The Things we Lost in the fire

I wonder if the mung beans I placed in the silver bowl to soak came to a boil on the window sill.

I wonder if the plants screamed and tried to comfort each other as they burned alive.

RIP Fernie, Abacaxi and the Monsteras.

I wonder if the bits of the artist's soul that go into their music are released when a vinyl album burns, if the giant record collection I wrestled away from my parents last year made revelry out of the collective concert of their demise.

I never set up my Dad's old Technics Deck. What a waste.

I picture the parrots on the decorative china my grandma gave my mom flying away with the ash as it incinerated.

The day our house burned down, we went to H-Mart when there was a break in the wind to acquire all the basics listed in The Vegan Korean cookbook, I left the cookbook open on the counter when we evacuated. It was a library book.

I wonder if the library still exists.*

I'll bet the used Kitchen Aid I (FINALLY) allowed myself to buy through Next Door last weekend was devastated when it realized it would never leave the cupboard, I didn't even name it.

The woman I bought it from remembered that we lived in Altadena and texted the day after the fire to check if we were okay.

Los Angeles is something else.

The leather fanny pack, aka murse, aka satchel Asha surprised me with on my birthday our first year together likely ignited immediately as I'd just, finally, after 9 years, decided to take the time to oil it the day before.

I wish I could have seen how my sneakers piled in the basket by the door melted into a rainbow. I took my red sneaks, but the Orange Waffles, the yellow AdidasxOysters, the green Adidas, and the purple Adidas Kamanda probably made my final art piece in that house

I looked right at my sea green fender and the ukelele my sister gave me as I walked out, lamenting the space they would take if we had to sleep in the car and how I'd have to be precious with them.

I forced my mind away from the very slim chance that I might lose them. Realistically, we were just going to be gone a couple of days while the power was out, this was just a precaution, we hadn't even received the real evacuation order, I was crazy.

I had the same conversations with paintings, the one of Padmini holding Dosa the day after Alex died. The one of Asha sleeping in our Boston apartment. The Basquiat print, The Melting Clock print my mom got from my Grandpa.

I suppose that the last one died an appropriate death.

I did have the foresight to grab my Grandfathers's watch, it happened to be in a bag with my actual watch.

Asha lost so much jewelry. The endless rainbow of Bengals, her mirrored jewelry box.

The little bags from Indian jewelers with random earrings, and necklaces.

I wonder about all the places I had cash squirreled away somewhere.

The things I hid from myself that I won’t remember until I see them in real life.

I'd considered grabbing my signed copy of Briefly Perfectly Human but rationed I'd see Alua again. My copy of Bell Hooks All About Love but then became overwhelmed by the other books I should take if I take that one. What about my signed copy of Kara Swisher’s Burn Book?

STOP BEING DRAMATIC THE HOUSE IS NOT GOING TO BURN DOWN

focus.

you need Alex’s axe, the rope, and the saws in case you come upon downed trees.

The smell of the roasting leather Tecovas Caroline gave me. Or the first Birkenstocks that I resisted for so long because they were just "too on the nose, too lesbian". The black boots that I'd bought for my business trip to Italy that I never wore because of COVID and only just started to bust out.

Speaking of Italy, that ridiculous deep discount Versace robe I got at the Versace Factory when we were demoing in Milan, the skirt I bought for Asha there.

3 bins of Saris I bitched about moving the 1,2,3,4,5,6,7 times we've moved since we've been together.

She rarely wore any of them and I never let her forget it.

Does it count as a move if you don't have things?

Maybe not, perhaps it's about an address.

I need to set up a PO box.

My feet are cold. I need slippers, another thing I thought to bring and scoffed at.

I was seeking, calculating, reassessing my values and the value of each of my things at the same time and defaulted to practicality and the moment at hand. Passports, water, birth certificates.

Journals? No.

Artwork? No.

Mom's records? No.

The Brazilian Jersey from the 70s with 3 stars on it? No, then I'd have to tear up my closet trying to find it and then I'd have to clean that up when I got home. Same with those boots.

I wish I had a single hoodie.

You know what can burn in hell though? that fucking bed, that's a silver lining. I bet that memory foam sounded like a rocket ship.

The couch was far more comfortable to sleep on, RIP old girl.

All the furniture was old. We were just discussing the possibility of buying new furniture last weekend.

I can just imagine a delivery of new chairs set up in the middle of the rubble.

Fuck.

Fuck is my word for 2025.

*Miraculously the Altadena Library still exists