“One night, I left England, unable to move from image to narrative in ways that were recognized as writing, at that time, by others. But now. Here I am! So far from home! Unable to write. What I came here to write” (Kapil lines 79-86)

A common therapy practice is to write out your thoughts and feelings. Sometimes memories and trauma can form complex and illogical webs, manifesting themselves in unexpected scenarios. While making your morning coffee, you might suddenly feel a surge of emotion without any apparent cause. Finding ways to express oneself is one of the first steps to recognizing pain and recovering from it. In Kapil’s case, however, it was impossible. For whatever reason, her form of writing wasn’t recognized as “proper”, and was consequently either ignored or too difficult to understand (perhaps there’s some deeper context related to minor literature, etc). 

I find Kapil’s “spell” pretty interesting. For those unable to communicate their pain (whether due to fear of social ostracization or the inability to do so), her solution is to seek alternate forms of connection; to connect with the past, present, and future by experiencing the same things as those who are on the same boat (lines 104-114). Isn’t it ironic how magical spells typically require verbal or written incantations, but Kapil’s spell doesn’t require any form of linguistic expression? Even the literal definition of “spell” denotes the usage of letters or characters to form a word. Kapil doesn’t care. She proves that anyone willing to put forth the effort can become a wizard.

-chris chang