References are found here of my notion, and all this writing is for the foundation of my thesis, but also perhaps the open call for BLAB on reciprocity

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Reterritorialization refers to the process of mapping Indigenous space as settler space, where it is designated for permanent colonial settlement, industrial developments, and conservation. This process is facilitated through property-making ideologies and practices that enable settlers to access, own, and control Indigenous land.

AI generated definition based on: International Encyclopedia of Human Geography (Second Edition), 2020

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I am have been searching for a moment to write these thoughts down. They twirl within my heart during a moment of breaking. To ease tensions, to repull my heart strings that wore down with one disappointment and emotional break down to another, to regen, as a gamer would say, to spawn back at once I was and to mark a new path, is what I am trying, trying eagerly to do.

I sit in front of an LED-lit screen, eyes unfocus for the longest time as a memory retraces its way and overlays the present, I see something, my room, framed in blue-old-style window details, the garden, where i danced the night away. And the same question that I can’t quite make sense of, this burden my heart can’t let go of. I am said to-be-stuck on living life deeply, that the deepest intimacies betray me. How can one not think of all, if not, the most intimate of their relations? The affect of inconveniencing another, to pull and push. To leave things unsaid is to betray the heart. The grief wears on longer, carving through my bones as the love of what-once-was cannot find a path back. Staring back, are the faces of not only a past love, but a reckoning and dismantling of a heart.

To feel tender, when actual guilt spread through their being? To not respond but hold onto a comfort that eases and frustrates, that takes, constantly takes.

Do we only take from one another? Yes, we want and wish and 期待，貪心，希望. But reciprocity, principles of a love that lives and moves like a river. The river gives and lets, moving silt through, simmering through into the ocean, shrinking when it gets to hot-hot or dry-dry, spilling past her banks

I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive 我還有一點氣,要處理污染。 I tell myself that life is worth trudging on for, despite the manic episodes. To present thickness and depth as a person is to go beyond self indulgence and to be as a ‘we’. to test new ideas, to write out fictional narratives to reconsider our histories

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By exploring these expanded meanings of reciprocity, the workshop seeks to:

• Foster deeper reflections on personal and collective practices of reciprocity.
• Inspire actionable ideas for building sustainable and equitable systems.
• Provide tools and stories that participants can bring back to their communities, fostering a culture of reciprocity in varied contexts. </aside>

Composting, an everyday activity I tend to in my garden, bore many fruit flies, who now lay dead on a dish of apple cider vinegar I lay out in my kitchen. To resist, to break through the cycles of life and death and give space to regenerate through mould, compost, fermentation - all these actions to resist the bifurcation we follow for the ease of the mind. The bodies of fruit flies, along with what is left of the apple cider vinegar, goes back to the compost. We, and they, live and grow with the earth around us.

Making up stories as I am about to sleep, to sleep over 10 hours of disrupted light from below, a small gleaming moment of yellow that tear into my eyelids, sharp but understated. Yellow, and of a warning. I am not as safe as I thought, my eyes are not sharp enough.

There are words that imply a movement, a shift, a transformation which I like. These movements reconfigure our understanding of how ideas and knowledge is distributed. At least that is what I would like to think.

These days, there are four: