Freshwater & Citrus
A five week reflection over mango & sparkling water
Waking up to the aroma of freshwater and citrus was a surprise.
I recall moments before drifting off to sleep, accidentally spilling a small amount of my latest obsession: Pellegrino tangerine and wild strawberry sparkling water. Instead of interrupting my evening relaxation to clean it up, I’d optimistically hoped that natural processes would take care of the spill. However, my optimism proved to be unfounded, as the spill persisted when I awoke approximately six hours later.
Now infused into my surroundings, gracing my walls, linen, and coffee table with its presence, this minor inconvenience has shifted my plans for the first Sunday spent at home in weeks, now dedicated to a quiet deep clean.
I’ve already begun listening to my preferred playlist for these moments, with Nathy Peluso’s “La Presa” setting the perfect tone as I type this and savor bites from the fresh bowl of mango by my side, preparing me for the day ahead.
In recent weeks, cleaning has oddly become somewhat therapeutic for me, stepping into the role of my go-to outlet instead of writing. It's both a blessing and a curse that life has enveloped me to such an extent that I haven't felt the urge to document it, hence why it's been about a month since my last letter; and to be completely honest, even today, the desire to write eludes me. However, I can't shake off the concern that if I don't, I'll continue drifting through weeks filled with guarded conversations with both old friends and new acquaintances.
During my time offline, I've found myself immersed in the city, surrounded by the lingering fragrance of vanilla and spice from a recent perfume indulgence, while keeping a pocketful of ginger candy close at hand. Amidst the constant flow of small talk, a realm that my inherently introverted nature sometimes deems unnecessary, conversations range from local anecdotes to traffic updates and current events. Occasionally, dialogue drifts toward life beyond the city limits.
I lightly touch on my writing endeavors, though I briefly skim over the recent lull. However, I do share anecdotes about my readers and the uplifting comments I revisit every other night for a sense of reassurance, highlighting the conversations and moments of inspiration that bring joy to my documentation. Additionally, I express my recent interest in gardening, learning (or relearning) Portuguese, and delve into a book that has captivated me for the past two weeks, drawing parallels between its themes and the essence of my own writing (stay tuned for my upcoming review).
“It seems to be a natural consequence of life unfolding, because despite the myriad opportunities available, I haven’t felt compelled to preserve…”
I find myself freely engaging in almost any topic, and surprisingly, it doesn’t weigh me down. However, despite this newfound ease, I yearn to offer a fitting explanation for why it's been about a month since my last letter. Equally, I wish I could recall every minuscule detail of the events you’ve missed, but alas, I cannot.
It seems to be a natural consequence of life unfolding, because despite the myriad opportunities available, I haven’t felt compelled to preserve specific details, capture particular conversations, or revisit certain sentiments. It’s challenging for me to articulate my feelings about this, as there's a sense of detachment, yet also a hint of dread.
As a writer, my life and its experiences often feel like chapters waiting to be penned. Yet, as a person, my life is simply that—life, brimming with its diverse array of emotions and everyday moments that don’t always find their way onto the pages of storytelling. I blend these two realms because I am fortunate to possess that ability. However, lately, I’ve found myself more attuned to my personal self rather than my writer self.
I’ve begun to ponder— when does an artist realize they’ve created their final piece of art? Is it the moment they pick up the pen, or the moment they lay it down for the last time? Is that choice entirely theirs to make, an act of deliberate conclusion, or does life, with its unpredictable twists, ultimately determine the closing chapter of their creative journey?
For five weeks, I unintentionally halted my writing, without any deliberate decision to do so. It wasn’t until yesterday, as June began its reign, that I realized the absence of reflections throughout May—no thoughts documented, nor voice notes transcribed; it simply slipped by, witnessed only by those present in the moment.
While my own life may not have encountered anything noteworthy, there are a few writers who have captivated my attention. Their words flow as effortlessly as the scent of well, freshwater and citrus—pure, vital, and refreshing.
What better way to reflect on my mental journey than to share the words that have occupied my thoughts?
Recent Reads:
The Infantilization of Kind People by
“To survive is to erase softness, a word I think many people feel excluded from for this very reason. Survival is perhaps the example we were given with the name of ‘success’. It is (sometimes) betraying your nature to get ahead, or (often) surrendering in ways you wouldn’t if you felt the world would forgive you for it. It is not deeply interested in the kind, I would say. In asking kind people to suppress that side of themselves, to finally become the way everyone else has, to change the way they wish to lead or present, there is a desire to bring them into survival mode. This is how kindness gets called ‘childish’ and this is worth every resistance in the world.”
“I ask for nothing without asserting my acceptance of all blessings and all challenges that come with it. So give me the rain and the sun so I can enjoy the rainbow I prayed for. That is one of my keys to living a harmonious life. Welcoming the rain. For rain is so many things.”
I’m Just Having Fun With It by
“Later this week, I’ll be in France on a trip I have been dreaming on for over three years. If you asked me a week ago, I was too stuck in my head to even attempt envisioning what this dream could look like. In the aftermath of spending far too long subscribed to the “cool girl” act, I was sitting in a pool of uncomfortable feelings. I hadn’t even known I was leaving myself behind over and over again. I was mourning. But I have the audacity to pick myself up and move because I love this life and myself too much to let this moment pass me.”
Anyway, I'm not sure if this week’s letter can be considered an official entry, but I wanted you to hear my voice—and for me to be able to hear yours if needed. Things have been calm on my end, and hopefully in our next letter, we can explore them together.
For now, let’s focus on starting this new month with a sense of reflection. June marks the close of the first half of the year and the awakening of the second half—how much has changed over the last six months, and how have those changes influenced your path? Consider what might happen if you allow life to unfold naturally, but exercise discretion. Recognize when life presents opportunities, and when it's offering protection.
I’ll be back in two weeks to let you know what I’ve found out.
Best,
S
I'm so happy to find you here. Reading this made me want to go back to your archives and read everything you've ever written. Keep it up! At your pace, of course. We'll be here when you return.
beautiful, as ever. I especially love the question about when an artist knows they have created their last work.
The rest is always welcomed and a fertile space for new fruits and new ways of approaching self and creations. Soo excited to sit with whatever is to come, this brief entry was already so full.