And an avalanche
I read this essay on a live yesterday and wanted to get it out in the world in written form. Above is also the silent movie called Avalanche that’ll be on TikTok later.
When I say blankets , what are the connotations that you automatically form? Do you think of a mild winter or a chilly summer or do you dare push yourself to the extremes of frost. I was raised in a city that wasn’t blessed with frequent blankets of snow yet I have a friends whose eyebrows would tilt inward like a seesaw at the thought of a single flake. And when I picture blankets, at this moment, I picture a roaring fire and an open book but without the cruel season. Ask me again on a darker day and I would likely see a burial.
On the topic of burials, did you know my blanket weighs 25 pounds? And that isn’t a metaphor, it’s a straight fact. The weight seems to be the only thing that keeps the anxiety quiet. Or should I say, quiet enough to sleep through. Because we can all sleep through a dance party depending on how far away it is. On the days the panic finds me, when you say blanket, I would say saviour. When I first landed in New Zealand even with the jet lag I struggled to sleep without the weight. I guess it’s just funny what things become. Strange what we can’t live without once we’ve had it.
If we stay in the physical realm of blankets it’s miraculous how personal such a small thing is. I still possess the baby blanket my grandmother made me and it remains the softest blanket that’s ever touched my skin. It is also contradictory because it’s the lightest too even by a babies standards. Nearing St Paddy’s day, the day of my grandmothers passing, I find blankets becoming a memory. The sort of nostalgia that encourages tears to form but in no way is this a sad missing because I believe people leave when they’re supposed to even if we don’t understand why.
For the first year, the missing made me overwhelmingly upset. I found myself in blankets more than I was out of them. During that period, blankets were a safe haven until they became a prison I struggled to escape from. It is the old cliche of struggling to get out of bed depressed but the old cliche still remains a truthful symptom where the blankets become the bear traps we will happily step onto.
I am simply fascinated by the stories linked to a single possession. How an everyday object can hold so much living. How a blanket can make you hungry or make you sad depending on the season and the state of your heart. How lunch nears and I think of the blanket of puff pastry I could peel from the pie to help the steam escape. I think of the books I could be reading under one. The naps I could be taking. The capes we made as children and I am suddenly laughing to myself about that one time as children we got stuck up a tree. Which seems impossible now but clearly isn’t. And we learnt that day that it isn’t the cape that makes you fly but the belief. When I say blankets it is the beliefs you currently possess that alter your definition. It all changes based on whether you believe in tomorrow.
Now one thing I can say for certain, pull tight your blankets, I heard it’s going to be a harsh season.
There is a dope band called blanket and they have that thrash around in your living room and feel something vibe. That smash a glass with an old baseball bat in slow motion feeling. And sometimes we need that. So if you need it, here it is.