Sundawn

Part I

I am greedy, some others say. My jealousy for the nine lives of the stray cat amuses them. Apparently, it shouldn’t be that hard to settle with one life. Maybe, strive for two. At best, be blessed with three. But no, nine is a real stretch. 

It would have been a wonderful thing to have multiple realities, intertwined pasts and futures, some unknown and other well-known reputations, and never-ending destinations – it would be a godsend thing. Such a blessing. However, my existence has been lit dim, my mom used to say. I could never in the Earth witness as many revolutions and as many revelations all at once. That, my mom always praised. She used to say this world was a done-deal. We only needed to suffer for five more seconds. Then, we could stop breathing and go to sleep. 

It was another early morning, or perhaps a lousy late night, when I finally woke up for my afternoon coffee, leaving my midday-dreaming aside. As I checked hurriedly my clock ticking, I was reminded once again that I’m three kids and a bagel behind in life. I had messed up not only my sleep schedule but also my kitchen’s beloved toaster; and the sheets definitely needed changing from all the dirt and old breath. What a shame they never cooperate.

For two months in a row now, all my Mondays have been starting this way. They have been starting to end, as if the seas are about to melt into active volcanos, shouting the last salty words for the lava to hear. This destabilizing urge, quite the rage, the volcanos and I get to share. All this chaos for never-lasting bits of hedonism. Bits. Tiny little greedy bits.

The sunny mornings I reminisce from my days in a white painted wooden crib. The golden days of my life. The uselessness I felt – it was unmatched. The lack of hurry, and cries never out of agony, but only ostentatious mischief. It was almost as if I was made for something else. Some kind of chaos, but not this one. Something to be submerged within. The real imaginaries of punk. By the way, remind me some time what is real and what is not. 

To this day, I am in a rather wrinkled body. Joyful as ever, reading daily pamphlets and sipping tea. The autumn leaves are smiling at me, and I could not be more hopeful for the rest of my lives to come. As the soothing ringtones are heard all over the town, I hear my neighbours inviting me to their garden.

All of a sudden, I felt some heat from my toaster, rhyming with the bubbling noises coming from its beloved companion, the kettle. The instant burn of my body generated an earthly smell, but fresh – not like my marinated sheets. As the tender reunion of the toaster and kettle prompted more and more nostalgic whispers in our place, I heard a familiar sound. Deep down, I knew this harmony was letting us know that it was time. I peeked out of the window. Some heat and shine, they suddenly got me.

“Why so late?” I asked, approaching towards the door. “We’ve been waiting for a while.”

Part II

Opening the door was the greatest accomplishment of my then life. No energy and no companionship I ever knew was enough to describe the moment. I felt familiar tunes surrounding my body as I stepped out. With the last spark in my eyes, I was able to peek a look at the horizon. 

“We’ve also been waiting,” the Sun replied, “for you to come to realize.”

The flaring micro-panel on my doorbell had generated intense heat, which I was feeling at the left side of my protective gear that I had put on before getting out. Beloved clouds were the accomplices of the Sun, reflecting an unknown shade of red all over the town. The smell of wet soil. The old rainy days, except it was not like clear freshwater but the reddest shade of blood. I felt nauseous. Then I fell. 

When I took my first steps, it was hectic times. Parents used to record every pixel of our flaws. To put it on repeat. Claps, and claps, and claps. Hearts. Confetti. And some more claps. I used to brag about being a blue light baby, documented to bits, but rarely anybody would get jealous. Omnipresence since then ran in all of our rays.

In my neighbours’ garden, I come across many companions. I’m welcomed by a comfortable lounge at the entrance. The armchairs are made from old car seats, and there are mechanical cups for refreshments. Even though cars have been long retired, the daring smell of gasoline is still fresh in my lungs. After some chats with old friends at the lounge, I proceed to enter my neighbours’ residence. The human-sized leaves brush my face as I spot where the washrooms are. When the water touches my hands and face, it feels nostalgic to think of the times it once had temperature. The times before the SLS destructed skin barriers. Instead of liquid soaps, we use naturally-solidified oil now. I miss the times we used to eat the olives though. As I reach for the towel, I realize my face is already dry. I then look around the place to find the patio door that opens to the backyard, where the neighbors are awaiting. I greet each one of them and see from afar that the Sun is watching, unpleasantly waiting for her turn to come. 

When the heaviness on my sight was eventually lifted, I realized I had passed out. For a brief moment, I thought I dreamt of the red sky as well, only to encounter that the Sun had already laid her content rays on me, illuminated. 

She said, “You don’t seem merry.” 

“Merry has now become absurd,” I replied. “These days, happiness is so scarce. They made us guilty of a smile.”

The rays transmitted warmness as she spoke. “It seems to me that you are having a hard time accepting what has been offered to you. The totality of and around you. Exchanging words, companionships, arts, health, and wool. Boredom of empowerment, at ease.”

“These weeks, I have been hallucinating. My interactions with the boiling water, taste of old coffee, smell of sweat and dirt… they are not fulfilling.” I hesitated and thought to myself whether the totalities the Sun mentioned needed to be approached and perceived differently. At my doorsteps where I had crawled, I felt surrounded and embraced by the Sun’s fragments that came down in the Earth. I was in deep comforting heat, relaxed. “You must be seeking subjects,” I said – ready to offer my essence. “This is why you came to me today, right?” I asked. 

Somewhat disappointed, she said, “I am already with subjects, indeed with many companions just like yourself. I am too just as much of a subject as you are. I do not seek you, and neither shall you allow yourself to be sought. We already embody every bit of each other. In this cosmos, all companionships run simultaneously through me and us all. I am only responsible for preserving this power, but our solarities are always to be shared.” 

This all sounded harmonious, but I was still disappointed for some unknown reason. I understood one thing from this lofty delivery. I knew the Sun owed her totality to us, but I was confused when she so simply and so delicately laid out the intricacies of our divine connection. There was no tension. There was no anticipation. So, there was also no awakening on my part. An awakening I was seeking for all my lives. At the time, I thought maybe she was also as lost as me, but I didn’t let her know. Neither it seemed like the cosmos communicated with her how I felt. 

She recognized my confused state, and continued, “I desire to make this order last with you, and our time has come, where we are to stretch seconds of moments, unwind, and sail towards immensities. This is the moment you have been waiting since the break of day. This is the destiny of your being, the solution to all your existential dilemmas.”

Then I knew. I was shattered, but sure. There was no way I was going to be an ally to destiny. Destinies have been my long-damned traps. Still, something I couldn’t wrap my brain around had already drawn me close to the Sun. I was so eager, so impatient to know how she managed to fuel her otherworldly realm. I wanted to be lost – in a utopia. 

Part III

Numerous early mornings, peaceful weeks, and powerful months had passed by. We had witnessed the many ends of many worlds. Good thing our harmony had been preserved. Perhaps, at some cost – but we were so sound to be burdened with it. This hope we had for the future was fragile. We needed to keep our solar promises and abide by our eco-pacts, even if it meant dancing with smolders. These times birthed a polar movement, aimed at exposing the solar hierarchy through some yet-to-be-defined reactionary thought. 

However, there were certain things we could not afford to lose. Some self-sustaining comfort that made us comply with the demands of the Sun’s realm. Demands that civilized us with smiles and never-ending laughs. Demands that turned hedonism upside down. Sterilized question marks, reflections, and doubts. Every single worry had now been deemed obsolete.

With this, the ability to roam through all our lives had been granted to us. A constant reflecting on some moments we could never let go, and others we would rather never have carried out… It had become easy for us to relive the pride of going offline during our formative years, which corresponded to a while before cybernetics had revolutionised to dispose human control. Or it gave us some superficial consolation to engage in alternate scenarios where we reject the Sun’s infamously enthralling alliance offer. We could also never forget to mention how we have learned to surveil totalities. The totalities that once meant comforting chaos to us were now out-ruled. The chaotic harmony, the asylum, we had found within our kitchen, during our simultaneous quests for more realities, became only a calculated phenomenon. 

The morning that changed my life was yet to come when I abandoned my parents. Since then, I came to believe exclusive units were dysfunctional. The acts of rebellion when I befriended kitchenware, fell in love with my dull houseplant, and sought the Sun’s guardianship all involved some mistakes. Some familiar mistakes. 

Remembering past mistakes now brings to me relief. Flawless existence is an always-myth. This very utopian town I get to share with my neighbours is built upon our flaws. Flaws that will bring the ends of many lives, and from now, only more conflict will come our way. As I reflect upon my upcoming death, I greet my estranged companion the Sun with one last goodbye. Her warmth shining in my eyes reminds me of some kind of hellfire. Bathing in boiling bonfires – daring to a casual fling. Very very irritating. Very very radiating.

Saadet Serra is interested in reading and writing about family, mobility, solarpunk, and radical imaginaries of the future. As a turkish migrant and non-native English speaker, she initially started experimenting with poetry to improve her literacy skills. Soon after, literary arts turned into a passion, allowing her to transcend many restrictions of English grammar and find alternative ways of storytelling. Her poetry can be found on Instagram @mayhos.monologues.