Chapter 1
Is this thing on?
Washi tape. The delicate yet durable, often printed or colorful, Japanese tape used in paper crafts. I remembered to grab a roll before I left, eager to tape train tickets and tactile mementos into a fresh Moleskine, newly freed from its shrink wrap. I leave it to the floral green adhesive and this platform to hold the memories of this adventure, hence, Washi Tape. Welcome.
The interior of the Etihad Airways flight from JFK to Abu Dhabi is refreshingly vintage. There are no neon lights. There are two-pronged headphone outlets, an inaudible PA system, and tan fabric seats holding more stains than I dare to think about. Thankfully, no one occupies the middle seat. The paneer is impressive; the cheese sandwich is not. The recline is generous, and the tray table is well positioned to angle my computer and write the first installment of what I hope becomes a weekly habit.
In my three-month stint as an unemployed Park Slope resident, I romanticized the idea of a writing practice and yet, could only conjure half-finished assignments for my therapist (that I requested her to give me). Whether it’s the double shot of espresso I drank before boarding or the sheer thirst for adventure, words have flown more freely at thirty-seven thousand feet than they have since Halloween.
This format feels wildly unfamiliar. I deactivated my Instagram some weeks ago, and the farther I travel from JFK the less I miss it. A blog felt like a suitable alternative, even though I’ve been reluctant to share my writing with anyone except teachers and individual recipients of handwritten cards. There’s a first for everything.
With that, this is where you can find some unfinished, albeit indulgent, thoughts, fears, memories, and moments of joy for the next six(ish) months. I’m en route to Delhi and finishing this piece in Terminal A of the Abu Dhabi airport (newly completed, eerily cavernous, expectedly commercialized, and sparsely populated). After a three hour layover and a bitter flat white, I’ll board a shorter flight to Delhi. Sunday, I head north to Rishikesh for a yoga teacher training. After a month, I meet Emma, Kelsi, and Charlie in Singapore. How lucky are we?
Very, it seems. Two days before I boarded this flight, I lay on my bedroom floor with dear friends and a sprawl of unpacked clothing. In my final weeks, I’ve learned to cherish the quiet companionship of friends: sitting in silence, stopping by just because you’re in the neighborhood, giving little gifts, running errands, sleeping over (platonically), rotting.
I’ve felt lucky to have this time, time that emerged as a byproduct of what one might call unlucky circumstances. Perhaps it’s better described as gratitude, as I think luck diminishes our own agency. Good and bad luck will inevitably greet me in the next few months. However the events unfold, I am grateful for whatever may come of it.
To those at home, I love you and I hope to be back on your floor(s) soon. To my fellow travelers, I cannot wait to see you.
More/ better photos to come.
Unsolicited Opinions
Off the Farm bars: I’ve found these at exactly two bodegas in New York, a grocery store in Idaho, and nowhere else. A true Claire food (seed or vegetable laden, vaguely healthy). Eat one at a time, as they have a dangerous amount of fiber.
LibGen and EPUBs: I was yesterday years old when I learned you can email EPUB files directly to your Kindle. They simply download with a wifi connection. No. Cord. Required.
Past Lives: I found this boring?? And like a parody of an A24 film? But it wasn’t??
P.S. Congratulations to my dearest friends from college who predicted the establishment of a lifestyle blog at least 3 years ago. Well played.