Monday ~ March 17, 2025
The light has begun its slow stretch into the evening again. Walking back from the beach last week on the Isle of Iona, I noticed the subtle lengthening of day—how at 6 pm, the sky still held onto blue instead of surrendering to darkness. After witnessing the blood moon over Iona's shores last week, these small shifts in light feel especially significant. I don’t think I have ever witnessed such primal beauty before. I was away on a poetry retreat on this remote Scottish island all of last week - and the weather was glorious. Bliss.
You might have noticed this space looks different. After cycling through "letters by sumayya" and "the other side of monsoon," I've landed here—at least for now. My ADHD brain craves both novelty and focus in equal measure. I've learned to embrace these reinventions rather than apologise for them. There's wisdom in allowing our creative containers to shift as we do. I wanted to create a space that was a nod to my postgraduate research life, and I do have a thing for the words: fieldwork/field notes.
The truth is, that my writing needs different vessels at different times. Sometimes structure helps me focus; other times it becomes a constraint. This new format gives me room to share shorter letters, writing insights, seasonal observations, and yes, the occasional recipe—all without feeling boxed in. For fellow ADHD creatives, perhaps there's liberation in recognising that changing course isn't abandonment but recalibration.
The poetry retreat with Pádraig Ó Tuama of the Poetry Unbound podcast fame hosted this week-long contemplative retreat which has left me with fragments of language that follow me through the day. His approach to writing about the human condition in poetry has helped me explore the writing of characters in my prose —how we carry multitudes within ourselves. This leaves me inspired to think differently about the people emerging in my PhD novel, how complex emotions such as desire, the passage of time, and merely noticing small details give us the insight to explore delicate humanity. I've started writing character sketches that begin not with appearance but with contradiction: what do my protagonists believe that they also doubt? Where do my characters' words and actions misalign?
It's mulching season for the roses.
I hate doing gardening tasks but I love to feed my roses. Only because I know that they give me so much joy when they bloom all through summer and autumn. I've learned the hard way that waiting too long means competing with their emerging growth. There's something meditative about tucking each plant in with that protective layer—a conversation between the caretaker and the cared-for that feels not unlike the editing process. However, if I can just stop procrastinating about buying the mulch…
Cauliflower has been the backbone of my meals this month. Beyond the simple pleasure of roasting florets with olive oil and salt, I've been experimenting with bolder preparations:
Cauliflower steaks rubbed with a mix of finely chopped fresh dill, garlic, EVOO, salt, and the tiniest amount of Sichuan pepper, and lemon juice and zest and then seared then finished in the oven.
A rough purée with tahini, kefir, rose pomegranate harissa, preserved lemon, cumin and enough red pepper flakes to warm the throat.
Florets pickled with grated ginger, turmeric and mustard seeds—bright against the late winter palette.
I've been honouring the in-between nature of March by alternating periods of productivity with deliberate rest. Before going to Chicago end of next week (daughter visits always require full presence), I'm setting aside pockets of quiet—twenty minutes with tea before opening the laptop, an evening walk without podcasts or music.
The Blood Moon over Iona's beach reminded me how briefly extraordinary moments appear before transforming. Also, it’s the mercury retrograde until April 7th. So there is a little more confusion, delays, lack of focus and technical disruptions. Its time to check in, pause and make time for slowness.
Perhaps this is what these seasonal thresholds ask of us: to notice what's arriving and departing simultaneously.
What's emerging in your corner of the world? Tell me below.
Until next time,
“For fellow ADHD creatives, perhaps there's liberation in recognising that changing course isn't abandonment but recalibration.” Loved this.
And this new look is a wholesome read.