1.
Tragedy struck nearby recently, when an acquaintance from school posted online that her apartment caught fire and all of her belongings were suddenly gone. This was in Brooklyn, days after Los Angeles was still recovering from its own enormous and unfathomable fire tragedy. It made me realize how difficult it must be to return home when it’s no longer what it once was, when everything is lost and covered in ash. The return to the remains of your home.
Seeing photos of the before and after of the Los Angeles fires also put me in disbelief that something could be gone so quickly. Childhood homes, with all their memories attached, gone in split seconds. Buildings from hundreds of years ago, lush gardens with roses and vines. “We grabbed our jackets and keys as we ran out of the building, not knowing that we would be unable to return,” the acquaintance in Brooklyn posted in a fundraiser, but I imagine it to be the voice of many.
Last Thursday, I arrived at work with news that the galleries across the street from us had a fire in the middle of the night. The windows had shattered, crowds gathered at the scene with shock. The windows that once displayed art, now broken and dark. I knew both owners of the two galleries affected. One of them was immediately on the phone with insurance companies at a cafe nearby. We offered our space, as did other galleries, but nothing will fix the emotional damage experienced when losing art or a business you’ve worked so hard to create. I kept my eye on the building, and walked out a couple times throughout my work day to see if there was anything I could do. Men in hazmat suits wrapped the salvageable art. Then, in a strange moment of coincidence, I recognized a journalist across the street. “Annie?” I asked and she nodded. She must have been recognized before because she didn’t flinch. I told her what I knew of the fire and that I had both email addresses of the gallery owners. (Here’s the article she wrote).
2.
It was really striking to see an image circulating online showing thousands of Palestinians walking back to their homes, a long crowd making its way toward a destroyed city. Returning to your home that’s been bombed and reduced to rubble, what was once a livable space, now dust.
When I think of this idea of ‘the return,’ it’s also in the case of forceful return, to a place one might not call home anymore. Immigrants being forcefully exiled under Trump's regime return to lands they wanted to leave. I can’t imagine being forced to leave the place you’ve worked so hard to make a home, especially the great dream of America, only to find yourself back in an old homeland where there is perhaps less of you that you recognize. Being called ‘illegal,’ when the parameters to becoming legal aren’t clear or easy. And in that sense, we’re also all experiencing a return to a president we had nearly ten years ago, but this time with a more sinister feeling attached to his presidency, and a little more fear and uncertainty as to what’s next. Also, with him, comes the return to an old way of thinking, old ideologies that negate all the progress we made on gender, immigration, climate, and so much more. An awful revert back to a fascist ideology.
It really feels like all my human rights are being taken away one by one and thrown into the flames of a bonfire.
3.
I recently went to see a play called Tongues. Four actors, all representing their mother tongues, perform and narrate their experiences with language. The theater becomes a space to reflect on home, culture, and what it means to belong somewhere. In one scene, there are two zones – Mother Tongue and English – and the actors are queued to switch the language they’re speaking at random points, while telling one story. In another scene, a performer walks us through his hometown of Nepal. He makes us believe we’re there too, as he points out “there’s my palace, and – oh here’s my mom! Mama… here’s the best Momos in Nepal. And here are my friends!” I imagined the orange light of temples beaming. After a while, he starts to reflect. “We were so much happier there, me and my friends. I could eat those Momos all day. Now all we do is stress and work…” He grapples with this duality of being from Nepal, when he’s called New York his home for the last ten years. The performance had so many other wonderful, funny, and emotional moments relating to language and belonging. It ended with a silent acknowledgment of the current presidency, noting that we have to tell these stories of duality and difference, now more than ever.
4.
In lighter news, I found out that The Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine is celebrating the return of the Great Organ! I wrote about the organ in an article on art and religion, specifically at this cathedral (link here). I wrote: “In 2019, the cathedral suffered a fire and renovations are ongoing—the Great Organ, the largest of the six cathedral organs, was in its final stages of repair, set to be played for the first time in five years. I caught a glimpse of some of its disjointed pipes spread out on the floor in another corner of the cathedral.” So next week, after many repairs, the Great Organ will be played again. That’s a bit of hope I can hold on to: after the fire, there will be music again.
Other things:
-My friend Elio just started a fantastic newsletter! In the first post, they review soap around the city. I urge you to subscribe.
-Have you noticed I have a new logo? Skylar Kaster designed it! If you are looking for a new logo or illustration, I highly recommend her. Here is her website.