Dear beautiful mix of cause and effect,
Here’s something to ponder:
Letter (noun)
A character representing one or more of the sounds used in speech, any of the symbols of an alphabet.
As in “a” which could mean one, which could introduce identity but will never mean nothing.
A written, typed or printed communication, sent in an envelope by post or messenger.
As in “I love you”; in ink, in bee sting, in tea leaves.
As in رسالة/risala (Arabic): message.
Coincidence? That the word for the thing that is the very basis of all words also means message?
What if to serve my purpose here, I erase the part of the definition of letter that demands it be ink on paper?
As in messages on stone, think Christian, think tablet. As in bottle on ocean wave. As in carefully composed flute music played for all but meant for one.
Letters fascinate me. And I have seen many definitions but my new favourite (recency bias) would be one that my friend mentioned, wrapping light. In the letter that contained this definition, he wasn’t trying to describe my letters but rather what they did and felt like.
This is why even though I admit that the physicality of paper laboured upon—paper finally bearing coherent words after several I-swear-this-is-the-last crumpled pieces strewn across the floor—cannot be rivalled, I am doing this anyway.
Letters will not always contain light or be wrapped in paper but anything is better than a blank page when you are the receiver.
So, to redefine:
Letter (noun)
A piece of somebody, carefully chipped off, wrapped and given to somebody else, in the hope that they will make the receiver feel something.
Before anything else, I am, first, human.
I wondered if I must have an identity set in stone to begin this, beliefs I know will never be shaken, and traits that are certain to be with me even as I sand away. But there are two types of people: people who know they will evolve every single day whether they notice it or not, so long as they are in a society, and people who haven’t realized it just yet.
Lisa Olstein in Pain Studies says, one thing causes another (or seems to) around us, in us, all the time.
We exist in relation to other things. We are in a constant cosmic cycle of cause and effect and cause and effect and unaware of the ultimate cause. You are late because you pressed the snooze button, because you slept too late last night, because you wanted to read one more chapter, because your friend lent you the book only the day before because they found it by accident because because because…
Even an island is an island in something; of something. The inevitable and infinite association between things that exist—how they shape us and how we shape them—insists on itself. We are a set of footprints in the sand, backward and forward in time and space for as long as the earth spins.
Like etymology. Like how a new word isn’t worth much unless defined by other old words which are defined by other old words.
Or like the play of light.
Because light is the substance whereas darkness is only an absence. Where the light falls determines where the shadow forms.
When I listen to Screening Evaluation (Skit) on Joyner Lucas’ ADHD album, I imagine light dancing around in a white sterile room lit overhead with a bulb that floods. Such that at the end, when the therapist shows one of his darkest colours—what we often mistakenly call people’s true colours—the light is directly under his chin pointing upwards and little Joyner whose line of vision is straight ahead, sees a terrifying figure. Pinpoint eyes, an intimidating nose, and an illuminated mouth spitting dark words like “retard!” at him.
After human, I am a girl who, right now, believes in many things like the silence of the night, holding of hands, and chameleon skies. At the core of all these is my belief in kindness and love and the beautiful un-aloneness of the human experience. This is what I try to envelope.
Because I exist, I am influenced per second.
A falling-dominoes analogy will not work here. It will suggest that I know what particular thing sets off the cascading cycle of the influence of an identity. But maybe a paint-mixing analogy will suffice.
Mix paint: blue and red and as you stare at the purple, tell me that you know where the red ends and where the blue begins.
These letters, you, and I will colour each other such that it will be hard to discern where one ends and where the other begins.
But for now, let me.
And so, I begin.
Little Mystery Box
I envelope the last book I read, Pain Studies by Lisa Olstein and recommend Rio Romero’s song Nothing’s New. The photos above by Gideon are part of a collection that has held me spellbound in the past few days. You can find the rest of them here.
Love,
S.