I travel to many new places, i see new things, take photos and exchange stories. Rarely though do i buy much. I would rather have shells and seed pods as souvenirs One of my most precious possessions though, is my trusty pashmina. I bought it after months of admiring the colourful swirling patterned scarves adorning seemingly everyone in India’s neck. I wanted one. I arrived in the little town of Manali from ethereal Dharamsala in a rusty old minivan; i shared the backseat with a friendly Israeli guy who insisted that i listen to clubhouse music on his ipod with him. I was much too polite to refuse. It was late when we reached the mountain town and to my horror it was freezing. My sandal clad toes recoiled in shock, i’d barely worn socks in 5 months. I dont even think i had any! I took a room in a simple guesthouse and huddled up under some fluffy blankets. By morning the inside of the window panes had frozen and i struggled to remove myself from the cosy nest i’d created. Hunger and an itch to see this new frosty town beckoned me out. I joined a lovely Australian man i’d met on the bus; he had been working at the commonwealth games in Delhi, and we decided to spend the day together. We set off exploring, passing through Manali town we bought huge steaming hot puris with spicy sambar and chutney which we enjoyed on a little bench under the frosty sun. I knew that this town was renowned for having pashmina so i selected a shop and put my bartering hat on ready for business. I should note that 18 year old me was a lot bolder than 25 year old me- im not at all comfortable bartering anymore but i gt a real kick out of it back then. The shelves with laden with intricate patterns in magenta, turquoise, brilliant orange, sunshine yellow, ornate golden threads, purples, mossy greens, deep reds and everything else in between. After some deliberation i selected 2 and enlisted the help of the 2 Chinese ladies also shopping and the shop keeper; neither of whom had much opinion but in the end i chose a swirling Paisley pattern in yellow and blue, thick but not overly so. It's been with me all over the world, acting as a blanket, a sarong, a skirt, a headscarf, a towel, a pillow, a tablecloth, a throw for my bed in Kenya and a backdrop for some photography at a retreat in Cambodia. It's the first thing i pack actually. I feel safe when i wear it, protected, like having an old friend with me. As i hiked along the Wild Coast in South Africa, it was looped through my backpack containing all my worldy possessions. I do travel light but it was still quite heavy. I can still remember the sheer panic i felt when i realised it was no longer attached to my bag and scrambling back along the rocky path to find it. Thankfully i didn't have to search far, it was snagged on a thorny shrub waiting for me. I would have though; i’d have walked all the way back to the start for it. It's important to me, part of my history. Years later, when i reached San Francisco, a city i’d dreamed about for years, i stumbled upon an arts market down by the wharf. Amongst the trinkets and sculptures, a stall of travel photographs quickly caught my eye. The images were largely of India, of crowded marketplaces, crumbling buildings and piles of spices. Scenes that felt so very familiar to me. One image reeled me in- A padlock with and my scarf! I got out of control excited and had to find the photographer as i was even wearing my scarf at the time. I found him and told him my story and my love for said scarf, he wasn’t very interested but i didn’t care. It was exciting for me. Because it’s a part of my story. It held meaning for me, not him.
The reason I enjoy writing is because i love stories. I like to create a world using words, to paint a picture and transport people by using language. I often try to write fiction and it doesn’t flow, perhaps that’s because its my own stories that i should tell. I have an abundance to share so i think this blog will become a bit of a memoir. I’ve been reading the work of the incredible Maya Anegelou and she has inspired me, her words flow so beautifully, so vividly that i can picture her life as if i was right there with her. As i struggle with my reality, sometimes its nice to revisit my past and remember a very different life. I still have my scarf, it remains, almost 8 years on, bright and beautiful though a little frayed, attracting compliments. I wear it at least once a week and in its weathered threads i carry my past and all the events that its borne witness to. I may seem plain and dull at times, but i’ve been an adventurer and i still am. I’ve allowed anxiety to worm ins way under and skin and into my bloodstream, eliminating the carefree travel i once enjoyed. I miss that and i want it back. My scarf and i are not done yet. The scarf itself is not what i cherish but the memories it holds, the stories woven in its threads and the comfort its given me. I guess that's a life lesson: hold onto your story, own it and carry it with pride. No one else can know what fills the pages of your life but you, we all have things we regret, moments we’re ashamed of and times of despair but so does every story. What is there to tell about an easy life with no challenges or mistakes? Where are the fabled lessons and victories there? I struggle every day, i do things that i wish i didn't and that hurts my soul but this is just a chapter and it can end when i add a full stop and turn the page. I'm working on it, i just need the courage to begin the new tale.
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LittlebirdJenna. Free spirit, flower enthusiast, seeker of truths. Archives
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