The wait for badminton

Another year gone by. Shiny new racquets sitting in the cupboard never fail to remind me that I need to take charge of my life. Take a chance they (the racquets, not the voices in my head) scream. We are lonesome. Badminton is tailor made for our times – a socially distanced sport.

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Walking in the park

Some things pass you by because you didn’t try hard enough. At the surface it would seem like that (there are always underlying factors) but some of it is true. While waiting for a partner last year the universe intervened (thanks pandemic). I will have to be a quiet athlete (thank you for the term Susan Cain), if I have to be fitter! Next time I will definitely play a sport but when the time comes I talk myself out of it like the sleepy me does when the alarm beeps every morning at 515 AM. I always tell myself I will run/cycle/dance but I end up just walking.

I love my solo walks. There was a time when I couldn’t walk much so I feel truly joyful when I take a walk around the park or the forested roads beyond my neighbourhood and catch the moonrise, sunrise or sunset or just sit under the inky skies. They are one of the few things that make me feel alive (and connected to the world at large) these days and, of course, drinking copious amounts of coffee.

The days are longer now, summer is here, and the spring was virtually nonexistent. It is the oddest things we hold on to what connects us to our childhood selves. Badminton is just one of the many. The things we enjoyed as children and could perhaps enjoy as an adult, refresh some memories to help navigate the uncertain present.

The racquets continue to sit on the shelf gathering dust. The time for playing badminton is long gone the adult me thought but the kids in my neighbourhood beg to differ. You see, they don’t quite believe in the rules we so easily accept. They truly understand the meaning of carpe diem, and continue to play badminton seizing opportunities when there is no wind during hot windy days, and cool breezy evenings during this unprecedented summer. This is the stuff that optimism is made of, and which self help books can’t really teach. The pandemic was there last year too, and maybe we are getting better at dealing with our disappointments. Sometimes keeping our expectations in check has to be done when survival is the endgame.

I’m (not) like a bird

 I listened to the Nelly Furtado song I’m Like A Bird Nick Hornby writes about in his book 31 Songs sometime ago and I quite liked it. It spoke to me and for the rhythm it has I use it when I go on walks and need to escape the real world. The video was simple and there was no profanity or vulgarity anywhere which would be unreal in this day and age.

The song talks about not knowing where her home or soul is. Those are weighty matters considering most of the time I don’t even know where my phone is. Since it remains mostly in silent mode and sometimes finding it is actually a bother. Like today when the phone and I were in the same room and I still had trouble finding it. Before you ask me, no I don’t keep it in vibration mode well because it vibrates and that dilutes the effect of silence! I’m digressing but I do know where my home is. And beyond the noise of constant chatter of my mind is my soul, I think, now that I prefer silence I have some answers. If not, I am in real trouble.

Beckoning me home

Far from the madding crowd I will go.

Away from the whispers of not being enough.

Away from the life I had never wanted in the first place
 chaotic, hectic and competitive.

To a place where peace reigns supreme.
Where people are merry.

Where roses bloom.
Where creepers and vines grow over buildings.

Where there’s freshness in the air
 even if the spring has long gone.

Where nobody thinks I’m lonely or alone ,
when I ‘m taking a walk by myself.
Where taking a walk outside is more than a walk, 
a solitary pleasure.

Where idyllic lands roll by 
when I’m out and about on my bicycle.

Where I can sit outside for hours 
 watching the moon shine with all its glory,
 stars twinkling as if they have a mischievous agenda.

Where the sweet wind billowing my clothes
 is an everyday occurrence.

Where smiling costs nothing at all 
just moving your face muscles in gay abandon.

Ah, I have found that place 
and it’s calling out to me,
ready to wash me in its warm embrace.

It’s good old home.