Momentum
In physics, we learn that momentum (p) = mass (m) x velocity (v), and that a thing in motion stays in motion, unless it meets an external force. If we try and apply that formula to life’s momentum, there is just too much external force to reckon with. Every time I get something going, it picks up momentum… and it takes a tonne of energy to keep it going. Just feels easier to do something else.
Another way to think about it is that we are the external force that’s trying to disrupt life’s momentum. Life’s momentum continuously sweeps us along its tides and we keep trying to grab at branches, swim against the current, or even try and grab at someone else’s oar. Each time, we might manage to slow things down and get some stuff done for ourselves, but we get swept up over and over again.
Can’t stop?
This year, life’s momentum has been particularly harsh. For the first time in a while, I think many of us felt like we were actually riding the same storm(s) together—the slow tide of Covid-19 doing its world tour, which was so successful that it’s considering a repeat performance.
Movements and revolutions are similar to forces of nature. Though they can be triggered by individuals, they can never be controlled by any individual. They’re necessary in life’s momentum to enable change. They pull all of us along and as that happens, we have to research and learn fast to figure out if there are different currents in play, and where each might lead. We might need to change our own movements, match a current, or fight them. We have to consider how difficult all this might be.
And to top it off, all this happens while we’re still trying to maintain our own course and trajectory, dragging our families along our paths. We’re so tired that we don’t even have time or energy to recognise that our family members have their individual courses and they would want us to come along with them too.
It’s exhausting.
Holidays
When I was a teenager, my family holidayed in New Zealand and we tried white water rafting. The guide (there was one on each raft), in teaching us all the safety measures before we headed off, threw one of us into the water. It was mainly to show us how we could pull each other back up into the raft if that should happen. We laughed when we watched that person get hoisted up by their life vest’s shoulders and thrown back into the raft.
I remember experiencing the first rapids and was quietly frightened by the power of nature. As it was a guided tourist attraction, the route was a fairly moderate one, safe, of course, and perfect as it went from smaller rapids to slightly bigger ones. There was a rope that ran round the perimeter of the raft which we were all able to hold on to from our positions.
I was petite for my age, really light, and I remember being thrown around in the rapids until I couldn’t hold on to the rope. But luckily, I was positioned in one of the safer spots since I was one of the youngest in the group, and was easily thrown into the middle of the raft instead of going overboard.
It was exhilarating.
Those of us who sat at the edges were given paddles and had to try to work together to navigate the raft. And being complete beginners, as you can imagine, when the rapids were aggressive, surviving—holding on—became the primary concern. Not losing a paddle was probably the second concern. Navigation became inconsequential.
Prioritise it
While we’re being thrown around by life’s momentum, it’s good to be reminded that surviving is and should be the priority. It’s ok to accept that we’ve been swept off by life’s momentum and it’s ok to admit that we’ve only done enough to survive during these last months.
It’s also important to think of taking a break, a holiday, while life’s momentum keeps dragging us along, so that we may regroup and energise for our next attempt at navigating our own lives again.
Are you planning a staycation? Or some sort of travel? Have you picked up a new hobby?
Well, I’m trying my hand at gardening, hoping that the calm of the plants will rub off. I now have a little tomato nursery reminding me that nature has its own rhythm, and if I respect it—while nurturing the little plants—I’ll be able to watch them flourish.
I’ll leave you with a short story of mine called ‘Nine Lives’, about the importance of friendship.
This story was first published in an anthology called Eat, and then later republished in A Suspicious Collection.
Nine Lives
My cat, Chaney, was the only one who knew or cared that I was dead. Even I didn’t care in the beginning. I just lay on my bed thinking that the naysayers were right after all, that the world had come to an end. Imagine my surprise when I got up and out of bed – probably on the third day, though I can’t ever be sure, what with my brains already decomposing – to discover that I was physically dead.
Yes, I have since discovered that the dead have emotions. It’s a bummer, but we don’t really stop being who we are after we die. I don’t know about those who pass over to the other side, or if there is another side, or heaven or hell. All I know is that I died and I am still here and I do not see other dead people around.
I was always a recluse, and Chaney was and still is my best friend. I found her in a ditch when she was barely a week old, all wet and with her eyes still closed. I heard her soft mewing while I was walking home from work one day and I knew that she was calling to me. Her first two nights were spent at the vet’s on a drip, and it saved her life and cost me three hundred dollars. Well, that’s not important anymore as Chaney proved to be much more than a pet for me. She is my one true companion, and now, my saviour. Funny how the roles have reversed.
Anyway, the night I died was a cool summer night. I had left all the windows opened, thinking that the breeze felt like silk, wrapping around my body. I came home from work at around six, as usual, fed Chaney while I ate my own dinner, and I watched some TV before bed. I don’t know what happened and I guess I’ll never find out, but I just didn’t wake up the next morning. I remember either thinking or dreaming that the world had ended, with little remorse or sadness.
When I came to, I heard Chaney mewing really loudly, and my neighbours were shouting for her to stop. Thinking that I had missed her feed, I tried to bolt out of bed, but I ended up floating straight across the room. I saw my body for the first time, lying on the bed, being consumed by maggots and covered in flies. I read that it doesn’t take long for an exposed body to decompose, and I guess I had been dead for a few days. Though I was shocked and horrified at the look of my own body, it was an odd feeling, as without a body, you don’t really react. It just became a fact that I got over really quickly. I was more concerned that Chaney had not been fed yet.
Chaney was fine. With the window open, she was able to go out daily to an old lady that lives in the block across the road from us who puts out boiled fish for her. She probably eats better there, and I was glad. I was sad though, as I was stuck in my apartment with only my rotting corpse for company. I couldn’t do anything with myself other than float around and wonder how to get out.
I guess because the windows were opened, the smell wasn’t a problem, and none of my neighbours were really bothered that they had not seen me in a while. Why should they when I didn’t speak to them when I was alive. I tried leaving the apartment, but there seemed to be some kind of a barrier. Reaching through the open window just felt like the window was shut. I tested the edge of every wall in my apartment and it was the same. I was stuck.
***
It was probably two or three months later – I don’t know, you kinda lose track of time when you’re dead – when I noticed that Chaney had got bigger. She would still come to the apartment every day and mew loudly, but no one took any notice. Otherwise, she would get on with her routine of sleeping in her favourite spots, scratching the sofa and chasing her catnip fish around each time. I was convinced she couldn’t sense me at all. Well, not until that time about two or three months later.
Chaney came in and was cleaning herself in her favourite bed when she had suddenly sat upright and stared straight at where I was. I tried speaking – it’s not a habit that’s easy to break out of, even after you lose the ability to do anything physical – but even though nothing came out, I felt a kind of connection with Chaney, perhaps through my thoughts. She continued staring at me and then she purred.
I moved towards her and was pleased to sense that she was purring even more loudly, and she started rolling on her back, giving me the “stroke me pose”. It was frustrating watching her being so affectionate while I was unable to respond in any way, so I just stayed there as close to her as I could. She reached out with a paw and touched me. I thought I was life-size until that moment, and then I suddenly felt like I was just a ball. As she pulled at me with her paw; she pressed me against her belly, nuzzling me in her fuzzy soft fur.
I think the thought of being nuzzled in her belly was enough to make me feel safe and happy. I don’t think I actually felt anything – as I physically couldn’t feel – but it was a calming sensation. As I took in this new feeling, not only being able to communicate with Chaney, but also being able to be close to her, she grabbed me tighter, pushing me further in.
That was when I moved past her fur, past her skin. I found that there was a space in her that I could fit in, wrapped up in the warmth of her womb, next to four other kittens. She was pregnant, and she was carrying a litter of five and I was the fifth! Chaney had known that one of her kittens was a stillborn and she knew that I could use the dead foetus as a vessel and had come to collect me.
Chaney didn’t waste any time. As soon as I was snugly in her, she got up and made her way out of my apartment. I could somehow read her intentions and figured out what she was trying to do. I instinctively knew that she was helping me get out. She didn’t go very far, just a few blocks away, to a local morgue. In the five years that I lived in that flat, I had no idea that we were so close to a morgue, or that a morgue could be located so centrally in a city. We sat just outside of an open window for quite a long time, before Chaney decided to make her way, squeezing between the window bars.
Chaney ran in like she knew the place well and quickly picked out her target. There was a fresh corpse on a metallic table in front of us. She jumped straight onto the dead body, and that was when I thought I heard her speak in my thoughts. It was the only time Chaney ever spoke – I think – and it was a very rough “get out!”
I pushed my way out and found that I had gone from Chaney’s womb straight into the body on the table. I lay there, taking in the feeling of actually lying down, when I felt Chaney’s wet nose rubbing at my hand. Yes, it was my hand and I could feel it!
I sat up and found that it was no different than when I was alive, in my own body, except that this body was a little bigger…and male.
Chaney jumped off the metallic table and growled at me, which was when I heard the sounds of men talking in the other room. They were moving towards us and I guess Chaney wanted us to leave quickly. Without thinking, I followed Chaney and she led us to a back door in the building, which I was able to open with my hands! I smiled as I felt the warmth of the sun hitting my new face as we walked down the street. I felt free again, but that was until I caught my reflection off a shop window. I was a guy now, over six feet tall and looking quite dead. I was now grey and dull, looking like a zombie.
That was when it hit me. I was a zombie.
I started to panic. There were people walking around me on this busy street and someone would surely realise that I was a walking dead body. I looked around in fear and realised that Chaney had been sat by my feet all this while. As I looked at Chaney, she started walking, leading me to quiet back streets, weaving through the city until we came away from everything. She brought us to the entrance of an old monsoon drain where we could shelter and were away from prying eyes. She is a genius.
***
Chaney takes care of herself. She goes on her own to shops and restaurants that will offer her food, and she comes back to be with me and to take care of me. She had her litter of kittens not long after, and I got to watch her tend to them, teach them survival skills and let them go when they were ready. I helped her bury the little fifth kitten that had helped me escape.
She gave her kittens to a good home at the edge of the city one night. She picked up one of the kittens and had motioned for me to follow, so I picked up the other three and walked with her until we reached a beautiful tree-lined suburban housing area with large bungalows. Chaney went straight to a beautiful bungalow that had a swing in the front and a massive tree with a treehouse in the garden, and she dropped the kitten on the doorstep. I followed suit and put the other three on the doorstep too. Chaney jumped onto a bench next to the door and tried to reach for the doorbell. I realised what she was trying to do and helped. After we rang the doorbell, the both of us left the house quickly and hid in a nearby bush. We watched as a beautiful woman carrying a crying baby opened the door.
The baby stopped crying as soon as he saw the kittens, and the woman smiled. She called out and a young girl came out to the door a few minutes later with a basket to collect the kittens and took them into the house.
Chaney rubbed herself on my legs and walked away. We never saw the kittens again, but Chaney didn’t seem to mind.
***
My body didn’t last too long. It still decomposes even though I’m in it, so I guess that really makes me the walking dead. It’s not a problem for me, as thankfully I can’t smell and I have lost interest in vanity. I rely on Chaney to let me know when I need to change bodies.
We travel by foot, Chaney and I, walking from city to city, moving from morgue to morgue. We borrow dead bodies of all kinds. I have been in a fox, a squirrel and even a bird, but I don’t stay long in animal bodies as I can’t control them as well.
I don’t know what I’ll do when Chaney dies. Perhaps I will be able to pass over to the other side, or go to heaven, though I don’t think heaven can be any better than what I have right now: a simple life, travelling with my best friend.
