I must admit it has been a few years since I have looked at the book I wanted to have written and maybe published before my dad passed away almost two years ago. My mind floats away, back to a time when everything was exciting and I knew I could still hear his voice. Now as I write about my late high school years and into my college years I feel as if I am transporting myself into an alternative universe.
There are times that are still freshly familiar in my mind. The moment my dad dropped me off at college, the first time walked into my dorm room. Reliving the past to write memoir is and experience barely tangible to write about. How does one write a memory on a page in such a way that another person wants to stop and savor that moment? We think about this in fiction as I have heard countless French professors tell the story of the Madeline cookie in Proust and how the taste of the cookie and tea brings back a vivid memory of the past. I remember recounting my own memories, a time where I was singing a song in English in the middle of a church in Bangladesh and the Bangladeshis were singing the same song in their native tongue. I cannot remember how they sung it differently, but if I thinking about the song in English, the Bengali language faintly chimes in the background as it is woven into the way I hear the song forever. I can remember what everyone's passionately smiling faces looked like and the warm evening air. The scent of curry gently wafted through to room. Pink flowers were passed out to many of the women and we tucked them behind our ears.
It is amazing how one moment of a memory can bring back so many sensations. As I journey through a manuscript I have not been working on, layers of memories I forgot to write down emerge. I never worked on something for so many years. I never knew that the outline of hints could lead me to even more vivid memories. Each read draws me closer to the time on the page. I long to step into it. Then I hear a crash!
My kids are playing with water again and I have to go and take care of it. The present time snaps me back into actual reality. I am glad these distractions exist, or I might be swallowed up by visions of the past. Being present is much more important and there will be no past later, if there is no present. Even if the crash startles me out of a dream-like state... even if I am cranky because I wanted to stay there just a little bit longer...there is room to go back later.
The beautiful part of the writer's dream-like universe is that one gets to create it. I travel to the page in brief ten minutes chunks, hours linked together, and moments where I sit and think. It is a capturing experience, but I get to beg to be let go, or even find myself forced free.
People ask me often when I find time to write. Do I ever sleep and I tell them it just happens when I can make it happen. I write in small windows of time and larger ones if I can. I go to bed by 10:00 most nights and wake up at 5:30. I guess you could say writing is a part of my routine, just like meals and brushing my teeth. You do not have to be locked away never to be disturbed to write, you just have to be willing to open and close the door to the writing universe.
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