A few days ago I was making noodles for me and mum during lunch after my classes; in the kitchen waited for me tiny peeled garlic, cleaned scallions, and just everything I needed to make the meal. The catch is that my mum hates peeling small, wet, garlic. She did it anyway, and quite a bit of it as well. Eight-ish cloves.

The recipe called for barely any and yet I found a way to use up all prepared. It felt a bit like feasting on a bowl of her love. Juice running down my elbow, staining my hands with its lasting scent, crushed and minced into my very being. I crushed it into my sauce and sautéed it into the noodles. Despite the excessive use of garlic, it was never too garlicky.

Love, I realise, is truly a healing factor; to reduce its possibility to romantic love is to do love injustice. Talking to a childhood friend about life’s struggles, calling a cousin about your day, reaching out to just anyone who cares, that is receiving love. And it can heal just as much as if not more than any romantic relationship.

Anytime I’ve needed a quick fix of love and care and gentleness, I’ve turned to my mother. In the way she treats me I am reminded of what I deserve, and somehow it makes loving myself easier. Some days, I feel crappy and disgusting and utterly useless, and then I see garlic peeled for me and suddenly I remember that I’m not all that bad.

In that way, it is my very recent discovery how much the right kind of love and care from the right person can completely change how you view yourself.

As it goes, August here has been kind of gloomy because it either rains or the Sun tries barbecue on us poor souls. I’ve found myself feeling more anxious and scared to do things I wouldn’t have thought twice about before. This includes reading thrillers too. Because why am I petrified at the thought of ‘Never Lie’ by Freida McFadden??

It currently sits behind a row of books on my TBR shelf, just so I don’t have to look at it. On second thought, buying it on kindle would have been a better idea, but I was at a store and god forbid I was trying to boycott the billionaire for a day.

I kind of wish I could force feed myself the book to both face my fears and see for myself if I’m perhaps making a big deal of nothing.

But if talking to mother dear reminded me of anything, I don’t need to make myself jump into something I am not comfortable doing just because. So, I’ll try to be gentler with myself and give me some time to face my fears gradually.

Even as times feel weird and pushing myself into uncomfortable areas seems like the only option, I want to take time to go easy and relax and focus on what truly matters over venturing into territories that will be just fine left alone. I hope this can be a reminder for you to seek whatever help you require and give yourself some leeway before experimenting and stepping out into the world again.

Love,

janx

[late post of a draft I wrote a whileee ago :0]