17/10/24

It's 6 PM, and finally, my period arrived today at 4 PM. A wave of relief washes over me after a whole week of PMS. Today, I can feel the fatigue deep in my body—a certain heaviness weighing me down. But I understand that this is my body’s rhythm, a cycle I need to listen to. Today, I’ll go home and make a warm pot of goji berries, date, shiitake and ginger chicken soup, taking the time to truly pamper myself, wrapping myself in care, love, and tenderness. I’ll brew a pot of rose tea and dance beneath the full moon, honouring this moment of quiet self-nurturing.

As I sit here, I find myself gazing at these photographs. I just finished Henry Horenstein’s Animalia, and as I looked at the images of animals, I realised something had shifted in me.

I wasn’t empathising, which I normally do all the time; I was simply observing. There was a strange absence of emotion, yet I felt fully immersed and present. It was as if I had become an outsider, watching from afar—detached, but entirely aware.

It wasn’t just because they were animals or because I am an outsider. I remember, in Zimbabwe, when that young impala wandered off alone, destined to be prey. We couldn’t intervene. Nature's laws are brutal, leaving me with a deep sense of helplessness and sorrow. In moments like these, empathy overwhelms me, and even now, tears well up just thinking about it.

I wonder—how do I navigate the countless possibilities in this world while finding a balance between my emotions and a more detached perspective? It’s not about choosing between the full spectrum of human emotions or the forces of nature, but rather about how I can experience the world deeply without being consumed by empathy. Sometimes, emotion binds me, making me more vulnerable to the weight of the world. Yet, without it, I may gain clarity and distance, but risk losing truly meaningful connections.

How do I strike that balance? How do I embrace both the intensity of experience and the wisdom of distance?