Square Suns

Miss you Ida

Hi,

I’ve been thinking about the structures I impose on reality (on platforms, systems, memory itself) and where that impulse began.

As a child, I drew square suns. I had a yellow toy box with an orange lid covered in shitty drawings of square suns. Sometimes with clouds. Sometimes with clouds behind the sun.

I reflect a lot on who I’ve been and who I am as a person. More recently, tracing back the meaning behind some of my profound childhood memories. Correlations emerged in how I internalize them.

I had a lot of freedom back then. Too much, I think. Bored? I didn’t understand it then, but I weep for my younger self now. No, I was lonely.

In the Philippines we had Ida; I was closest with her. She taught me how to clean, how to cook things, Tagalog. She also disciplined me harder than pops. Ida was made to leave after only a couple of years with us after contracting tuberculosis. I don’t remember feeling anything when she left. I can’t recall crying or even being confused. The same thing happened when my grandfather died and my cousin was crying on my shoulder. It’s strange because I’ve been so empathetic and emotional these last decades. But back then, the grief had nowhere to land. I lost the bit of structure at home, what safety I had. The only nurture I can recall. The impact of that deficiency was so evident in my teens, 20s, 30s, today.

There must be a causal relationship between this experience and my dream with the white room. No foundation, no limits, no security, no rules. The ultimate un-held space. I’m too afraid to experience it myself, so I just watch the blob encircle me. I watch me watch the blob, this polymorphous mass waiting for purpose. Waiting for shape, rules, definition. Containment. Structure. Square suns.

I hope this message finds you.