‘To lose one’s identity’ suggests that There must have been – a sort of ownership Of self; a belonging to a band, a race, A brand; a categorized face constantly Possessed, framed to play a part on a screen. The more one thinks, the boundaries shrink to Reveal: that being labeled worsens The sense of one, a blurring with the background, A need to not keep an identity.
I spent the final days of 2014 in a quaint hideaway nestled in the Swiss Alps without internet and any human contact except for my darling husband who packed his gaming console (just in case of an avalanche). Okay, let’s boil that down to no human contact.
I experienced the first snow of this winter season. It’s late but not sorry, with about 30 cms falling overnight. The quiet that descends upon the land after a heavy snowfall is riveting. I especially and exclusively like the snow up in the mountains. It adds to the natural beauty of the landscape and doesn’t get in the way of ordinary life like it does in the city. I have found myself cursing it too many times, either because I am under-dressed to meet it or I am just not of this climate and sadly for me it’s usually both. But I will gladly admit that it is my preferred form of precipitation. Monsoons are awe-inspiring and I have loved them all my life but a snowfall is so serene and seemingly subtle. Something magical to me.
The silhouettes of the mountainsides stand starkly in the moonlight, that shadows most of the Milky Way but does not seem to stifle the burst from the human hearts littered across the landscape; tiny galaxies of warmth and wonder in their own right. I see from my vantage a vista of possibilities and choices.
The New arrived with bangs that echoed across valleys; burst forth from pressurised packaging to light up the present momentarily; as a metaphor on our times – evasive but coloured by hope and happiness.
I was better prepared for 2015 in 2014 I suppose. I am here on the first Monday of the year (which doesn’t mean anything if you’re living in an Islamic nation) just worried. There is no other word. 2015 has started and we are 5 days in. Or should I be say we have 360 to go? When I went through my blog report that the kind people at WordPress had created, for me and for you, on a generic layout with personalised information; making all of us siblings in one grand gesture of comity- I realize that 360 is actually not a great number at all. Is that enough time to do all I want to do this year? And that, ladies and gentlemen, brought me to the most crucial question of all: What DO I want to do this year?
The seven days of type-less pondering to reconnect with my Inner Voice. What do I have to show for it: a new face? A fresh start?
I am humbled by my ineptitude to grasp all my attitudes in less than a fortnight. The cloud has settled low again.
I am thankfully not drawing a blank or a frown on all fronts. I have signed up for Blogging 101 and my Poetry course starts next week. I have not yet been to as far as serious things go.
I do, however, foresee a series of posts wherein I try to tease out my real needs.
In this way maybe my words will finally begin to soothe me, with their seemingly subtle ways. Like Magic; not unlike the first snow. To bring to light the hidden colours.
2015 brings with it many possibilities. At this moment I don’t have a specific goal to reach. That is a first in my life. I can’t remember a time when I started a year not knowing what I must accomplish by its end. This is new and it's scary.