Things I'll miss in Space
The beautiful mundane that we would only notice when we no longer have it
I’m reading Samantha Harvey’s ‘Orbital’. I am horrifically aware that we’re headed to an artificial, metallic place, as a world. We’re so eager to go to Mars without really knowing enough about the flowers that bloom there.
If I had heard Benson Boone’s ‘Beautiful Things’ at any other phase of my life, it wouldn’t have mattered. Call it timing or serendipity, but as soon as I heard it, I was weeping. An after-effect of all the things I was dealing with at the time, but not directly. I didn’t weep out of sadness, but out of gratitude. It was almost biblical.
A list of beautiful, exclusively earthly, human things we don’t notice enough.
The first sip of freshly brewed coffee, and the satisfaction of knowing that a cupful of such serene first-sips remain, just for me.
Waking up parched in the middle of the night and drinking water from the bedside. Drinking water merely satiates, but comfort is knowing that past me made some necessary provisions.
Running. Sprinting full throttle. Especially on a bad day.
A burgeoning wardrobe full of clothes, shoes and accessories.
Fruits. And someone who will peel them for me.
Cold feet finally meeting harsh rays of the sun on winter mornings.
Lingering at the dining table after a hearty meal, just to chat about nothing important. There is no discomfort, just the eagerness of sharing. The dishes can wait but the bonding can’t.
Being asked, “Did you eat today?”
The momentary satisfaction of the fingerprint ID giving it’s tiny shake and unlocking my phones in an instant, without double takes.
The thwack of a badminton smash shot, or the pat of a cricket shot.
When someone says "Look at the moon!" and suddenly we’re both seeing magic in the ordinary sky. Or being engulfed in the knowledge that everyone I know, no matter where they are, see the same moon I see.
Getting so engrossed in a book that I forget I’m reading words on a page. Simply losing perception of the world around me.
Going through that sweet-spot where a song makes me feel unspeakable things, so I listen to it on loop, and it’s not boring or redundant just yet.
Being obsessed with a dance video I saw, and it’s rent free residence in my mind, for inexplicable reasons.
Running into an old forgotten friend, and slowly piecing together bits of their juvenile face and personality to identify them as an adult.
A family or a couple who have the same initials.
Listening to an ancient song after decades and still being able to belt out every word - as if it has become muscle memory for the heart.
Successfully helping someone find a word that’s on the tip of their tongue.
Finally spotting the person I was supposed to meet in a crowd after a long wait.
Taking a lava hot shower all the way till the water runs cold.
The simple luxury of sliding my legs between fresh sheets.
Sleeping in a blanket with the fan on in the thick of winter.
When my 3 AM anxiety text gets an immediate response, proof I’m not alone in the dark.
Someone slipping me a tissue or a handkerchief as I burst into tears. This is oddly more likely than me sneezing.
My father buying me extra notebooks, even though I have sufficient.
‘Good Morning’ messages from my family that await a response everyday. WhatsApp messages that don’t ever let me wake up to an empty notification bar.
When a friend or colleague pays for my meal and says, “my treat.”
The sound of my mother humming in the next room. Her genuine happiness when she sees me. Always asking me if I want something to eat. My mother’s smile.
Making eye contact with a dog and watching its whole body wiggle with joy at seeing me.
Finding a treasure in a street-side shop for a fraction of what I thought I’d have to pay.
Flipping through a magazine as I wait for an appointment.
Wearing a new outfit and noticing it looks exactly how I imagined it would. Gorgeous.
Freshly dried, perfect coat of nail polish on my nails.
Writing with pen on paper.
The fizzy excitement in the belly before I surprise someone.
Looking up on a random day and seeing the natural blue shade of a clear sky.
Finding money in an old coat pocket – a surprise gift from my past self.
When someone remembers the exact words where I was interrupted while narrating an anecdote.
When someone quotes the same obscure thing I love, and suddenly we’re both speaking in references that I don’t usually find people identifying.
Finding the exact word in my mother tongue that doesn't exist in English, but explains everything. This is why Hinglish exists.
Sharing comfortable silences in shared spaces with my siblings. Even better is sharing secret glances with them.
The satisfaction of perfectly timing when to flip a dosa, toast or pancake.
That moment when my eyes adjust to darkness and I can suddenly see everything.
The way certain songs sound better while driving at night. You should listen to ‘Nightcall’ by Kavinsky. Also, when I play one song and the entire auto-generated cue is the perfect mood.
The sound of distant wind chimes on a breezy afternoon.
When someone unconsciously starts humming along to my humming. Also when they start using words I use in conversation.
Walking barefoot on warm, slippery tiles after rain. Walking barefoot on grass early in the morning.
The satisfaction of cleaning my ears with a cotton swab (even though you're not supposed to).
The wind playing with my hair.
Being able to write, to share, to think of people. To rest my aching legs on the bed at night. To close my eyes at the end of the day feeling like I’m the luckiest person alive to have it all.
I just hit a 100 subscribers. Another thing for me to be grateful for. I waited the numbers to increase to three digits for almost a week. It felt something like being on the precipice of something good, of achieving your entire and complete potential, but being too aware of all your flaws and shortcomings to ever believe it will ever come true. Scrutiny and anxiety about the things you could've done to hasten the process, to reach here before everyone else and set some unnamed, unreal records. You know it will happen, you just don't know when. You think you deserve the slow-burn and the wait. You think your patience is the sacrifice demanded. It was a time of being hooked and anticipating, which made me feel human.
Loved this. Also love how all the Abhishek's on substack love this post.
That’s a lovely list to have :)