May 2021. May is for new beginnings again. For fresh, gut-deep nostalgia for the places that were hard to arrive at, harder to leave. For serendipity and wanting to make a home out of a feeling. For the beginning of the rain. It’s for rambutan season. For releasing the shame of not knowing how to pronounce it at first but wanting to taste it still, stopping for a pronunciation lesson while peeling fruit and buying a bag of the lychee-like seed. For art gallery dates that are immediately Geminine slick and street art you need context and time lived on the land to understand. For loosening up, shedding the scent of the place you were in to be unafraid of where you are. To make good friends, for laughter, love, life, for that lovely little month of vibrancy, markets, house dogs barking as you sneak in, tlayudas, mezcal tasting to neo-soul or cumbia; for Oaxaca.
I moved from London with the kind of plan that, looking back at it, was flimsy, in the best and most unknowable way. I chose Oaxaca as my first place to land as I started my journey solo travelling long-term. From my research, Oaxaca was the state that had it all: nature in abundance, Afro-Mexican culture, coasts a drive away, fresh mountains, natural artisanal skin care stores, a reverence for and nearness to Indigenous populations, but most importantly, a city full of artists, to which I would belong. This postcard image is, unexpectedly, 3 years old to the day. Three years ago today, I would walk around the city center to run unnecessary errands and figure out whether I was still enjoying my decision to be here. I was and I wasn’t. It would be the first time I learn how necessary it is for mundanity to exist alongside excitement even while pursuing a dream. Whether on an artfully painted wall on my uphill walk home or in the quiet sanctum of a bookstore, seeking out magic realism, Oaxaca was an unspoken incantation. I’m here, be here, and it was instant relief, if I allowed it. I see now that the excitement has to wane just as it has to come bubbling back into your being, reminding you why you live life like this. The routines turned rituals sit lodged in my camera roll aside the blurred, unexpected pictures born out of fun. This is why I meet May with gratitude reserved for grandparents and elders. For me, it is a month that remembers. It makes you come back to memories for no reason other than to revel and say that you remember it, you lived it for a while.
About the Writer:
(she/her), Travel and Wellness WriterLocation: Wherever my bags are (as said by a nomad)
Gratitude to
for being the 3rd guest writer of the postcard series. When I invited her to be a guest she politely declined due to being in a season of rest and asked if I was open to considering her for a future month. That future month was May. Life as we know is unpredictable and I got sick. I had to push the release date back to an indefinite date. I appreciate her words, “take good care of yourself”. Although I only know her virtually, she exudes an aura of well-being that is inviting and encouraging. At the end of the year her and the fellow contributors will meet virtually to celebrate the postcards and the joy of writing.