kintsugi

the art of repair

i once wrote that i am envious of those who can write about their pain so gracefully. whether it is in the form of melancholic songs or prose, i have always been jealous of those who are able to derive beauty from a place of pain. the japanese word for it is kintsugi 金継ぎ the art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer mixed with gold.

i saw it on full on display when i read chanel miller’s memoir. i wept and wept as she learned to make a home of a body that no longer felt like hers. i saw it when my friend W survived the unimaginable. an entire lifetime of being condemned for his existence. now tattoos graze his warm skin as evidence that he is now free.

i proceed to write because i want the same to happen to me. i want to derive some meaning from a senseless event. i am not bargaining for a different fate or a life that is absent of pain for that is far too idealistic. i know pain is often the consequence of living a life with full intensity, and to live with your guard up is the equivalent to never having lived at all.

i am praying for a gift. the ability to create gracefully. that no matter what terrible thing happens to me, i can always make it beautiful.