Dear my nameless, faceless Ba

Dear my nameless, faceless Ba,

Can you hear me?

I haven’t spoken to you, or written, in a year. Life feels hard again. What is it about this time of year?

I wish I had known you, your name, your face. In my mind you’re stood still, your sari is catching the breeze. The hem of your skirt licks the dust as you turn away.

I wonder if you’re proud of me. Of my siblings, my cousins, my aunt, my father? What would you make of us? What would you think of this mess we made?

You seem to hold part of that missing piece for me. I’m not sure which piece it is.

I often speak to you, I’ve no idea if you hear me. But it feels good. It feels good to look up into that enormous sky flecked with starlings and I wonder if you once looked up at the same piece of sky when you walked this earth.

– Saffron

Another Autumn

Another Autumn and another new city. This time it’s with with Xavier and it feels… hard.

I’ve been quiet for a long time, almost a whole year: new jobs, new homes and new expectations have rolled by. The leaves are turning already and the sun is dipping lower every evening. I have that gentle autumn feeling again, it feels glowy and warm, but as ominous as it always feels for me.

This autumn I’m carrying Xavier (and myself). So although it feels heavier, it’s a different kind of weight. My partner’s baggage isn’t just heavy, it’s slippery, impossible to cling onto. One moment I think I have it firmly on my shoulders and the next it’s slipped down my back and it’s slithering away from me. It’s taken Xiaver a long time to recognise he has a problem, but the problem has a habit of slipping right back into place.

So, I’m going to watch the leaves change, as I do every year, and as they drop I will think of Saffron. The Saffron that wandered amongst the changing trees and wrote these entries 3 years ago never believed I would get here. If Saffron could outstand the hurricane that forced its way through her, then I surely can carry this weight.

– Saffron

Soaking up sadness

I’ve been doing really well recently, hence the lack of posts from Saffron. This autumn is different. I’ve been working hard to break the cycle of sadness I usually find myself in- especially now that I’m jobless and study-less. Looking for a job has turned into a full-time job itself. I’m building routines and rythyms to help keep my head above water. And, overall, it’s working. It’s actually working. I feel lighter, my sides feel sewn together and everything feels brighter.

But, obviously nothing is fool proof, and I’m only human. My efforts aren’t totally air tight. I find that the slimy and twisted roots that push themselves into the recesses of my family are harder to avoid. When Dad brought home his depression tonight and let those slimy roots slither out into the open air, my sides started to open again. It’s difficult not to absorb the guilt, or the sadness, or the fury- whichever one Dad invites home- because it’s Dad.

– Saffron

Another autumn

So I’ve passed the biggest milestone I’ve set myself. The Master’s is finished and I’m moved back home. So what now? Literally, what now?

I’m sitting in the park as I write, as I always do this time of year. The leaves are changing from green to gold, as they always do, and the air is turning cool, as it always does. And like last year, I feel myself filling with excitement. The unknown that lies ahead isn’t quite as terrifying as I thought it might be. I’m feeling daring. I want to keep pushing myself.

The dark figure hasn’t shown himself for a while. His long lanky limbs and blurred face don’t hover behind me as they used to. He doesn’t sit quietly in my bedroom waiting for me to wake. And I think I may even be missing him.

I can feel the pull back to the city and I’m sure I’ll be commuting again, and life will speed up as it always does. But for now, I want to enjoy the changing colours of the leaves and the warm afternoon sun before autumn gives way to the cold and damp of winter.

Scratching into paper

I must have been thinking about the dark figure over the past few days, images of him bent over, hovering or simply standing behind me keep flashing across my mind. I had an itching feeling this evening that made me grab my biros and my notepad. I had an overwhelming urge to scratch that dark profile into the paper, tearing across his face and puncturing his stomach.

The process was actually very therapeutic. It was as if I had freed part of him from me. The version of him that spilled onto the paper was no longer fixed in the dark web of my mind. I almost expected him to leap from the page itself and dive out the window, plunging into the street below.

Here is one of my scratchings.

– Saffron

April

I haven’t had a dark thought in months. Sometimes I wonder whether the dark figure is lonely without my darkness. At the moment I spend my days reading and writing; Derrida, Foucault and Bourdieu. It’s almost cliché.

I think the running has really helped. There is something inherently mine about it. I run by the river where the pink morning sky hangs behind the April blossom. I often think back to my teens, when I’d climb the hill to the cemetery at home, swing my legs on the bench and let the tears roll down my cheeks, wishing them to empty me of my emptiness.

For now I can’t seem to cry. No matter how much I want to. I can’t seem to indulge myself in my darkness the way I could.

I’m sure there’s a story in here somewhere, but it doesn’t quite feel ready yet.

– Saffron

Running

I’m sure I’ve already written a post entitled Running.. but here goes..

I started running again recently (literally, not metaphorically). I used to run a lot when I was younger, I was good at it (literally and metaphorically). I loved the surge of adrenaline it filled me with and the feeling of space in my hips as my legs worked in the sprint. I could have gone professional by the time I was 17. But I didn’t have the physical or emotional capacity. The frequent visits of the dark figure and a toxic boyfriend drained the energy from me. But I was very good at running metaphorically from my problems, running from the dark figure, running from the sadness of home.

So now, in these old halls of this old university, I can feel my body crying to run again. To feel the adrenaline pump through my veins and the space in my hips. My studies are hard, I’ve never worked so hard in my life. And all I want to do is run.

I run almost every other morning now. I love getting out before my housemates, feeling the cold against my skin, seeing my breath against the pink sky. And when I run, I think about that dark figure, I wonder where he is and what he’s doing. I think of my mother, and I think of those dark and difficult three years while I was working and commuting. My mind fills and fills until I think it might burst, and so I run.

– Saffron

November reflections

I’ve been thinking back over the last two years, in which I spent a lot of time writing on The Secret Life of Saffron. With the distance and the space I have from the darkness now, it’s easier to turn towards it and take it front on.

I remember the pain of trying of hold myself together. The sheer effort felt more tiring than the darkness itself. I’d drag myself around, at work, at home, in the city. It felt like I was clutching at my very flesh as it loosened and fell apart in lumps around me. I’d often see these pieces of flesh around the office at work and home, lying in the kitchen sink, wobbling on the train, waiting at the doorstep. They glistened, their redness burning into my eyes. I would hurriedly try to quickly scoop them up and push them back into my sides and stomach as I went about, hoping no one noticed that I was falling apart.

Now, my sides and my stomach feel more solid than they have done in two years. From this November vantage point, the view looks clearer up ahead. 

– Saffron

New beginnings in autumn

So, I’ve moved to a new city and abandoned the life of trains and pre-dawn starts. It’s amazing.

My studies are incredible. I’m surrounded  by old stone walls and creaking wooden staircases. Huge lecture theatres fill with hundreds of students. And it’s autumn, my favourite time of year. The leaves are burning orange and brown. They fall in flurries over the cobbled roads and narrow streets. 

I can’t quite believe how different my life is now. I refused to consider returning to study before. Let alone start over in a new city. But I’m here, and I feel alive. 

– Saffron

Thanks to my therapist

I had my final session with my therapist today.  The most consistent thing about these last two years has been seeing T every Thursday. So unsurprisingly, I’m feeling sad.

It was a strange feeling, walking up to that big black door today. I thought about how it felt the first time I pressed that buzzer. Everything was impossibly dark and heavy then. Even my own limbs felt heavy. But today, I felt clear and light. Sad, but light.

T did more than just help me find my light. She showed me I could conquer my own mountains, I can brighten the darkness and I can find strength in the lowest of places. And all she did was hear me.

I felt like a ghost when we first started our sessions. I felt translucent: like I was watching us from a distance or from deep inside myself. After a while it was the only place in the world where I felt solid. Between those four walls, with the soft beige furnishings and the candles on the mantle piece, was a safe zone.

And now I feel strong, I feel joy, I feel optimism. I feel myself, solidly and completely myself. Without the translucency or the ghostliness. I feel whole. For that, I am forever grateful.

– Saffron