The heat seeps right into my blood and wakes the youngest and oldest part of me. My home country is like no other. I find myself more eager every time I come back. I need to know the roots of my roots. This means investigating every corner of every old, stinky market. Every last dingy shop down Phahurat Road. I spent today drinking in every last sliver of Indian lace and jewel-toned ribbon, surrounded by cascades of fabrics, pleats, and plastic pearls, each dangling in ringlets you could unwind by the mile.
The cars never stop traffic-jamming. The plants never stop being green. The sky is blue most days. The sun is unforgiving all year round. Humidity gives the air its characteristic heaviness. Frigid coffee—the strongest I’ve had yet. My days are long. I walk, shop, and grow tired at 1 pm. My mother is the best shopper I know. She is also the first artist in my life. We walk the shaded corridors of Phahurat, cutting into every darkened block. My hand is on her shoulder. My eyes are on the wild explosion of fabrics, threads, and buttons. Memories of childhood Halloween outfits and assembly performance costumes. Memories of watching her craft my dreams to life. My mother picks a dozen spools of coloured thread just in case we need them. To me, she is a real creator.
I missed home more than I thought. There is something about being in the same place in a different body. I’m dramatic—It’s only been six months since I last visited, but your skin cells are replaced every few weeks1, and you lose close to 500 million skin cells every day.2 On the surface, I have become almost unrecognizable, yet the cells in your skeletal muscles take as long as 15 years to regenerate.3 So my body must at least remember Bangkok.
By remembering, I mean recalling how it feels to walk under the brightest afternoon sun, the feeling of water so cold it wakes the whole body, how it feels to sit in a car, weaving through traffic, how it feels to cross a busy street, head swivelling both ways for rogue motorcycles—we have no real traffic system, empty gaps in the road are the only green light. At times, I miss the chill of a colder wind. But most of the time, I forget about winter nights and eat as much flavorful food as I can.
I’m still very much jetlagged, sleeping early and waking even earlier, but I am so glad to be home. There is still much to ponder, and I look forward to sharing more with you soon.
-swan
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading <3
This is the pondering corner where I leave you something to think about; feel free to let me know your thoughts down below. x
ps. Thank you for all the support lately! I am excited to write more for you.
Pondering about: The crone archetype
The Crone – the ancient holy one. She holds the power of age and time, of retribution, and of transformation… Ancient, though not always aged, she may be beautiful, but she’s not pretty.
Ellen Lorenzi-Prince4
“The crone image represents wisdom, inner knowing, and intuition. She uses her wisdom as transformative justice. The crone helps us through transitions, drawing us inward during difficult times and bringing meaning to the shadow side of us that dies and comes to life again. The crone symbolizes the cycle of life (birth-life-death) that is present in the human experience and in all creation. As an archetype, the crone is a universal image that has existed throughout time and across cultures, and is visible in mythology and stories” 5
also consider this subversion of the crone archetype, written by
forWeschler CJ, Langer S, Fischer A, et al. Squalene and cholesterol in dust from Danish homes and daycare centers. Environmental Science and Technology. 2011; 45(9): 3872-3879. doi: 10.1021/es103894r
Milstone, LM. Epiderman desquamation. Journal of Dermatological Science. 2004 Dec 1; 3(36): 131-140. doi: 10.1016/j.jdermsci.2004.05.004
Spalding KL, Bhardwaj RD, Buchholz BA, et al. Retrospective birth dating of cells in humans. Cell. 2005 July 15; 1(122):133-143. doi: 10.1016/j.cell.2005.04.028
Thomason, S. P. (2006). The living spirit of the crone: Turning aging inside out. Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Fortress
excerpt from: The Crone Archetype: Women Reclaim Their Authentic Self by Resonating with Crone Images, written by: Joanne Sienko Ott, St. Catherine University
Ott, Joanne Sienko. (2011). The Crone Archetype: Women Reclaim Their Authentic Self by Resonating with Crone Images. Retrieved from Sophia, the St. Catherine University repository website: https://sophia.stkate.edu/ma_hhs/17
interesting - cell regeneration is often brought up in the context of trauma recovery and physical separation from past upsetting events. I love how you shed a different, nostalgic perspective on it! I never thought our cells would miss home, too.
thanks for the shoutout! welcome back! <3