my body is trying to tell me something. it has been whispering for at least a day now, and now though i have tried to hear it out before whispers turn to shouts, i can tell from the pressure in my arms that i have not been successful

i worry, of course, that it might be some kind of ill-times sickness. i remember an anti-virus meditation that i saved on a youtube playlist a while back. even at my most woo-woo i wouldn’t say that’s a silver bullet, but i swear at my least hippie, it cleared enough icky feelings that i have to at least kind of rely on it for days like this

i’ve been telling myself since yesterday that i’ll carve out 20 minutes for it at some point. i have not yet arrived at that point 

maybe it’ll happen when i make my way to the ocean. i’m close enough now that it seems likely. perhaps the water alone will feed whichever cells need nurturing. perhaps the sun will quench them. after all, it could just be some kind of exhaustion

i use that word very metaphorically of course because around town i have seen people who have a real claim to exhaustion. to the experience of exhaustion. and i know that as tired as i have ever been, as spent as i ever thought my body or spirit were, i know in my bones i cannot say exhausted

i especially cannot say that as i sit at a cute and boogie beachside caffe, sipping on an overpriced latte that i can indulge in the audacity of calling delicious. that i can pronounce my favorite, even though there are times it is inconsistent in its delivery 

today is one of those times. as the overflowing mug hits the table, and drips of coffee escape from underneath the bird art created in its foam, i know right away that it isn’t going to hit the spot the way that anything at this price point better hit the spot

i take a second sip, telling myself it’s probably in my head. that the temperature is hot enough. the roast is mild enough. that maybe this is the way i always use to enjoy it but time has distorted my experience of it. or could it be that whatever my body is going through has started to impact my taste. i basically tell myself everything i can to avoid doing the one thing i really shouldn’t do, but feel i absolutely want to do, which is to ask for someone to remake my drink

i think of all the ways i’m particular about things. how i am always torn between thinking it’s convenient that i know that i appreciate life at a very specific volume, and thinking it’s an obstacle when i’m imposing that volume on anyone else

i take another sip. still, everything about it is unappealing. what if i wait until it looses all heat and then add ice to it? perhaps that could be a simple solve to a small problem that is now taking up entirely too much space in my mind and in my notebook

i realize that i’m forcing myself to pretend to enjoy it, and so i wait for the line at the counter to die down until i obnoxiously waddle over, proverbial tail between my legs, and apologetically ask for a fresh cup  

without hesitating, the guy on the other side says sure and inputs the request. does he empathize with my alleged plight or is he so desensitized to wastefulness and outrageousness that this is the least obnoxious version?

my new mug arrives. as quickly as i knew the first one wasn’t for me, this second one welcomes me home. i’m in some modern day fairytale of that character with the porridge and i think it was three bears

everything about this week feels slightly fairytale-ish actually. just the fact that i’m here is some kind of classical magic

like my trip to new york, this one falls on the 10th anniversary of that special time in my life. i wasn’t meant to come to los angeles back then, but when my sister chose to go, i couldn’t resist the time with her

and so, as i sip on our favorite coffee, one table away from where i think i remember taking one of our favorite pictures together, i acutely miss her presence this time

i think back on all the trips we had the chances to take together and how much our relationship has evolved through them — sometimes devolved even. but considering where we are now, i can see the universe’s wisdom in putting us through those fires, forging a stronger bond out of what was already reinforced steel… taking it through a series of stress tests that i appreciate surviving together

i take another sip of my perfectly made drink and think on all the other fairytale elements that brought me here. there’s the logistics, first of all, which are not insignificant: the girl math that somehow divided by the artists’ math, which multiplied by chance and miraculously expanded a dwindling double digit bank account and stretched it beyond the wingspan of the 747 that brought me here. stretched it wide enough that even if this coffee hadn’t turned up perfect, i could have comforted myself with the promise of tomorrow, or the day after, knowing i could come back for another. a few months ago, i could not. and a few weeks from now i’m not sure that i will be able to again. but there is no space in this fairytale for thinking on anything but the present right now

i think beyond the logistics to the significance of this trip. i think of how the last time i was here, which was the first time in a long time, was for my grandfather’s funeral. and that even though there was a disagreement, even in his paperwork, of if he passed at 96 or 103, i was still shocked by the news. still torn apart by the sound of sadness escaping his children’s throats as they searched for words to comfort each other, each juggling their own feelings with the others, especially with their matriarch’s who after seventy some years of sharing everything with him, would have to now begin forging new habits to fill a void none of us can understand

and still despite all the sadness, and the reality check that even when you delude yourself into thinking that someone might indeed live forever, we were able to look just beyond our collective grief to actually celebrate his life 

and here i am, seven months later, back in town this time to celebrate a cousin’s love. and what a miracle that is ever, let alone in the story of a couple that came together in the midst of a pandemic. who when the world called for isolation, they gravitated towards each other, sheltering within each other’s hearts and making home, together

and what a serendipitous addendum to the fairytale that as i had finalized the dates of my travel, another cousin announced another wedding, to fall within the time of my trip

as i think of the chance of it all, i feel all the life i need return to every limb. health pulsing from my heart

where i come from, the ceremony that binds two people together is literally called the writing of the book

what sweet sweet fairytale is it that allows me to witness these first pages.