Heading East

Beginning of April notes from Grado, Spain

“You can’t force a plant to bloom. It has a cycle. You have to tend it and care for it and wait for the bloom to happen. If you don’t take care of it, it dies. The more experiences you have like this, the more you begin to understand your own cycle.”

—Ruth Asawa (SFMOMA retrospective, 2025)

In the early morning, the raindrops on the window patter gently and almost sound like a soft whisper. The words are incoherent but I know they are asking something of me, maybe they just ask to be heard.

In the days leading up to leaving, I dipped into a hot spring while I enjoying the bright laughter and company of a friend. I caught myself smiling blissfully as I walked home in the sun, I melted into another friend’s soft hug, and felt my heat beat a little faster when planning a surprise. I find myself reflecting in this moments about the joy that overwhelms me and the apparent lightness of my heart. I told my therapist that I couldn’t believe the range of emotions I’ve felt in the last few months and that I am full of bliss and happiness. In the recent bouts lowness, I couldn’t even imagine how the light could stream back in so quickly. But it’s exactly that, the light returns without you even noticing and you move forward and upward without realizing.

I started writing on Substack a year ago, and in my first post, I wrote about the ‘goods’ and ‘bads’ of each day, my (then) routine, and habits I wanted to form. I wrote about developing a meditation practice, stretching/yoga in my day to day life, and the desire for the start of my mornings to be silent. These phases have come and gone, not lasting long, but an attempt has been made so that counts for something.

I keep trying to remember what I was feeling when writing those first posts but I mostly think about how the person I was then is different from the person I am now, and who I am now is different from who I will be next April. Last year, I wasn’t really thinking about where I’d be come next fall and was all consumed by being in my last year of college and savoring every detail—the tears, the quiet moments, the laughter, my friends, and being a student. I spent little time thinking about how it would all change very quickly, without even realizing it, so I didn’t dwell on those thoughts. I suppose now, a year later, I am thinking about more.

The first full moon of Spring was the Pink Moon: the moon of growth, rebirth, and all the similar movements of Spring’s arrival. With this gradual transition into the season and its warmer days, I have been thinking about what spring asks of us. What does the patter of raindrops on the window ask for? The birdsong, the aromatic winter daphne, the flowing iced water? In all honesty, I don’t know where this leads, but something that comes to mind is that grief does not need to be a secret or kept so closely to your heart that it smothers you. Grief is meant to be aired out and acknowledged. I am still learning this every day, even twelve years later.

I am siting across from an orange tree whose fruit looks ready to be picked and devoured. There is a deep sense of quietness within myself that has recently begun and though it doesn’t feel like loneliness, it doesn’t stray far from it. I have a concentration on the life that is directly in front of me and an attention to the present that I haven’t recognized in a long time.

(By Anne Greenwood)

April 8th is draw a picture of a bird day, and empanada day, the celebration of the birth of Gautama Buddha in Japan, international Feng Shui Awareness day, and the day that Pablo Picasso died in 1973. Oh, it’s also my dad’s twelfth anniversary. Instead of lighting a candle (because I don’t have one) for him, I considered a beer and a cigarette, which rings very true to his character, but instead, I think I will eat some chocolate, text my mom, and lounge in the afternoon sun with my mind open to whatever memories arise.