, and your mom loved you very much. Mika was happy to be your sister for the short time she shared with you. Your mom still gets teary with your untimed passing, and I hope you are having a great time in dog heaven plopping and refusing to move!

    This love letter goes out to Ziggy the Zigmonster, who loved me as much he loved his family. You were such a great dog!

  • 21.1 – reminder to self to love better

    To the frail and fragile innocent, may you continue to be supple; bending and yielding, singing and swaying through the darkest and harshest of passing storms?

    To the soft and sweet underbelly of childhood, may you continue to marvel and wonder at the beauty of life; fearing nothing – not even fear itself, by seeing that light and shadow is one and the same?

    To the fretful and fearful child, may you choose adulthood; breaking free of shackles of past oppressions, maintaining curiosity of wonder and delight?

    To the reactive and reproachable, may you choose to be present; diagnosing your behavioral patterns and overreactions as self-protection mechanisms arising from past hurts; quickly see things as they are and ask yourself, ‘is this serving my present and highest self, or are you engaging in self-sabotaging behaviors’?

    To the tired and tyrant, may you retreat into the darkness; protecting the world from your ego and yourself from the world, don’t forget that being right and alone will only bring more suffering; Ask yourself thrice, “Is it true? Is it kind? Is it necessary?”

    To the fully grown and giant, may you choose to take flight; trusting the universe to catch and hold you as you fall, enjoying every moment, as they come and go?

  • Day 21 – 언니

    “It’s time to go to school, you’re late!”
    Rubbing my eyes, I look around. I bolt out the door with the school bag slung hurriedly across one shoulder.
    I come home few minutes later. It’s Sunday. She is waiting for my return, with a smile on her face.

    I wake up from another nap.
    “It rained while you slept.”
    ‘Really’? I answer in bewilderment. Later seeing grandfather washing down the pavement. She got me again.

    I used to chew the same gum for days, not knowing when I can get another piece. I would stick it on the wall next to me, to save it for another day’s chew.
    One day, I wake up to find a solid white mass stuck to my hair. I am distraught.
    “Get it out! Get it out!” I wail and scream.
    Snip snip. A chunk of hair falls away from my face. I scream even louder.

    “What did you do your sister? Why is she crying?”

    I am curious. I touch all the buttons and knobs on the black stereo. Trying to figure out how things work.
    “Why weren’t you keeping a close eye on her?”

    I create problems. Hers to solve.

    Her small hand is holding mine tightly. She consoles me, telling me it’s going to be okay. We are at the police station, waiting for our mother to collect us. She is 7 years old.

    On a long rectangular table, she places a chocolate sando or strawberry sando, setting for a party of 8. School friends come over to celebrate. She hands me cute notebooks and pencils. My birthday presents.

    How did she feel when our aunt and cousin left? Truth blurs my vision as I hold back the tears. I see her for the first time. World on her small shoulders. Born 18 months before me. A child herself. Not only did she have to take care of herself (which she didn’t), but also her younger sister and brother.

    The loss of her carefreeness. Childlike innocence. The magnitude of her suffering.

    I try and I fail to understand, the depth of her love. I cannot try to make sense of what happened. With her shielding me where she could, taking care of me as best as she could. I am her first beloved.

    Into few glimpses of the past, I zoom into her, away from me. Having embraced and consoled the child in me. The past helping me to understand the present you. The past that has shaped and molded you into you today. The you that has shaped me and shielded me into the present.

    I dedicate this love letter to my older sister.
    My living guardian angel.
    Without you, I would have been lost.
    Without you, I would have lost my way.

    I dedicate my love of writing to the one I hold dearest to my heart.

  • Day 20 – let it rain

    “Let’s pick these flowers”,
    She whispers, leaning down to meet my face, as we walk back from the shops, noticing wild roses growing against the pavement.
    ‘Isn’t that stealing? Someone will see us!’
    I am in shock.
    “It’ll be dark and no one will see us!”
    As she laughs, I hear coins falling onto the pavement. She is so silly, I giggle to myself.

    She is back at her childhood home to take care of us. Her newborn daughter, my youngest cousin is just a babe. She smells of breastmilk and baby powder.

    How long does she stay? A month? Two months? As a child, I have no sense of time, and I wish for our time to never stop. My only wish is for the days to continue. As is. This moment, locked in eternity.

    Her husband impatiently calls her back to the big city.
    Tomorrow, I will leave, she says.
    Tomorrow, it rains.
    With the baby, traveling on buses, it’s too much. So she stays, waiting for the rain to stop.
    The next day, when the rain stops, I will be on my way.
    It rains again and again and again.
    I wish for the rain to continue.
    To never stop. Because for as long as it rains, she cannot leave.

    I run home everyday, to make sure she is home, and when she’s still there, I feel a sense of relief.

    One morning, she says her good-bye. This time, I mean it. I am leaving, she says.
    It’s still raining, and so, how can she leave? I don’t believe her. It’s been raining for days. Hadn’t she repeated the same words in the past?
    I run home in the drizzle, rain softly falling on my face. My feet splashing the ground, passing the spot where the flowers used to grow.

    Pushing the sky blue gate open, I run up to the steps, kicking off my shoes. With my right hand, I turn the metal doorknob. I can smell them, and with a sense of hope and dread, I swing the door wide open.

    Tidy and clean, with no trace of their belonging. Filling every crevice of the room, their scent lingers. Silence rings hollow, in this room, where I used to sleep, cradled into my own mother’s embrace, with my sister next to me. I miss the cooing and crying. The sound of life itself.

    I am at Father Coffee, unearthing memories of past days.
    Rain from that day, mixed with tears, washes over me.

    I dedicate this love letter to the rain.

  • Day 19 – hamsters

    When it rains in the middle of summer’s sunshine, tigers are getting married. And on this day of holy matrimony, three girls walk home after school, rectangular bag on their backs. Without hurry, on their half hour walk home, with no sign of rain abating.

    A car pulls up. A man ushers them to the back seat. Soaking wet, they rush in. “Where are your umbrellas”, he asks not waiting for answers.

    Few minutes later, he drops them off close to where they live. They leave as quickly as they entered, scurrying off like hamsters with tiny legs. Yelling “thank you” in unison, as they run home.

    This letter goes out to the man, for his generous act of random kindness.

  • Day 18 – grey

    The sky is grey.
    Two black women walk across the parking lot, stepping out of rain, stopping to rest.
    She is wearing grey tracksuit with a hat on her grey head, scarf hanging loosely around her neck. Her daughter grabs one end, gentle and slow motion, as if she were building a house for soft petals resting on two sets of delicate stems.

    Two strangers caught in the act of loving kindness.

    I am back in the city of gold, my home province of South Africa.
    My friend comes home, picking up groceries for dinner. Welcome home, honey. Kisses and hugs after you put your bag down. “mwa mwa!”

    “Can I turn on music?” Of course, it’s your house. She turns on the radio. “Are you okay with coriander” Of course, I am full of flavor.

    It is raining still. I didn’t bring socks or sweatshirt.
    She hands me a pair of cherry red socks and black sweatshirt.
    Dampness hangs in the air.

    It’s raining still, and I have found a story belonging to a book of overcast days. To you two strangers, I dedicate this love letter. My favorite poem.

    “Fall Song by Jo Harjo

    It is a dark fall day.
    The earth is slightly damp with rain.
    I hear a jay.
    The cry is blue.
    I have found you in the story again.
    Is there another word for ‘‘divine’’?
    I need a song that will keep sky open in my mind.
    If I think behind me, I might break.
    If I think forward, I lose now.
    Forever will be a day like this
    Strung perfectly on the necklace of days.
    Slightly overcast Yellow leaves
    Your jacket hanging in the hallway Next to mine.”