Each morning I wake up, I work hard to not take it for granted that I am here. The realities of death and life are more poignant as I get older. I am so grateful for this moment of reflection. The fog of the morning beckons me to be still and sing praises to the Most High. I am in Prospect Park where the chirping of the birds and the gentle waves of the lake are soothing. The intermittent passing of ducks on the lake and birds flying low so that their wingtips touch the water leaves me in awe. And every time a bird flies close to me, so close that I can hear the fluttering of their wings, I feel even more blessed.
I finished Americanah today. I found myself crying and laughing throughout the last chapter. It ended beautifully. After closing the book, I began this fantasy, in my head, about having some way to write Chimimanda Ngozi Adichie, as if she were a good friend, to really encourage her to turn the book into a mini series. Of course Lupita Nyong’o would star in it and it would be set in Nigeria, with flashbacks. I still haven’t determined who would play the other roles…but Chimamanda may want to have a say in it.
I mourned the end of the book and felt as if I was no longer in the Unites States…Jamaica felt real to me. The heat today of course helped. It felt like the Caribbean.
Home is indeed calling.
It’s 4:30 in the morning, and the rain is falling outside. I hear the rain and also the sound of the fan that’s on to offset the humidity.
It’s humid and it smells humid.
There is (or was) a lunar eclipse but due to all the clouds — the heavy rain ladened clouds, I can’t see the “blood moon” as they call it. I can feel it though. I think my jasmine plant that sits on my beside table can feel it too; its only flower bud actually opened today. The smell of the flower is strong, sweet and alluring.
Jasmine, blood moon and humidity. Very different realities to experience but at the same time, the combo just works for me, especially while accompanied by the rain.