A Friendship between a Purple Taper, Fluted Holder, and The Dancing Flame

I have called 'The Gables' my home for 25 years and counting. Built in the 1800s on the island of Bermuda, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, it falls into the category of "having lots of charm." Ten-inch thick limestone brick walls painted a burnt terracotta color from the outside. A bedroom for each of us, my sister, my mom, my granny. Three generations of women under one 200-year-old roof. This home is full of history for my family and every family before me. You can tell because every seven years or so, the old owner, who now lives in Canada, knocks on our door with an enthusiastic look to "just see the place" with her uninterested, slightly embarrassed teenage kids in tow. If my mom did this to me, I'd feel the same. Despite this, it is clear that this house has been a constant and safe haven for every life change and hurricane experienced. Providing sturdy walls and a solid roof to light candles for a birthday celebration, a moment to mourn a loss, or to simply find light in the dark.

I grew up with my granny saying, "Let there be light, and there was light," every time someone would turn on a light switch. Like it was magic. A quick verbal thank you to modern-day electricity. Sometimes I say this phrase in my head, confirming that daughters eventually turn into their mothers.

Now, I am growing into my mid 20's in the 4-inch thick drywalled NYC apartment, eloquently named '1B'. Things feel different now. I have less space but more friends, and this new building provides protection from winter storms. Turnover at '1B' is quicker. I don't think I'll live here for the next 25 years, but for now, I love it. I sit at a desk so small that it is advertised as a TV dinner table, and each week, I light a purple taper candle on this tiny table and watch as it disappears before my eyes. I hear a faint crackle of the flame when it meets the wick for the first time, almost as if it is laughing at me. The exact opposite of modern-day electricity.

The purple taper sits in a glass fluted candle holder designed to hold the taper upright, catch wax and prevent fires. Thank god, since it sits directly under my fire alarm. Without the candle holder, the candle itself would be rendered almost useless. As the heat from the flame warms the soft purple wax below it, one drop of wax goes rouge- making a run for it and dripping down its taper form to disrupt the once smooth, untouched landscape into one with ripples and imperfections. Unable to run too far, the fluted candle holder captures the drip just in time. It stops.

In one gracious move, I am gently reminded that all things change. This is likely why I have become philosophical about the friendship between the fluted candle holder, a purple taper, and the dancing flame. It feels familiar like I am watching myself from an outside perspective. I see my ancestors, my friends, and my family in this candle. A simplified representation of all

humankind. Reminding me that being a human is so complex, but distilled into its simplest form, there are three things that all life on earth experiences. The body we have, the communities we create, and the emotions we feel. And at this tiny desk, I have found life within these inanimate objects.

Despite fixating on anti-aging products, the truth is that our bodies will continually change. We're messy. We want change in some areas and things to remain the same in others. Eating our veggies to grow big and strong when we're young and outgrowing school shoes every September. At some point, if we're lucky, we laugh so hard that the smile lines on our faces are no longer malleable, and it's the only thing we can see in the mirror. A permanent reflection of the good times. If I'm ever so lucky, I'll shrink from 5-foot-1 to 5-foot because gravity will get the best of me in my old age. I'll be a work in progress my whole life, just a blank body until my first bruise on the playground. Counting the passing of time with a new wrinkle or scar, like the taper candle does with each drop of wax.

If our body is the taper candle, the fluted candle is our community to support and hold us steady. There are a few communities that we are born into, like our birthplace, race, and gender. But other ones we get to choose, like what school we go to, the religions we follow, and the places we live our lives. Some communities can feel fun and silly like when I accidentally dyed my hair too blond and became a part of the "blond girls have more fun" community for a couple months or when my best friend declared she was a die-hard Stanley Cup water bottle drinker. It can feel exciting to belong to different communities and create your own, but also overwhelming to choose the more serious ones or one's chosen for you. A daunting feeling of permanence while I forget that everything will change. Like swapping out the fluted candle holder for another.

At my tiny desk, the dancing flame melts the purple taper long enough that wax drips past the fluted groove on the candle holder and slowly forms a pool on the table. Succumbing to gravity, the dancing flame impacts its companions around it, changing the body and community. Similarly, doctors say that holding anger and sadness for too long changes the muscles on your face over time and the company you attract. At its core, the dancing flame is the emotions, perceptions, and feelings we bring to others and onto ourselves. It is the intangible. It has the power to be as disruptive as an open flame that is quickly dangerous, unpredictable, and inextinguishable. Often impacting us further than we would often like to acknowledge and proving to be challenging to contain. A uniquely personal manifestation of our thoughts.

Maybe that's why we light a candle to remember those we love. To celebrate birthdays, spark romance, and create ambiance at dinner tables with friends. It feels like a ceremonious reflection of who we are. Synonymous with light, warmth, and peace, the historic ritual honors new life, mourns death, and everything in-between. A tradition that was passed down through our ancestors, running through our mind and body like DNA. I wonder, if candles could talk, would they tell an unbiased history of the world? They exist to forge the connection between old and new. Light and Dark. Life and Death. And by discovering an unexpected friendship between a Purple Taper, Fluted Holder, and The Dancing Flame, I, too, have found the same. This

friendship has connected me to every person who has lit a candle in 'The Gables.' And in reflection, it taught me how to be a better friend, sister, daughter, and mother.