mussoorie

in january last year i spent a few months living in india. halfway through my stay i did a little trip by myself to a hill station called mussoorie. on the balcony just outside of my hotel room was one of those take-your-breath-away-and-don’t-even-bother-trying-because-photos-will-never-do-this-justice type of views. snow capped himalayas became my mealtime backdrop – or frontdrop depending on which way i faced – for the ten day writing trip i was embarking on.

 

himalayas at dusk from mussoorie... stolen photo

i had travelled from stiflingly hot somewhere-or-other, but quickly discovered that mussoorie was actually antarctica. it was below zero for most of my stay and there was no hot water or heater in my room. with no other option in sight i was left to become friends with a heavy, scratchy grey blanket called ‘best blanket ever’. it didn’t keep me particularly warm, but i discovered that if i distracted myself with its overwhelming itchiness and general uncomfortability i was able to forget about the cold for short periods of time. smart.

i almost didn’t get to meet ‘best blanket ever’. on a freezing night at close to midnight i was in a taxi (read: car that i was told was a taxi but with no distinguishable features to suggest this was true) completely lost in mussoorie. my helpful driver had been doing laps for about half an hour. we had phoned my hotel several times so my driver could get directions and each time he got off the phone he would smile at me excitedly and tell me he was sure he knew where to go now... it would just cost a few extra dollars. this must have happened half a dozen times before i realised that he had no idea where he was and we were just doing laps of a dark, unknown little town in the middle of nowhere.

i started to panic and insisted that he take me to the hotel immediately. he got flustered and realised the gig was up. before i knew what was happening he had pulled to the side of the road and was saying “you hop out here and find it yourself”.

pitch black. midnight. below zero degrees. single white female. strange small town that i wasn’t even sure was mussoorie at that stage.

from the back of the taxi i prayed/begged for my hotel to magically appear. i was terrified and my flustered driver was fed up. he wanted to be rid of me so he could go home. i started to protest in the midst of my praying and begging, but he insisted that there was nothing more he could do to help me.

then this happened.

i looked out my window and saw a neon arrow pointing to a neon sign. my hotel was less than twenty metres from my door.

unexplainable.

i hightailed it from the taxi as quickly as i could, realising that my driver was looking less and less like a taxi driver with each passing second. i got led to my room/freezer and curled up on my bed/concrete slab. i wrapped myself up in ‘best blanket ever’ and even though ‘best blanket ever’ should have been called ‘worst blanket ever’ i loved him. i let him embrace me with his scratchy grey ridiculousness and found that i was pretty peaceful. i'm always amazed at how quickly you can find yourself 'found' after being lost.

i’ve been living out of a car for two weeks now touring up the qld coast with my friend joy in support of my book and our folk cd. most days i find myself in unfamiliar places with little knowledge of what will unfold in my day. it has been uncomfortable more than once, and ridiculous more than twice... but i’m finding that i always end up where i need to be, doing what i need to be doing... and that being found brings a peace and contentment that continues to surpass my understanding.

may your days be filled with unexpected signs pointing you to scratchy, uncomfortable situations that, despite their ridiculousness, somehow bring you comfort and peace... i feel like that’s mostly what life is all about.

words

it has taken me 679 days to remember the last word she said to me.

679 days for the pain of loss to subside just enough for my heart to remember. it was a simple word, that elusive last word, and i don’t know how i could possibly have forgotten it, but i did. it was a word i had heard her utter thousands of times throughout the days of my life. maybe that’s why i forgot it... because to remember would be a constant reminder that i’d never hear her say the word again.

in the course of my life sometimes the word was directed at me, sometimes at others. sometimes i heard her say the word from another room and i would lean into the wall so i could hear the other words surrounding this word. it was a carefully chosen word. a defining word. a word given in love.

i still hear the word spoken aloud almost every day. but not by her. i like how it sounds when others say it, but the word is a bit like a hug to me i guess... it feels the best when it comes from the one who loves you the most.

the last time she said the word she was a little bit panicked. she wanted me close to her. she needed to know i was near. there was an urgency in her voice that just about ripped my heart right out of my chest. the simple word beckoned me right into the centre of her pain... but because the word was spoken i could share the pain too. there was something lovely about lying near to her, staring and dreaming and loving in the aftermath of the word.

when i was younger (and sometimes when i was not younger) she occasionally said the word to me with frustration written all over her face, but these days i don’t remember too many of those times. sometimes she said it with so much love that my heart would bow down low at her feet, willing to follow any instruction that followed the simple word from her lips. sometimes the word was buried happily in a sentence, as though it was swimming in a pond of kindness and laughter... on those occasions i would jump into the conversation and let the kindness and laughter wash away whatever silliness i had been holding onto for the day. sometimes the word fell on deaf ears, where because of my preoccupation with some inane activity i deemed more important, i pretended to not hear it. these days i’d do just about anything to hear the word spoken by her just one more time.

the last word my mum said to me before she died was my name.

it was a small word, that last word she said to me, but a word that i loved to hear her say. it was the word that she gave to me the day i was born. a word dreamed up before i even took a breath. this small word is who i am. it is the word that introduces me to the world. it is the one i have always known, and the one i will carry with me for all the days of my life. i guess it's a bit like my mum in that regard.