Permanence, as a concept, eludes me. It has to do with nature, I think. Nothing magnificent is constant in such a state forever. Recently I hiked through the most awe-inspiring mountains I’d ever seen. The air was sweet; it lacked anything artificial. And nothing about the forests or mountains was unmovable.
Along one of the trails, there were signposts explaining the forest. It reminded me that I’m seeking to understand the animals, the air, the beauty, when the forest is not seeking to be understood. It doesn’t really matter if I hear the tree fall or not, it still falls, and I still go on with my day.
The little stand was strategically placed in front of trees that were growing on top of larger trunks. In large font it declared, ‘new growth in old places’! It immediately struck me as if I had read a poem. Here I was, rugs pulled out from under me (as it does, the earth must rotate at some point), on the precipice of leaving everything I’d ever known. Here I was being told that I am not stagnant.
I wasn’t sure how to take it. I am so solemn in regard to memory. Predictability is comforting like rewatching a movie where I know the ending. It is in my nature as a person and as a poet, which is perhaps the same thing. The friendships I hold close to me are sacred, loss is immeasurable. Impermanence is an enemy to my person and the subject of my poems.
The sign went on to explain the concept of a ‘second growth’. When a forest has been cleared for agriculture or timber, a secondary forest emerges when the trees grow again, on top of the older, more sturdy roots. Eventually the effects of the unnatural disturbances are no longer visible.
A second growth. A second growth. I’ve been turning this concept in mind like a bowling ball, reciting it like a prayer. The past, present, and future blur together like answer choices on a standardized test.
Permanence indeed. Everything changes faster than I’m able to write about/think about/live.
Five months ago my dream college rejected me and not my friends. Four months ago I was still crying about it. Two months ago I was rejected by a boy and in my head it became a punchline. One month ago an old friend who was too young died. Two years ago this same friend bought me a strawberry milkshake, and that night I smiled instead of sobbed. Today I am full of sorrow. Tomorrow I will finish editing an essay. Next week I will close my eyes and spin barefoot on a beach hoping that my home will remember me happy like this. Please remember me happy. In one month I will be in a city that does not recognize me. I’m sure I will find grief, joy, gum on the bottom of my shoes. It would be like this anywhere I could go.
Science says water has a memory, and I say that trees do too. Trees and people have a second growth because they remember what it is to start again.
Growth and change are not the same, but they do come hand in hand. I’ve been so scared of change: of losing my balance, of tumbling into a reality I can’t recognize. But a life without change is stagnant. It is a forest that hasn’t moved since the wreckage. I’ve begun to accept change as a precursor to growth instead of a hindrance to it.
Forests, mountains: none of it is unmovable. Nothing is permanent in nature, it is the nature of things to change. The growth is not always forwards, or upwards. It’s like people and signposts in forests: life’s patterns don’t seek to be explained.
I believe in a second growth where I build on every small joy and great tragedy. The forest does not forget, but it does go on. I won’t forget my roots, or the tree stump I’m building off of. One day I will stand tall; anchored by time but not chained to it. For this, I couldn’t tell you how many months or weeks it will take. I couldn’t tell you if I’m already there.
Time is mostly kind to me, and that is all I can ask for. Rivers change course, forests are cleared, mountains shift. Expectations are ripped from my grasp; my certainty doesn’t guarantee anyone else’s.
Yes, things change. Strawberry milkshakes are my favorite; they will forever make me smile and sip in silent memory. My friends will facetime me from their new apartment that I’m not a part of and it will make my day. I will accept myself; remember myself exactly as I am. Happy or not. The punchline is there’s no pattern to change, to rejection. There is so much goodness in my future, there is so much more love. It doesn’t mean I have to forget the love I’ve already had.
Hello readers! I hope you enjoyed that essay that I spent entirely too much time rewriting! I’m so happy to introduce you (or reintroduce you) to my newsletter; now titled ‘Depends on the Day.’ I spent a long time brainstorming a new title, a new direction for this publication. At the end, ‘Depends on the Day’ fit perfectly.
Firstly, in the literal sense. I’m going to be sending these out (consistently this time!) once a month. I want it to be an ‘experimental dumping ground’ of a sort. This particular essay I shared today isn’t terribly different than my normal content, but in the future, I’d like to experiment with different formats, styles, genres, and topics. Maybe I’ll post poetry I don’t want to post anywhere else, maybe I’ll try my hand at flash fiction or CNF. It depends on the day; but whatever it is, I hope you’ll love it.
Additionally, I felt the title really captured so much of my writing and feelings. In a past newsletter, I wrote, ‘I think the person I am depends on the day,’ and I still believe this to be true. I wanted the first essay of this rebranding to be about permanence, memory, change, and growth because it is the state I consistently find myself in. Because everything changes, everything depends on the day.
I’m aiming to have this section in every issue; in it I’ll link to some of my own recent writing I’ve had published, or something I’ve posted on Instagram. I’ll share any poems, essays, or music that’s inspired me or stuck with me recently.
my writing <3
Failing Gracefully , Unfiltered Magazine
Personal essay, here’s a little snippet/second: “I try, try, tried as I always did. And I was successful. But for the first time, that wasn’t enough.”
101 , poem on my Instagram :)
some of my fav reads
How I’m Saying Thank You by Lucy Somers, a poem on the Blue Marble Review
What If I’m Not Living my Ideal Life? by Sofía Aguilar, an essay on The Slush Pile
Dreamland by Chloé Williams, an essay on Chloé in Newsletter
songs
The Exit by Conan Gray
Stick Season by Noah Kahan
Little by Little by The Marias
TARDE by Nani
That’s all for today! Message me on Instagram or comment here if you want to talk about anything I said in today’s newsletter, I always love to hear it. Thank you so much for being here and for reading all my writing. I hope this week is so good to you; I hope there’s calls from friends, coffee runs, good music, and a lot of laughter. I’ll see you next month <3
-Nia Mahmud