What is it about the power that is untethered when we put on a mask, a costume? When we take on different identities, roles. When we can exist anonymously. How will we behave, act, interact? Infinitely curious, the dichotomy of dark and light, ‘evil’ or good. Throwing a mischievous prank, or handing out gifts and candy. Trick or treat, you never know. You stretch out your hand up towards these bizarre, terrifying, grinning or weeping or contorted masks, and your heart races, not knowing whether you’ll be hit next by a confetti bomb, or offered a bouquet of mimosa flowers. But regardless, you laugh. It’s all wondrously humoured. Bad or good fortune. It’s all one experience, one process. Giving and receiving as randomly as the spirit moves us. The playfulness and spontaneity and instinctive nature of it all. Paradoxes coexisting. Sublime.

Again, what is a Chinese restaurant? 
All this variety of food, flavours, textures, nostalgic tastes, the traditional ‘tacky’ outdated decor. The ‘cheapness’. In that ‘cheapness’, all the warmth and comfort and endearment of what? Home, house, building a house, a life, a survival. 

To feed people. 
With a grin. Eyes squinting. Rushing back and forth. 
Welcomed. Respected. Really, anyone can come. Come in. Welcome.
It’s a kind of safe haven. That you’ve created. 

Theres a sublime, beautiful honour in that. A kind of quiet, understated, undervalued heroism of mothers, of immigrants, of warriors. People on the margins. We protect and feed each other. 

One week, 7 days, of time passing at precisely the right speed: a beloved speed, a rhythm, pulse of being fully felt, savoured, honoured, enjoyed, treasured, explored, remembered. Hours were not counted, but felt. Felt with ample space in between to process, reflect, rest, recharge. And - felt as some version of ourselves we sincerely, honestly love being, are proud of, are seen, are heard, are ‘real’.

Simple things need reminders.

Write down things I love. Repeat them. Do them. Re-read, re-write. Muse at your scribbles. Discover that person, the puzzles and secrets they tuck in the most unexpected corners. Tell a story to someone who truly matters to you. Send a letter, make a call. Cook for someone. Listen to poetry. Read Chinese. Start the day always with eggs toast avocado coffee and the infinite possibilities of creativity in the alchemy of a stack of pancakes.

Laugh at how a greeting with a stranger suddenly moves you to tears.

There have been the countless inner discoveries and rediscoveries. Wandering into deep reflection. Fishing for ideas. Asking brave and beautiful questions. Asking random and silly questions. Repeating mantras. Repeating that which brings joy, truthful joy. Building rituals. Practicing rituals through repetition, practicing memory, honouring my own values and promises through each small act. Taking tiny steps. All these moments that have blessed me with much deeper peace and contentment than I have felt in a long time.

The growth isn’t linear. There are good days and bad days and a call for immense patience with oneself to keep at it.

But trust. Remind myself. Write things down. Remember. It’s okay to forget, it’s a practice. Review, repeat, re-practice. Keep at it. Trust in the rhythm of each moment. Dear dear.