Monthly Archives: May 2017

Postcards from Punakaiki 

A postcard is a small picture with a letter on the back. Short, about a place, personal, but not hidden. My postcards are a little longer, I tend to ramble, I use my own pictures, and they’re usually a little sad cause I’m feeling lonely or lost.

These are my Postcards from Punakaiki

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Things are missing. We lose them or leave them behind. People, places, objects. We become absent, from others, from ourselves.

Here I am again. Finding this space like encountering an old empty house and opening the door to find… emptiness. The windows are all broken, a light breeze floats through, paint is peeling and no one’s been here for a while. What was I expecting? I’ve been gone. 

I will have to rebuild things, again. Clean house, fix the windows, build a desk, a place to work. 

Not only have I been absent, but somehow it seems like the absence started from within me. I haven’t been writing, which, in some ways, feels like I haven’t been thinking. 

I’ve felt it occasionally, trying to edge back into my life, the spark of an idea like a hot ball of electricity right at the top of my spine. But I’m not here, not ready to receive it, and it cools, subsides, dissolves, and I’m left to hope that it somehow collects inside of me so I can find it later. 

Where have I been? Nowhere special. Present mostly. Just soaking it in, chasing the easy highs, a little wind in the face, an open summit, music. 

Here I am again. Ready? Willing. Because I know it is my responsibility to be here, to do work, to not wait for the inspiration, to not rely upon it. So I rebuild, like tearing apart my childhood room, moving the bed and the dresser and finding a new poster and feeling reborn. A fresh space, or at the least a fresh perspective. 

Because it’s kind of like waking up, returning from the absence. I get to rediscover, reinvent. I forgot some things, which is good, learning is good but forgetting is important too. 

I think that’s it. For whatever reason it needs to be said, established, that I’m “back”. Reclaiming this space and trying, like my childhood self, to make it reflect me a little better. This time my bed will face this way, my books can go here, and I’ve got a big, thick, wooden table for my new projects. 

It already feels better here, feels good to be back. The guilt from my absence abating. Perhaps that’s it, why I need to declare, to make peace with my absence, to cut down all the expectations and apprehensions that took hold while I was gone, to make a start, and prove to myself that it doesn’t need to be perfect, or beautiful, or have a meaning, or an end.