Date: April 27, 2021

Place: Chorao Island, Goa

I am across from another home right now. One that I made mine for a short period of five years. But five years at my age feels like a lot.


Today, I wasn't allowed to enter this home.


I could view it from the outside. Be teased by the peace inside it. Peace that never felt peaceful during those years. But today, looking at it from a distance, I remember them to be peaceful.


Will I feel this way about my current home too? Some day?


I sit by the river. Think about being on the other side. When I swam on the other side of this water. And today I can only view it as the other shore. The one that requires me to wade through depths that I cannot walk, and maybe can only swim, across.


Should I swim?


And immerse myself in the memories of this home? Do I have the courage to do so? Perhaps one day.


The water was silent and calm. I sat down on the rocks and closed my eyes. Just listening to the waves crash against the rocky shore. But as I get carried into the stillness, the wind picks speed. An unrest begins. Do I bring this everywhere I go? Do the river and air reflect my presence in this space? Do they know too?


The wind refuses to settle. It rushes the water closer to me. The rocks under my feet become hotter and unbearable. An airplane passes above me, adding to the commotion. It's done.


I've brought my city with me. I should leave. I got my feet wet but they dried up too soon.

Date: October 27, 2021

Place: Quitula, Goa

6. This work began when we met on a bridge connecting two shores. This bridge was and remained a temporary home – a house we rent. Not with money, but with time perhaps?

We sought to get our feet wet and feel the grains of sand between our toes – to carve a home with our toes in the sand.