To Be Unchained

 To be Unchained

Ask me what I would do if my synaptic chains no longer bound me and I would tell you that there are a thousand things I’d reach for to light the dark. I’d put on my glimmering sun pendant in any state, not a worry for the next time I’d wear it or the time after that. I’d read whatever book whenever I wanted to, fall asleep to dreams of stories set in fantasy realms and distant domains. Open the door. Take running steps. Pick wildflowers into ragtag bouquets. Climb the peach tree for the ripest fruit, braving the branches for a taste tart as lighthearted sass. Paint with every shade I have, render turquoise citadels and amaranth starfields over coral moors. Run a hand through my tangled hair. Part the umber waves with one movement. Roam sunflower meadows without shoes. Wake at dawn for breakfast at first light. Let go of waylaying fear in a steadying sigh. Go about my day like nothing is wrong. Believe for the first time since I was only nine that nothing is wrong. Live a year without crying. Play music just a bit too loudly, if only to set myself free. Stand without wanting to run. Breathe like I don’t fear air will escape me. Stare directly into your eyes unwavering. Hold my own gaze in the mirror. Hear the silence and hold steady, no scream behind closed lips. Cross the room in slow steps. Turn the doorknob of my own accord. Lift the shattered pieces from the floor. Stop wishing the night would end. Grab a pen without second-guessing, ink in any color at all. Speak above the din. Depart without waiting on myself to meet unreachable standards. Set aside years of wanting to just have, hundreds of miles and hours of struggling be damned. Wade farther into the waves. Catch a sunbeam on the open ocean, rising up from the silver surges to look skyward. Savor one last breath, slow and sustaining. Accept my fate in late night hours of wishing for morning. Say what needs to be said. Stop needing. Finally be free.

Technological Necessity

Evening falls on Santa Fe. The light is darkening to match the coming of night, the visibility in my room dwindling as minutes pass on this Tuesday evening. My need for the light grows too great to ignore, though I’d rather avoid the harshness of the overhead light as I sit down to write. Although the room’s main light irritates my senses, I still feel the need for light to set the stage on my writing space. The artificial glare of my computer screen’s white light piercing through the dark stifles my creative flow. Too deeply immersed in dark and electronic brightness creeping through it, I feel the craving of something other than the limited space of the dim. I need to see in this room that houses me against the dangers outside my door. Every corner, every vinyl figure of a princess or Marvel superhero, every necklace that hangs on the jewelry organizer beside my desk. I need them all in view, unobscured by the shadow the night imposes.

I hear the steady hum of the computer I’m typing on, its uninterrupted buzz of sound a constant of each day I spend before this machine upon which I write. I cannot feel it against my fingers, but still it permeates the room in this August of myriad emotions. Here alone with the sound and the screen, I contemplate the hum as a heartbeat for this silver and black laptop, or maybe an endless breath that sustains its existence of functioning. It is my lifeline to the greater world and the people I cannot speak to face to face in this covid-locked world. I rely so much on it and what it allows me to achieve in writing, though behind its façade, I don’t see its inner workings or what allows it to process information for me each day. I connect to it each day while spending many of my waking hours sitting in my tattered black swivel chair in front of it. I spend more time with this computer than anyone else these days and yet I’ve never thought about what fuels its on-and-off experience as an essential writing device before now.

Maybe it’s because of the video game docuseries I watched shortly before I began writing. Maybe the alchemy of circuits and CPUs is fresh in my memory, an indirect gateway to my understanding the laptop I watched the series on. I find as I write that technology is very much on my mind. I am more aware than I have been in days that this computer is keeping me sane and fulfilled during my struggle with isolation. What would I do if it stopped its constant hum? Would I fall back into a silent despair without waking for the sole purpose of writing in Microsoft Word? I suppose the various notebooks I’ve collected over the years would draw me back in so that I might reacquaint myself with pen and paper. I’ve spent so much time writing in a digital space that I feel most comfortable writing that way. I’ve given myself over to the circuits and digital byways, nearly a citizen of its LED corridors as Tron circumnavigating the electronic neon of the Grid.

I’ve reflected on my need for the laptop screen I see every day in this moment of listening to the motorized rush the humming produces. I’ve started to appreciate and fear my need for it as my fingers dash across the keys to form words before my eyes. In this moment, it’s only me, the laptop, and the Word document I type into. Behind the smudges on the lenses of my glasses, I see more than just this display of neutral-toned graphics. I see the thing that has the potential to keep me going in this pandemic. The hum intermingles with the sporadic bursts of my fingers tapping the lettered keyboard. The words in my head, my reflections, have taken shape on the very object I’m contemplating. I’ve spoken without making a sound. Though the hour grows later, I feel a tie to this moment and the space I’m occupying within the purple walls around me. My computer has been my company. Have I fallen too far into the rabbit hole crafted of code? Am I capable of distancing myself from its cyber gaze? I’m not yet at liberty to say. Only in this moment of a Santa Fe night in late August, I strike the keys, remaining in tune to the need of my device.

Before the Virus

Before the Virus

Before the coronavirus, we lived a charmed life of social interaction and the freedom to leave our houses. We took it for granted. It was the norm, the world as it had always been. No one thought anything of touching their loved ones. We came and went as we wanted. “Quarantine” was a word seldom used outside of hypothetical scenarios and isolated incidents nobody thought would ever happen to them. The world was built on people interacting, people crowded together. Gathering and interacting was always the norm.

Nobody foresaw weeks into months where we would be sequestered in the confinement of our own homes trying to avoid any risk of catching a life-threatening infection. It probably never occurred to most people that hospitals would come dangerously close to running out of necessary equipment meant to protect its workers and save lives. We thought we were safe. We thought those we loved could keep coming home to us just as they always did, that nothing like this could ever happen. No one thought life would just stop. When it did, we were so unprepared for the effects of it that for all intents and purposes, the world around us was in peril.

Socially, we were divided by the long-reaching effects of the virus. We couldn’t just venture out without a thought to what dangers there were anymore. Our only means of leaving the house came in the form of needing food and medical care in this dire time. When we left, store shelves were running empty, people wore masks and avoided nearing each other. It was like scenes out of the apocalypses we had seen depicted in movies, only real and terrifying in how much it threatened to take from us.

Before the virus, personal freedom and walking out into the world without caution were things we never thought would be lost to us. There was little to no risk of anyone becoming infected and dying from everyday contact. Our apocalypse came sooner than any of us ever expected, in a different form than the zombie movies we watched when movie theaters were still open promised in their vision of a destroyed future. We learned that things were more finite than we ever could’ve realized. We saw that in the worst of times, some people cared more about themselves than the danger they posed to others in leaving home. Pushed to our limits, we had to make sacrifices and reevaluate the necessity of things we once took for granted. We had to learn how be selfless in our actions, to put aside our need for the world as it was in normalcy just to keep those we loved and the people they’d interact with safe.

The coronavirus did more than separate us. It challenged our perspectives on a safe world where we were free. It required us to ask ourselves to let go in the name of doing what was right for society as a whole. Nothing the world had yet faced affected our way of living as much as the novel coronavirus. We lived as we wanted until it threatened the safety many thought was simply a given. Worst of all, it divided people in more ways than just the physical. Asian people saw the blame shift to them as ignorant masses treated them as carriers of this indiscriminate virus. Suspicion became the norm. Because we all lost our freedom and safety, the need for blame arose in the worst of us. The new vision of the world we were forced to take on was more divided than ever.

In the year 2020, we faced a crisis that held us apart. We closed and locked our doors, covered our faces, avoided everyone we could be distant from. We learned to let go because we had no other choice. The very notion of what it meant to be free became more precious than it ever was. Our world changed fundamentally, changing with it our view of what was necessary just to ensure everyone else’s survival. Coronavirus is a chapter in the world’s history that will be remembered for years to come. It was the pandemic that reshaped society and enforced a new normal we weren’t yet ready for. So much of how the world moves forward will be informed by the impact the virus has had. In this desperate time of seclusion, we must learn how to proceed in ways that protect everyone, our society now revolving around caution rather than the normalcy of social interaction.

Here Again

So it's been a while since I've been here. A lot has happened in this time, the most notable of which you're seeing play out all over the news. I felt like coming back to this whole blogging thing as I'm self-isolating here at home due to the pandemic. I have been lucky enough to be healthy and relatively okay during this time despite feeling a loss of freedom because of what's going on, but that's minor compared to what other people are going through. I have been watching this crisis result in amplified racism towards Asian people. Being Asian American myself, this has been difficult for me to witness knowing the division makes this so much worse on everyone.

So what am I here to talk about in this crisis? Simple. I am here to implore you not to let this crisis shape how you treat other people. A virus is indiscriminate in who it will infect. Coronavirus is not "the Chinese virus" and there is no excuse for calling it that when the name of the disease is literally all over the news. Using this crisis to scapegoat other people and intentionally divide while stoking fear is irresponsible and heartless as coronavirus continues to inflict enormous damage on the world. The powers that be trying to justify long-held racism in this time serves no purpose to the world at large other than to divide and instill fear towards people who are just as vulnerable as everyone else now. We as a society have to do better than pursuing blame when the real enemy here is the virus itself. Discriminating and casting blame is not going to help anyone.

Though I have been fortunate enough not to have this current xenophobia directed towards me, I have seen plenty of it directed towards other Asian people. It's given me anxiety over how things will be towards us if/when this all returns to some semblance of normalcy. The future is uncertain, but the racism is not going to just go away if the virus does. Now more than ever, we need to keep rational and not let this virus influence our view of others. Unfortunately, we have history repeating itself here and not enough people remaining reasonable during this time. It's something that's going to further what racial divide there was prior. I hope more than anything that the world can learn to weather this crisis without further harming people based upon their ethnicity. That is the last thing we need now.

I'll try to come back to posting here during this self-quarantine. I'm trying to be as productive as possible during this time and I feel the need to keep speaking from my own view of what is going on. Stay safe, everyone. Be reasonable and kind during this time.

Until next time,

Debbie

Song of Another Day

Song of Another Day

The morning wakes me with its own melody,

the call to keep living,

keep breathing,

keep moving.

“Life isn’t going to stop because your heart’s broken,”

it seems to chide,

the bright sunlight shining to emphasize the point.

I look to the four walls around me,

see a cage and a shelter intertwined.

I hear his footsteps retreating in my mind,

the rhythm I can never escape.

Steps leaving, steps taken far from me.

The shallow thrum of my own heartbeat

replaces his footsteps in tangibility

and already the world is

urging me to rise and

dance to its unrelenting melody

regardless of what I want,

but then again,

nobody ever asked me what I wanted

or even needed,

not a soul,

because what you want in a futile life

doesn’t really matter when the days

drag onward in endless succession anyway.

I lay for a moment hearing the beckoning,

grasp for something to hold onto as the world

sways and shudders

until at last I can no longer ignore the call.

In a shroud of reluctance, I rise,

stepping out of my lilac-hued shelter

into another day.

The Modus Operandi of Madness

The Modus Operandi of Madness

The world broke into a million shards, versicolor fragments of people, places, and states of being falling into oblivion. Every last shred of hope binding it together dissipated into nothingness, the evanescence sending its stability into collapse. All around me, reality lost form. There was only the grief left in the maelstrom, tethering me to existence in the absence of happiness. And that was how I found myself adrift, unable to place reason in this void without structure. My mind unraveled, the fibers regressing to the fight or flight mania I’ve found myself embracing many a time. The ticking of the clock remained in the distance, never ceasing to accommodate the death of sanity. Tick. Tick. Tick. One constant thrum shoving me further down an ink-black tunnel. This time there were no stars to burn through the murk, only the ashen shroud obscuring nebulas and myriad planets untouched. “Call me Wisteria,” I said to no one, just desperate to hear a voice disturb the silence. This is the modus operandi of madness, the telltale makeup of an entirely unclassifiable beast. Nothing ascribes to sense. Fervent pain is the only constant. The sky shifts from day to night in the flutter of a bat’s wing and sometimes no one can understand why. Unlike the physical body, the consciousness of the mind has different parameters. Those of us afflicted can only wade through the deepening mire in search of stability to bring us back to the real world. Alas, stability doesn’t want to be found, not here in the dark. Sometimes people can find us in this unstable labyrinth and lead us out into the waiting sunlight. At others, we despair and spend days trying to reach anything resembling normality. Death follows us like our own shadow, invisible when we collapse back into the darkness. We weep. We scream. We throw ourselves into the nearest object of our interest to stave off returning to these endless depths of uncertainty. It’s never enough. Distraction doesn’t extend itself into permanence. The cycle may be interrupted, but it never truly ends. Chained to our own minds, we remain helpless and afraid of the many sunrises to come. A world under the lens of madness is as tremulous as mist. Once your mind falls prey to the harsh reality of it, you’re branded with a mark that finds its way into the depths of your being. This is insanity as it speaks to the addled. It will be the language our minds speak until the earth stops spinning on its axis. Like travelers lost in the wilderness, we will keep on searching the universe for our refuge, never to reach the solace that doesn’t wait for us.

Waking Up

Waking Up

For a year, you were the sunrise that my world awakened to, the beating heart around which my whole existence centered. I saw nothing but you, could not spend a waking minute without your presence on my mind. What could I see beyond the most perfect element of my life, the most wondrous magic ever to grace my soul? 

It took me the longest time to learn the truth, to see that the dawn did not materialize at your behest nor did the stars glimmer because of your majesty. The world did not hold its breath when you entered a room. Cosmos were far greater than you could ever dream of being, and I had been so blind that my eyes could not see that. In many ways, I woke up, let the dream fade from my vision to view the reality it concealed. So much time was spent longing for you that my perspective was limited to black and white. For that tumultuous year, my grasp on reason was obscured by the brilliant light in my eyes. I let myself fall by the wayside, cried tears of lovelorn agony when left to my own devices, and wanted nothing more than to be yours. True, I could see the perfection in nature’s grand works of art, but to me, they were all tied to you. Separation was not a concept I could fathom, my mind so deeply besotted that your shadow fell over every surface. 

And then I woke up. 

Angels wept, hope shattered into a million shards, the earth stopped spinning for one terrified moment. Life was baffled by the shift in reality, by all the stars falling out of alignment as they tumbled back down to the world below. The Mirror of Understanding cracked, the truth so distorted that none could ever see things as they once were reflected on its visage again. The pages in the storybook reached their conclusion, leaving me with only The End instead of Happily Ever After. It was a goodbye, and alas, there was no beginning to follow it, only uncertainty hovering all around. So lost was I, without direction, unable to see the world as it had once been. Nothing held familiarity. For so long, all I had seen was you. Sun, sky, moon, shadow. Not one was without your mark. I’d written about them in relation to the feelings you gave me, and when at last, I had to cast them aside, I found myself alone in a world I did not know. That is the world I traverse now, direction eluding me as reason once had in the folly I knew to be love.

For now, I move through an unfamiliar landscape, seeking a path out of the endless labyrinth towards a future absent of your presence. The terrain is rugged, the sky overhead raining down on me at the darkest of moments, but still I persist. Far from the blissful Valhalla of newfound love I’ve ventured, past the jolt of emerging unprepared for reality’s bitter glare, I’m somewhere in between melancholic loneliness and wholehearted acceptance. A world without you still waits for me, and until my heart heals, I ache for another sunrise to warm this gelid void of night.