Good Bye Basket

its hard to explain to someone who isn't a maker the different levels of loss when something you have made is destroyed. It might look like a worthless, market basket, the ones you see with rubbish burning in them in Bali. You may have seen a woman carrying one on her head with chickens or her washing it. For me, this basket temporarily held a moment . A moment where my baby sat in the basket after i had spent many clumsy hours learning to weave it from a master maker called Made, in his beautiful home on an island called Nusa Penida. These baskets are affectionately called seaweed baskets by locals, as they use them to harvest the seaweed they import to all over the world for cosmetics and food. I had a seaweed cocktail with local fresh seaweed, and i still can't believe such sorcery existed. 

The basket holds memories of a special journey with my family, when we were complete, and together, like that basket. That basket holds a new language, a language of understanding, where neither of us knew each others tongues but our eyes and hands spoke a language millions of years old. A knowledge exchanged and given, beyond gender, skin colour, age. A moment in time, like millions before, where the under and over brings nothing together into something in an endless cycle of creation and destruction. Good bye basket.


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