Do You See?
Nothing much on my mind to write. Besides, it’s not even noon here on a Saturday.
The rain and wind yesterday had brought down flowers on bouquets of leaves in every corner. I finally picked up a bunch and wore it on my head. Walking down to Polwarth Flats wasn’t difficult that way; it was funny. Anyone who saw me, slowed down to look and smile.
My Frida Kahlo moment!
And really, who cares.
I’m in my room, with raindrops on my lashes and my hair tangled as much as my life is. The window has whitened the other side with some sudden sunlight. These flowers, I found out, are rhododendrons. Purple, pink, white and some red — abundant on the campus right now. Apparently, late bloomers because of the longer cold weather this year in Scotland.
After this indulgence of course, I had to go look up Frida Kahlo‘s photographs, paintings and writings on the web. Here’s a poem she wrote:
I had swayed. Nothing else. But suddenly I knew
In the depth of my silence
He was following me. Like my shadow, blameless and light
In the night, a song sobbed…
The Indians lengthened, winding, through the alleys of the town.
A harp and a jacaranda were the music, and the smiling dark-skinned girls
Were the happiness
In the background, behind the “Zócalo,” the river shined
and darkened, like
the moments of my life.
He followed me.
I ended up crying, isolated in the porch of the parish church,
protected by my bolita shawl, drenched with my tears.
Reproduced in The Letters of Frida Kahlo: Cartas Apasionadas, ed. and trans. Martha Zamora, San Francisco: Chronicle Books, p. 9.
Yesterday, the window cleaners came into my apartment in the morning, without any prior intimation whatsoever. No door bell, no knocks. The only word I figured out to my questions was, “Aye!” They didn’t take more than 10 minutes. But hello, I could’ve been in the shower. Then, the cobweb that was forming outside my bedroom window is now gone, not sure if that’s a good thing.