Aug. 31 xx45

art by Judy Zhao, words by Rishi Chandra

Aug. 31 xx45

I was dreaming of baked potatoes and mulberry jam when the sharp scent of lavender pierced through the tent’s walls. The smell was so fragrant I didn’t even realize I had gotten up until I was brushing my teeth. As I unzipped the worn wool door, tiny specks of violet sprouted up. I couldn’t register what I was seeing. A gale burst through the lavender sea, making each individual flower flow into the next. I had arrived the night before, tired, starving, and hot, and I didn’t have time to take in my surroundings. Even though the setting was beautiful, I could feel the butterflies banging around in my stomach. It was an indescribable feeling. Awe, but mixed with loneliness. Peace, but blended with complacency. The Sun slowly rose, greeting the morning sky with a pleasant “hello,” but even that made me feel more alone. Today marks the fifth month of my travels, and I have come no closer to finding “it.” That grand “it” we are all searching for in life. Ironically, our goal in life is to discover the “it.” The “it” is our meaning, our objective, our purpose. Our why? When I sit with you, it is as if “it” is right in front of me. Next to me, grazing my shoulder in a mocking tone…

Anyway, I must leave now. Packing up camp will take some time, and who knows where I will sleep for the night.

Sept 05 xx45

I’m feeling homesick. Iora was such a nice city. Buildings made of pink and purple clay, fairies roaming around the river cutting through the center of town. In a weird way, I miss my job. After all, running a bakery with a sarcastic elf isn’t a job for everyone. I don’t know. Maybe I miss the magic powder that glittered through the air or the ensemble of goblins singing outside the church. Maybe I miss Bowswick, the herbalist wizard. I miss the scent of his fresh herbs and mystic potions roaming through the streets. Honestly, I’m not sure why I left. I wasn’t working a traditional job. I had lots of friends. Something just didn’t feel right inside…

Sept 08 xx45

My mother told me once about her travels. That woman is something. So many stories she keeps safeguarded. When she was young, perhaps twenty or twenty-one, she ended up in the port-town of Rola. It was there that she ran into a sorceress at the market. The sorceress looked too young to be an experienced mage, but I guess that’s the magic of it. Anyway, my mom was going through a similar identity crisis. The sorceress told her about the Iorna forest. A great place. An odd place. It was a place of both nostalgia and strangeness. A place where magic blossomed, untethered by the ways of society. It was a place of many creatures and cultures. I wish to head there. To at least stay on its outskirts.

Sept 17 xx45

It's been a while since I last talked to you. Things have been going somewhat…well, to be completely honest, not at all well. The lavender fields that graced us were the last place I found the Sun. That night had been deceptively clear. Stars danced amongst each other against a perfectly black background, and the forest hummed with all the conversations native to a metropolitan city. The grass was a bright green, and the warmth tenderly caressed my skin. But as I waded into my dreams, I could hear the drops increasing. First, they were few, scattered, and barely noticeable compared to the sounds emanating from the tranquil creek I set up camp next to. But then they roared like a typhoon, battering against the sides of the tent. I woke up to the sound of the creek pummeling through dirt, sand, and plants. I thought I was going to end up in the river!

Hastily, I threw on some trousers and began disassembling the tent. The winds echoed throughout the mountains as I wandered. Raindrops stabbed at my face like a hundred daggers, and I could feel my breath tense up. I’d almost given up, ready to sleep in the cold mud, when I saw an old building. Vines twisted and burst through cracked windows, yellowed with age. There was a sense of the ethereal and the ephemeral. A memory of love and laughter. It was a memory short but deeply natural. I opened the wooden door, which still surprisingly worked quite well, and found a small piece of dry stone. The roof had caved in on several spots, but some dry patches remained. The rain has gotten worse since then, and the old building has provided me with a space of refuge. It’s depressing, but I’m trying to keep my head held up high. There is a certain beauty to the rain. The grass appears fuller, the world becomes quiet, and the veil between nature and society condenses.

Sept 20 xx45

Two moons have passed since I entered Iorna forest. The first-full and bright, but the second-erased. I have set up camp in a little alcove created by the ancient roots of the even older trees. Did I mention the rain stopped? It was a glorious thing. The Sun began to shine again, and the birds began to sing to it. The rain appeared to have heard my complaints and lessened its attack. When I stepped outside the old building,  I noticed for the first time that I was next to a forest. The trees were as diverse in species as the colors of their leaves. I passed a traveler on the road yesterday, a short, stocky old man, who told me this was the Iorna forest near Southwest Vegaru. Even with meeting many such types of travelers,  the loneliness has increased but lessened in severity. It's an odd thing. I feel more lonely than ever, even though I am enshrouded by towering magnolia trees and wild hares. My loneliness has expanded but has also become common. It has become a part of me. Rather than pain, I feel numb. Enough of me droning on; I hope to get out of the forest by the end of tomorrow.

Sept 21 xx45

A quick little update: I am lost. It is roughly around 11:00 (given the moon's position), my maps are not making sense anymore, and I am exhausted. We shall see what to do tomorrow. 

Sept 23 xx45

I spent the entirety of yesterday wandering. My only companion was my growling stomach, who had more to say than anything else in this forest. But this morning, I saw something new. Could I believe my eyes? Houses! They were small but cozy. Made with purple brick and red-tiled roofs, they formed a row. As I got closer, I could see a whole town. Cobblestone lined the streets, and the sounds of fish-wolves shopping at the market, dogs prancing in the streets, and vendors calling out their goods unified in a harmony of humanity. Goblins waddled towards the theater and I could see a few elves repairing some of the old mushroom houses. Fairies stood outside the cafes, encouraging people to come inside and taste their water-tree cake and boar-hen roast. Eorword-the name of this town- was penned on an old wooden sign stationed above a gate. I can get used to this!

Sept 24 xx45

I woke up today to the smell of fresh-baked sourdough spiraling through the house. A cup of hot black coffee, vanilla cream, and a plate of juicy permissions and hot eggs were laid right outside my door! Yesterday, I tried booking a room at the local inn, but alas, I could not afford it. Sitting on the stone steps outside, I felt the depression warp around me like an eerily cold blanket. It had been months since I had a deliciously hot meal, months since I had felt the warmth of spices and joyous laughter of friends. I had reached my breaking point, wandering around in an infinitely fast world, barely able to keep up. 

But then a shadow stood next to me. I looked up and was surprised to see an elderly woman- the first human I had seen in town. Her face was warm, touched by many sunrises and many sunsets. Her eyes were filled with a peculiar sense of joy, and my spirits instantly lifted. I found out later that she was a widow of 20 years. Her son and daughter had moved into towns far, far away, and her home was filled with peaceful but monochromatic silence. She sat next to me, and we talked. We talked for minutes and then hours, rambling about our lives, our loneliness, our sadness. And then, we realized something. We could cure each other’s solitude. So she invited me to stay for the night. Her house was built inside a massive maple tree. Its windows were framed with dark wood, and floor-to-ceiling mahogany books shelves lined the living. A massive window stood in the kitchen, overlooking the market. The house was lived-in but cute. There was clutter-evidence of many memories-but still, the house was clean. In exchange for her hospitality, I helped repaint her kitchen. By the time we were done, it was well past midnight, but we opened up a bottle of cider, a puzzle, and a box of cookies.

That night was the best I had slept in months. She set me up in a small bedroom in the attic with an old brick stove. A roaring fire kept me warm as I snuggled under her floral-patterned sheets. I woke up just after sunrise to the sounds of shoppers hustling at the market. After finishing breakfast, I found her outside in her garden. She stood perched on a ladder in front of a tall apple tree. The tree was strong. It appeared primordial and absolute. The woman’s wicker basket was filled with yellow and red apples of all sizes. We went back inside, had a cup of coffee, talked some more, and as the moon tenderly caressed the sky - like a mother waking her child up for school, I knew it was time for me to leave. As I hugged her, I could smell the scent of fresh berries and warm cream. I thanked her for her generosity, picked up my things, and climbed down her rope ladder, waving at her until she faded from the distance like a candle as the wick runs out.

Oct 3 xx45

The next few days since my last journal entry were spent in peaceful simplicity. The weather was pleasant- the heat had stopped droning on from summer- and the forest was as absolute as ever. I’d wake up, eat breakfast, shower, write, eat lunch, relax, eat dinner, and sleep. It was a simple routine, a kind one. Yesterday, however, as I was walking, I heard a faint cry for help. The cry was muffled, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. As I looked towards the trees, I spotted a flash of white. There was a young gentleman sitting at the base of an oak tree. He had clearly hurt his foot. He told me that he had been out hunting when he had tripped over a long mess of roots and twisted his ankle. I immediately set off for the nearest town. It took me a little less than two miles to reach Viora, a charming town located alongside a creek.

The town was split into two sides, East and West Viora (although the creek was so small that I couldn’t tell the difference between the two). The doctor, an elderly woman with long black hair and deep-set brown eyes, instructed two nurses to accompany me. Together, we lifted the injured man and carried him back to town. As he was getting treated, I strolled through the bazaars.Warm spices and silk clothes of myriad colors perforated the atmosphere. The doctor soon came out of the small hospital (her home) with the man. 

The man thanked me for my kindness and introduced me to his wife, a young blonde woman with cloudy blue eyes. They were a young couple and, as they explained, had recently moved into Viora from the city. Seeing my sunken cheeks and languish smile (my supply of cured meats ran out a week ago), they offered to take me to their home. Their house was tiny, with barely enough room for the two of them. But it had the heart, exuberance, and ambition of youth. We had a delicious meal of fresh-caught trout and pickled daikon. They told me they wanted to start a family in the city but didn’t have the necessary funds to do so. So, they moved here. The rent is less, the food is cheaper, and the life is greater. After some dessert (homemade black walnut ice cream), we retired for the night.

Oct 20 xx45

I left the young couple’s house a few days ago (I can’t remember if it was the 4th or 5th). What I do remember is their insistence on my staying. But alas, the road continues, so I must continue. I wandered through the forest, passing through many lone houses. Elderly gentlemen, young families, middle-aged women, they were all pleasant and endearing. Their stories were profoundly human. They spoke of compassion and aging and loss and joy. But one thing they all had in common was loneliness. I stumbled into the slightly bigger town of Choura on the 8th. I was starving, but there were even hungrier people on the streets. I spent the day looking around, seeing the pain and common suffering.

As I continued observing, I was approached by a young woman. She had curly black hair, golden-toned skin, and a warm smile. She stood beside me and told me about the local soup kitchen she runs. However, this was a unique situation. This wasn’t an act of charity but rather an act of community. Anyone can eat at the soup kitchen but must do some work in return. This could be something like washing the dishes, handing out food, or cooking. Really, it was in whatever way you could contribute! What an idea! In Iora, people pass by each other without even saying hello. Everyone is going about, doing their thing. But here, people from all walks of life know each other, interact with each other. Life feels so much more fulfilling when you are filling your neighbor’s bowl of soup only for them to fill yours the next day. I want to be surrounded by this community! 

Nov 3 xx45

I left Xyla yesterday. It was a quaint town filled with buildings of quirky colors and intricate designs. Xyla was a place of engineers and artists. The engineers had found a way to harness energy just from the vibrations of the Iorna oaks. I stayed with a convent of mage-elves there. They wore long green robes adorned with gold embroidery in the shape of a massive tree – The tree of life. They taught me ways of harvesting and meditating, cooking, and life. Was it magic? Not really. It was enlightening. A new way to think about the world around us and the places we inhabit. I felt the call of the road once more and had to leave yesterday. I can feel the forest ending around me. I can feel the edge of it shouting my name, begging me to see it in its majestic beauty. I was supposed to return to the city a month ago. But I have come to realize that home is here.

Nov 10 xx45

Would you believe it? I just passed through the outer shell of Iorna trees, finally back into the land of plains and mountains. But were my eyes deceiving me? There it was. The abandoned building I had lived in during the monsoon. Was it possible I had ended up right where I started? Perhaps. That’s life, isn’t it? Sometimes, you can go on an amazing journey, meeting new people, experiencing wonderful things, feeling alive…only to end up right where you started. If Iorna has taught me anything, it is that growth is cyclical. I could feel the weight of my jaw as I stood there, gobsmacked. And then I had an epiphany. This building was lonely; it was abandoned. It had no one to take care of and no one to take care of it. But here I was, alone. And here it was, alone. Together, we made a pretty pair of lonely beings. So, I have decided to give back to the place that kept me alive during that torrential rainfall. It will take work and patience. But I think I have found my purpose. I think I have found my “it.”

Mar 05 4046

Dear Diary,

Wow! I’m afraid I misplaced you after my last entry. With all of the construction and renovations, I must have left you in a sealed trunk. Well, a lot has happened since November. I decided to convert the building into an inn. A place where people could come and live and work for as long as needed. Because of its location at the end of the forest, people from both the outside and the inside of the forest could come. It took a few months to finish the renovations. I hauled in wood from the forest, asked for help from Choura and Viora, and began to learn the trade of hospitality. I established my roots in this old building. Soon, the building was almost unrecognizable. It was filled with textured rugs, warm wooden walls, and a kitchen big enough to house a hundred men. 

As humans and goblins, elves and wolves, mages and sailors filled the rooms, I perfected my recipes. I created hearty stews filled with fragrant jasmine rice, tender venison marinated in curry yogurt, bok choy, eggplant, and savory noodles seasoned with cumin. I perfected my recipe for brewed chocolate using fresh cardamon and cloves. I used roots and leeks from my vegetables to create spicy soups and found the best way to make fluffy sourdough. I have seen a mix of new and familiar faces. The elderly woman from Eorword came one cold winter’s day with her children, who finally had time to visit! The young couple from Viora stopped by two weeks ago and told me about their successful new bookstore!

People are happy here. They feel less alone. Here, they can talk to strangers without judgment and help each other and the inn in ways that suit them best. Oftentimes weary travelers come, seeking refuge from winter’s lingering chill. Instead of paying for a bed, they help out in the kitchen or the indoor garden in the morning. I have grown very attached to all those who have stayed here. I must thank you for helping me keep track of my thoughts and journeys. It's been a pleasure talking to you, but I must hurry. I have an inn to run!