ordinary days

31 Jul, 2026

for those of us who live close to the equator, july is the month of turning: the last dregs of summer are ushered off into colder parts of the world, and we contend with damper days ahead.

in preparation for the rainy season, i made a to-do list at the end of june. it feels a bit unhinged and silly to have "get screened for upcoming endoscopy" and "apply to new jobs" next to "play through some of nine sols" and "write a blogpost," but such is life.

suffice to say nothing on the aforementioned list has lingered on my person more than the unplanned in-betweens.

take, for example, my bi-annual dentist appointment at the top of the agenda: well and good to get out of the way, but afterwards, i went to see mâ and 'kong. just a routine food offering at their resting place. it was quiet and windy and i got to ask them for guidance whenever they were free to give it.

a few nights after that, i dreamt of grandpa. in the dream, he'd gone on a trip to some scenic place (flashes of a lake wide and clear enough to reflect the mountains and surrounding cattail, a still and deep blue smeared across the horizon). he hadn't returned for long enough that we started calling to ask when he was coming home. when the line finally connected us, 'kong told me through the phone that it was very beautiful where he was, and not to worry. he wasn't planning on being back for a while.

it was a lovely answer to a question i could never bring myself to ask.

the next week, i went to see grandpa's cousin to pay my respects at his wife's wake. he's full of charm and always has been; they're great friends, and i can barely look him in the eye without seeing gramps in his place. towards the end, his wife had told him she wanted to be neighbors with mâ if she could. that way "whatever came next wouldn't be lonely." we left a bit after hearing that. i had my face turned to the ceiling and only let myself cry once we were out of sight.

the following morning, i put in an order for a telecaster. it's red and beautiful and i have no idea when i'm ever going to find the time to practice playing; but if it exists near me i figure i'll have to stop coming up with excuses not to learn how. holding its weight in my arms is the absolute scariest thing.

as unprepared as i am, this wasn't an entirely impulsive purchase. last month i got a text about an old account i'd opened at fifteen to save for everything: instruments and accessories and lessons and even a fund for the commute there— the account was turning a decade old and the bank was calling me in to update the details for it.

just for a moment, i'd leapt through time. i wasn't in my work clothes but my old high school uniform, the sleeves worn and half an inch too short. my hair was thicker, my hands less weathered, the ease with which i moved restored. the world was smaller¹ and i could traverse it in but a single sprint. i was scarcely afraid of anything. i didn't know what to fear.

now i'm scared of everything. i wish i wasn't, but i am. the list helps trick me into thinking things are feasible. we are hurtling rapidly into the vast possibility of august, and somehow i've managed to tick off every item on it, so maybe there's less i should worry about. i'll try.