EDWIN JONES

My rental bike groaned every time the wheel spun. It may not have been happy, but I was. Slow at first, then as I sped up, the groaning was more constant. A little creak in the yellow faded plastic handle, to add to it, if I wobbled around a slow walker. Id be slow too, the scenery was beautiful. Taipei, a city I never thought I would see, was where I was spending the final days of my thirties. Here I was, peddling a river bike path, admiring the green hills scattered with houses and condos. The air was warm, the breeze moving with me and filling my senses with the joy every city feels when the cold days are over. I cheated, I did not persevere through those cold months to really enjoy this reward, but it is always surreal as a southern hemisphere May baby that warmth is around me. And its wonderful.

My few days in Taiwan were spent tasting food I had never known. Walking streets filled with stories I never learned. Seeing the place so many called home, the place, that to my limited knowledge, just knew that caused so much international tension.

Burke, my dear wise friend said to me yesterday, “While a birthday can be used as a marker of some sort, it’s a reminder of mortality. In reality, it has little to do with one’s artistic life. If you have something to communicate, you will. If not, you won’t. And the form of communication can vary. An artist isn’t just communicating. They feel they are acting as a witness to something. They must look while others turn away.” As I accept my milestone of forty today, I am reminded of those dear to me. Chatting and speaking to all who share connections, journeys and lessons here on this planet.

I have been mostly solo for over five years now, and I really have learnt to be OK in my own company. I step into my forties, not seeking or needing love. But continuing to strive to do my part to make this world better. Which can be so hard to do, when you are overwhelmed with the horror and pain of what is happening in our world. But you see the effort, the good, all around the world. Sparks you to keep the tightrope walk going.

I then looked up the paragraph before and tried not to deceive myself. I often feel alone. I am surrounded by those who love me, but it is easy to push and slip through to another lonely room—filling it with fun, new experiences and memories. Then, hopping across space, above the emptiness, into another room of potential and feeding on the what if, the possibility of something new. Which quickly dries with cracks and fades in the heat, and those exciting parts are crying out for water and that moment with no disappointment. How quickly people show their patterns, and when you have been here long enough, you know that pattern. And choose to adopt and embrace it, or step out of the room, down the hallway and into a forest with maybe a snake or two. The snakes you have studied are in nature books and meeting rooms. Across from you at the restaurant, reaching out for your hand. Their scales are tightly linked and glossy, lightly holding your hand. Back then, when you were a fawn, you would hold on, even though the warmth is being taken from you, into their cold. Though now, you pat the hand, pay for dinner and say nice to meet you, but I have a cat to feed.

So I walked down the alleyway in Taipei, a few cats curiously looking out from some stacks of beer bottles. They always need to be fed. And I walk into my forties, a 7 11 slushie in hand, with some sneaky vodka, embracing the cracks, the disappointment and the beauty of existence.