A piece from the Vault

Random Thursdays (26.05.2023)

I had submitted my last assignment for year one last Thursday. With that I was done with year 1 BA Curating. Done, just like that. One random Thursday.

Yesterday, I went back to the office of the company I had a part time job at. Dropped off all the materials that needed to be returned. Just like that, it was done too. Not entirely perhaps because I had my exit call today and the last little itty bits need to still be worked out. But still, another random Thursday.

Next Thursday is my flight to Bangalore, another random Thursday. Albeit a very exhausting one.

The older I grow the more it all feels… absurdly random and stiflingly mundane. Too mundane. Not a bad thing, just an observation. I do not know where I am going with this. I do not know why I am writing this. Just wanted to write, maybe inspiration would eventually strike me.

While going through my drafts I came across this:

Dear Diary…

20.12.2022

At the end of 2022 I stand (or sit)- truly astounded that I am alive (in the way that I am) -typing away at my keyboard.

This entry is going to be sappy, dramatic, might even be grandiose (have been binge watching Grey’s Anatomy). Do pardon the (waves hands at the wind) everything really. Most of all, pardon the fact that I do not know what I am doing. This fear, probably the most terrifying feeling I have felt in a little while. More intimidating than terrifying perhaps. It is rather hard to tell what it is that I feel, exactly, down to the last minuscule detail.

It is scary though, this feeling of not being tethered to something. The ground feels… lost. Somewhere. It is there, but not beneath my feet.

BA Curating in Goldsmiths is joy. I have never felt this challenged and exhilarated. I have never been this happy. But it’s shocking how much dread I feel for me, the world and every small and big thing in between.

I have these moments. Single, sharp. They fill me up, wrap me tight, remind me that there is something there. Something almost akin to… joy. Something soft, peaceful. YES, THAT’S THE WORD! Peaceful. Almost makes me forget the time I cried at the bus stop during the very first week when I arrived in London. Or the time when I broke down just before class because I was proofreading the gaslighter’s friends’ work (I thought I would be okay). Or the time when I got hit by a bicyclist while coming back from central London and the doctor told me that my injury wasn’t impressive enough to be checked out (my head still hurts, it’s been two weeks, more actually). Almost makes me forget all the bad in the world. All the bad that has happened to me. Still happening to me.

And then I remember that my knees hurt. That breathing hurts, sometimes. Thinking feels like treading through sludge. My body, it hurts, all the time. Every single minute of every single day. I cannot believe that I have to weigh the cost vs benefit of going to a grocery store vs walking the 200m to my class. I did not envision my life to be this, where thinking feels like a chore. Where I really have to consider the effects of me walking that tiny distance (which by all accounts is a tiny distance) in all kinds of different ways. I AM 20, I DO NOT WANT TO NEED TO TAKE THE ELEVATOR BECAUSE MY KNEES HURT!

London is cold, so cold that it seeps into your bones. It is so so cold.

-incomplete-

It was incomplete and I don’t know where I was going with it. Probably was another random Thursday filled with feelings. (It was a Tuesday, but let’s not get stuck on details). I have been having this feeling quite a bit these days. A singular sharp moment when everything lights up. The world feels almost, just about, gloriously beautiful. A moment when I recognise that I have grown, become a different person. Someone who doesn’t hate herself as much as she did. Someone whose body didn’t cause as much rage as it used to. The world has become a lot more complex, binaries becoming a myth. I don’t know, it’s all so sappy isn’t it. Perhaps it’s a part of growing up. Maybe something larger. Or we are just inflating our worth for no other reason than the fact that we are inherently narcissistic.

I was reading through my previous writings. The clear ideas of disability and ability, non able bodied and able bodied. After a year of curating, the distinction isn’t so clear. It is a lot more pernicious and entangled. But I see where I was coming from. I was angry, oh so very angry. I still hold that anger, but also see space for other things.