Day 12: One step forward

Today, after a long time, I felt an iota of improvement during my anxiety attack this evening.

I could feel it coming, as my mother was driving us home. I was filled with dread no matter how beautiful the lush green fields on either side of the road were, no matter the breeze from the sea nearby, no matter the peace and quiet of our neighbourhood. The dread reached the pit of my throat and began to expand dangerously. I could feel it and began to take deep breaths. I waited for my mother to park, bit could not leave the car immediately. I needed everything within and around me to be still, including my mother. 

I made small movements, like my therapist taught me, first with my toes, then my fingers. I couldn't breathe. I kept feeling like I'm being suffocated by invisible hands. Tears fell involuntarily from my eyes. But this time, I fought to breathe. I tried to sit up straight to give my lungs space. It didn't help. My arms and fingers tightened up. I didn't scream or cry openly this time. I was focused and determined to breathe. I crouched forward into my lap, folded my hands in prayer, with my thumbs to my forehead and said under my breath, "Help me".

A song started playing in my head. Then another. And I wanted more. I managed to mutter to my mother to sing for me. Anything. It didn't matter. Just sing. And so she did. And as her voice carried through the car and the light breeze passed through my window, my breathing stabilized. I slowly lifted my head from my lap. I looked in front of me and saw the cars dashboard. I focused on its color, shape and design. Somehow, my hand broke loose from it's frozen, contortion position and crawled up to the dashboard. I began to run my fingers along it and breathe better. I looked left and right and began to expand my view. My other hand began to move and I began to sit straighter. I forced myself to look at my surroundings and remind myself that I am *here* and nowhere else. That I am safe in this space. That I am in the present. That I can and will breathe. And so I did. 

As my mother finished singing, I was sitting upright, with my hands, relaxed in my lap. My body was completely exhausted, but that expanding lump in my throat had disappeared. 

I know I need more help, and I am going to seek it. 

But for the first time, I had some control over myself and it gave me hope. 

Also my mother has a beautiful voice and it can uplift the darkest spirit. 

Activity for the day: my mother introduced me to a photo-editing software app called SnapSeed. And I learnt how to use the double-exposure filter. I'm pretty excited about this, because I have a theme for my first music album and this works well within it. 

'Ajna'

Day 9: Remembrance

(This post is a day late because the Wi-Fi disconnected and I had to wait for it to get back, so technically this post was written on August 12, 2018)

Today it rained. Today it poured. Today, Mother Nature took a cloud and let it rip. And I finally got my period. I haven't ever been this happy to see blood. 

On our way to the clay modeling class, this evening, my mother and I encountered an accident on the road. While we couldn’t stop the car half way, I managed to get a good look. It was a dog who had been hit by a car or bike and was lying on the road, bleeding to death. I could see its head had suffered some serious injury and a puddle of bright red blood escaping it. His ears twitched and his eyes were closed. He was dying. A man, someone I assume to have known who this dog belonged to, was trying to figure out a way to help him. He poured a little water to cleared the blood. In the distance I saw another dog from the area rush to its side. 

I have never been this sad to see blood.

In this swift passing-by, I felt a pang so deep. Something in me connected with something within that dog. And I felt very sad. I felt powerless and immobilized. I could hear a voice in me telling the voice in him: “Shhhhhh… Shhhhhh… I know you are in pain. I’m sorry this happened. It will be over soon. Don’t be afraid. I love you and I will remember you in this life. I’m sorry this happened. Let go.” I wept in the car as we drove toward our class and prayed for forgiveness for his suffering. 

In class, today, we learnt a new technique called ‘slabbing’. This is literally flattening out a prepared piece of terra-cotta such that it is a flat slab, upon which we can either create a design, or imprint upon. My mother and I both chose to imprint leaves on our slabs. The instructor swiftly moved to the tree near by and plucked some giant leaves. It pinched me, when he plucked them, and the one I got was already dying. I was reminded of the dog and said a silent prayer for this leaf. He offered to give me a ‘fresher’, ‘prettier’ one. But this was the leaf I wanted work with. She was beautiful, half lush, half decaying. And I imprinted her onto my slab of clay, immortalizing her memory as she would eventually wilt away. 

Mom's tray

The purpose the slab is to create textures and designs for functional items (or just pieces of art). The instructor gave us several options - a tray, a pencil holder, strips of ribboned clay in an unusual design. My slab wasn’t ready to cooperate with these ideas. My mother made a beautiful tray with her slab, along with a leaf imprint. It had her trademark unconventional style of offbeat symmetry (if that makes sense). With mine, I chose to let my intuition take over. I let the edges fold in, without leveling them, without adding symmetry. In the remaining area aside from the leaf print, I made a round depression (where I had originally planned to add a mirrored glass) with a stencil. Everyone seemed to want to make it a tray for drinks and food. But I wanted it to be special. 

And then I remembered that I have been meaning to buy a sound bowl for meditation. This would be my platform to keep it. So that I may remember this leaf and the dog, and I may pray for their souls, for mine, and for the universal energy that brought us together. 

How it rained, today. 

Day 6: Kiri-kiri

Today was a very busy and eventful day. And I was looking forward to writing about it tonight. But after a long time, I had a massive breakdown in my bedroom. 

I couldn't hold it in any longer, and screamed and sobbed my heart out into a pillow, while my mother sat next to me. All the anger, hurt, frustration, fear, sadness and pain just tumbled out without warning. It felt like the earth was shaking beneath me, and I was caught in a hurricane. All the feelings I was trying to distract myself from, suppress or rationalise in the hope of being a 'better human being', just raced out of my throat and into the universe. It was a cry from so deep within me, what came out felt like it made straight for the core of the earth, if you can imagine it. My mother let me vent. She believes it's better to let it out than keep it inside. I sobbed for every ache in my body, my heart and my soul. I cried like a child and begged my mother to never leave me, never die on me, never stop loving me (all the things a child is afraid of). In those 15 minutes, I became a 4 year old and she held me so tight, I felt like I was glued to her. It was the most secure feeling I have felt in a very long time. 

When I calmed down, I lay my head in her lap and sniffled. She ran her fingers gently up and down my back. This is something she used to do to me and my brother when we were kids. It's strangely soothing and relaxing and even though I'm easily tickled, this makes me feel light and sleepy. She calls it, 'kiri-kiri'. I feel blank now. 

So tonight, I've composed a tune on the ukulele I bought earlier today. It's the music that plays in my head when my mother runs her fingers up and down my back. My first time on a ukelele. Happy notes. Just what I need. Let's see if I can build on this tune over the next couple of days.

Kiri-kiri

Day 5 - Gettin' my hands dirty

I signed up for a clay modeling workshop at Carpe Diem, Majorda. It goes on for 5 turns and each turn is 2 hours of learning how to work with clay of different types, understanding techniques and glazing and firing my own clay masterpieces!

I'm always ready for any artistic activity that gets my hands dirty. Today, we worked with terracotta. It's not very different from regular (gray) clay, and is more budget-friendly. Our instructor, Ramdas, made all the kneading and fixing look so effortless, we were in for a surprise when he assigned us our own lumps of clay to prepare for modelling. There is an entire process that precedes the actual modeling part, which I didn't know about. Pretty interesting how even the smallest air bubble in a lump of clay could cause your clay model to explode inside the kiln. Pretty dramatic, how he described it, too. 

Our technique for the day was 'pinching'. We each had a round lump of clay to hollow out by pinching evenly at the sides. Once we hollowed it out into even pieces, we joined two halves back together to make a hollow circle. After smoothening it, we were ready to design our masterpieces.

I decided to make a baby owl, which I would use as a tea-light or baby candle lamp. It was quite an intricate process but I was too enamoured by all the tools, the unlimited clay, and the endorphins soaring through my body. My mother also participated and was making her Frida Kahlo Pig curio.

There was a third lady, who as soon as she joined the class began to whine about how she would have to cut her nails to continue the class, and how she didn't want to hollow the clay, or make simple animal designs. She was adamant in making a traditional diya (lamp) with atypical patterns. When she saw what my mother and I were making, she whined that she wanted to do what we were doing. She just wasn't satisfied. She kept eyeing my mother's clay model and at one point I was worried that she would walk over and just shove my mom's work off the table to sabotage it. There's always ONE diva in every class I've attended. It's inevitable. I felt sorry for her. She wasn't able to expand her mind beyond what is 'safe' and 'pretty'. We are so enslaved by our fear of failure or 'ugliness' that people can spend an entire life not taking a risk. Ugly isn't bad. Neither is failure. Like Ramdas said, "If you mess it up, just start over with another one." Simple.

Ramdas and the owner of the workshop, Daegal, were very happy with our progress and kept taking photos. I loved the entire property itself, which is an art gallery cum coffee shop cum gig venue cum workshop space. I love the name -- "Carpe Diem". I am so excited to go back for the remaining sessions. 

My father was the official photographer of the evening, and while he didn't want to get his hands dirty, he kept himself occupied by documenting our entire workshop with his camera. 

I appreciate how patient he was, while mum and I worked on our pieces. 

 

For dinner, we went to Da Tita, an Italian restaurant in Majorda, which is known for its clay-oven pizzas and authentic Italian cuisine. I have never eaten more delicious pizza, greens or pesto bruschettas anywhere outside of Italy. The parma ham and pepperoni pizza was delectable. Not to mention the panacotta and tiramisu for dessert. The owner of this restaurant is an old Italian chef, who trained a local chef to cook authentic Italian fare. He even flew her down to Italy several times to experience the tastes and flavors of local Italian cuisine. I could almost smell the olive trees and rosemary bushes in Sorrento and the cheese factory in Meta. The parma ham reminded me of Prosciutto e Melone.

I had woken up today with disturbing thoughts, tears-inducing pain in my abdomen and a general sadness that I've almost gotten used to by now. But I knew that things would be better as the day panned out. I've begun to believe that despite hardships, I can have a good day, create something beautiful, meet new people and share stories, and be loved. Knowing this gives me more strength to cope with pain.

Today was a very fulfilling day. I am excited and motivated to create more art. (Secretly hoping Daegal, the owner, likes my artwork and decides to display or sell it at his gallery).

Amen.

(To know more about Carpe Diem and their various workshops through the year, visit their website: http://www.carpediemgoa.com/ . There are some incredible pieces of art there, not to mention delicious coffee and friendly dogs)

Day 4 - The Driver's Seat

A woman's hormones are like a cat. Temperamental. Choosy. Will only play along if you pamper them and succumb to their every whim and wish. And even then, they might blow you off. Just because they don't feel like coming out to play. If you anger them, they will lash out in the worst way possible. Meowr! (I must add here that I think cats are very lovable creatures.)

I missed my period this month. No, I'm not pregnant. No, I don't have any disorder. They just haven't come yet. A major cause is stress. I've learnt this year (as if I didn't have any signals before, that I should have paid better attention to) that stress can screw up your body more than a car shredder can deface your car. I have had regular periods for pretty long, with only a couple of misses that I remember, once a decade, either due to under-eating or over-exercise. I have a Period App on my phone that logs my period cycle and reminds me when my next period is expected. It's very handy. I can even log in what pills I've taken, when I had sex and how I'm feeling emotionally.

My last three periods have been during very stressful times. I had to move houses twice, hauling tonnes of heavy luggage, with a bit of help, up and down flights of stairs. My last period was me running to catch a 22-hour flight from New York to India. This time around, my boyfriend and I broke up a few days before my period was due. I can safely say my ovaries have been sufficiently traumatized. 

This makes me sad. My body is tired and in pain and the medication I'm on is doing its best to get me back on track, but I feel weak, powerless, guilty and frustrated. So much that I find it hard sometimes to get up and sit down, or go up and down a flight of stairs. Of course, it hasn't stopped me, but I do take extra care not to push myself or fling my body around in over-enthusiasm. 

I really thought I'd get my period today. I've been cramping for weeks now, and my legs felt heavier. Let's put aside the moodiness because that's an everyday given. I'm still hopeful it'll come soon. But I have dark moments when I wonder what if they never will? I'm trying not to stay in that dark zone for very long.

Happy observation of the day: I've begun to look forward to the second half of the day. So far, every morning, I've been depressed, sluggish and brain dead. By the time I make my way downstairs for breakfast, I see my mom puttering about her plants and fixing me my morning mug of hot water and some fruits. She enthusiastically suggests activities we could do after breakfast, but I have no energy to do any at all. I am learning to forgive myself for lacking energy. By lunchtime, I gain some strength but am mentally still quite low. Mum goes up for her afternoon siesta and so do I. Normally I would never sleep in the afternoon, but for the past two days, I have enjoyed an hour of deep sleep. Once I wake up, I feel rested. When I go down, I'm raring for some activity. It's this second half of the day, when things begin to happen. And so they did, today.

I finally got to paint. My mom fixed me up with her stash of oil paints, some brushes and palette knives (my weapon of choice), turpentine and linseed oil, and a variety of canvases to choose from. I created a nook for myself under the stairs, where the books and my grandfather's old LPs are stored. It's cosy and private. I had a basic idea and just went for it. It was fun and illuminating. I enjoy painting because I never know how it's going to look in the end. By the end of the day, I was pretty happy with what I made. But I might tweak it tomorrow. 

We then decided to drive out to buy groceries. I haven't driven a car in 2 years, having lived in the US without a driver's license. But it didn't take much for me to get back into the driver's seat. And once I was in it, I just didn't want to stop driving. So we went to the vegatable market, fruit market and a plant nursery. We decided to drive to Johncy's for dinner at the beach. It was pouring and it was high tide. The sea was magnificent, with furious waves lashing at the shore and gusty winds sprinkling sea water on our faces. I could stare at the sea in the rain forever. It's peaceful and comforting, in any avatar. My mother and I walked along the shoreline after a delicious meal and gave thanks to the sea and the sand, for the peace we felt.

I wasn't ready to go home just yet. So we went on a long drive through the empty, dark roads of Goa at night. It was freeing. Mom went crazy taking pictures. Goa at night is just as gorgeous as day. I could have driven all night, all the way to the southernmost tip of Goa, if I could. But I made it to Cavellosim, and that was enough for the first day. 

Being able to drive a car, steadily on Indian roads (with Indian drivers and traffic), tells me I'm pretty stable and calm. It's reassuring. Even if I don't have control over my hormones, I have control of my driving skills and how I react to crazy drivers. This is a powerful feeling - being in the driver's seat (literally and metaphorically). I see myself driving out a lot more.

Looking forward to the second half of tomorrow. :)