volume one hundred and sixty-seven

joy is a form of radical self-care

Oct 18, 2024

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📍Written from my favourite library, The State Library of Victoria, in Naarm (Melbourne), while desperate for a sip of water, but security is around to tell you no. I’m not leaving because I do not want to lose my seat. Funny how I can sit all day at home and not even think of water when I should be.

All the chairs have been dragged to the other tables that are full of young families enjoying market treats. One empty table sits alone, but with nothing to sit on if I chose it. I glance around for steps, car space barriers or large rocks to make a seat. Across the road, in front of the building, I see a mound of grass where a group of three have taken a seat. The trees are casting a shadow thin enough to let the sun peep through the gum leaves playing on the ground.

I walk over carrying my vegan momo in one hand.

“Mild sauce okay?” he had asked. “Sure!” I replied. He must have detected my hesitation, my fear of asking what my other options were and being a bother. “And some chilli?” he added. “Yes, please!” I responded, relieved. “Everything is better with some chilli,” and he handed me the paper plate with olive green pockets of steaming deliciousness, coated in clay-coloured sauces marrying in the dish. Mild and chilli combining to be the perfect accompaniment.

I find a patch far enough away from the other group to not intrude, but still close enough to the bustling market I have just done several laps of. Today is a market visit with no agenda. A wrong tram the day before had resulted in my grocery shopping in a new neighbourhood. So today I need nothing. I am here for the fun of it. The sting on my forehead accustomed to winter days, and despite sunscreen, makes me choose a shadier spot than I would have liked because I forgot my hat. And by forgot, I mean, I tried one on, but it didn’t go with the outfit the way I had planned it to in my head, so I went without.

I stab the food and steam serpents out towards the sky, warning me not to bite yet. But they look too good to refuse and I coat as much of the sauce as I can and munch. Garlic, cilantro, minced greens and carrots all swirl on my tastebuds and the sauce hits the roof of my mouth with the perfect punch.

The hill I am sitting on is small and man-made. It curves and gives just enough elevation to be noticed. It is the kind I have known in parks my whole life. It is the exact shape and size that I convinced myself my entire childhood that they were whale graves. The mound that rounds larger at one end and then to a smaller section at the other is head to tail. I sit on the dead whale, thank it for the seat and the view, and pull out the book I was devouring while waiting and continue on. With a wooden fork in one hand, a book in the other, the sounds of squealing children, excited ducks, happy dogs, hungry orders and untiring salespeople mingle in the air behind me. Ahead, I stare out at the pond below.

No list.

No to-do.

My first purchase was a large gooey berry brownie. The second last one left in the display. I noticed she grabbed the smaller of the two though I said nothing. It was warm from the spring sun and soft in the paper bag as it was handed over. Its texture told me to eat it now, before it lost its square shape. So I did.

I lapped three different secondhand book stalls. I read every single title, on every single shelf. My eyes flickered over hundreds of them. There is just one book I want to find. You kept it on your bedside to refer to often. That’s what I learned after you were gone. Now I want to read it, too. I want that sense of adventure you had so bad, that I want to channel you in every possible way, and I want to carry you with me in every way I can too.

I know it was you who told me to compliment the woman’s hat, despite being very sure I had melted brownie on my lips when my words caused her to look at me. A crotched beauty, with squares of another colour wrapped like a crown around her head. She was so happy. So was I. It was a gorgeous hat and I made sure she knew from across the bustling crowd.

I didn’t find the book today.

I found a new ring, though.

Did he say it was agate? Carnelian? I forget. He told me it is good for everyday grounding. For everyday struggles. For the everyday alignment. Perfect.

As the sun rose higher, I came across a fresh juice stall. “One small Shine, please!” and the carrot, lemon, orange, turmeric and ginger concoction lasted a mere minute or two. My appointment reminder email for tomorrow told me to drink plenty of fluids today. That counted.

“You’re already shining!” she had told me as I ordered. “You’re wearing all the brightest colours!”

Wearing all black, she was shining too, but in a different way.

I walked up and down aisles of fresh produce that looked divine and I felt grateful I didn’t need any of them. The bag on my shoulder felt light with just the essentials. This market visit is for pleasure. I visited to chase my tongue and my nose and my eyes and my ears wherever they wanted to take me.

They led me to brief encounters with stall runners that left us both grinning. They led me to watch dogs say hello to each other over and over again. They led me to the food trucks where I thought “It’s close enough to lunchtime!” and I was happy to wait the “That will be twelve minutes, is that okay?” for the freshness of my momo.

“Absolutely! I have nowhere to be. I am in no rush!”

Lovely reader, head into the comments and tell me the last time you went out without a plan?

something i struggled with this week:

🌀 Gender. It’s a whole 33 years of unlearning and this past week I took a hit and I felt awful and untrue and icky and off and I couldn’t figure out why. Then it led to a breakthrough.

a blessing from this week:

💞 Long FaceTimes about everything and nothing. Secrets revealed and healed and hugged.

a goal for the coming week:

🍦 Get to the twenty-four-hour choc top place, that serves vegan options and let that be my plans for the day.

pics or it didn’t happen: