Dear Cherie Amor,
I have been absolutely terrible about keeping up with my pens and pencils over this break so I can’t write this directly to you. It’s just as well. I have sooo much to talk about. I wish you could have experienced this weekend directly because nothing I could ever say could adequately describe things as they were. Nevertheless, I will try.
It was much like the three days I spent balling my eyes out about “losing” Reggie (amazing how that never happened until I genuinely decided it should. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems…). The similarities did not stop at just because I spent three nights crying, but also because the support system that crawled out of the woodwork when I lost Reggie did the same.
It’s funny when you think about it. When I moved to San Francisco, I felt like I had lost it all. I felt so lost and begun to think that supportive systems were lost when I left high school. Well honestly, last night, I felt like I was right back in the green room that night I BALLED MY EYES OUT! It was that kind of community and connection and I was so grateful. Ugh, ok, ok, let me start from the beginning.
As we know, I have had intentions of making Slam Nuba this year since Ken told me I couldn’t be on it last year. I wanted it really bad. Just as bad as I wanted Reggie junior year of high school. I worked hard for it. Honestly, not as hard as I could’ve worked and I vow not to do that again. But I worked hard, I wanted it, I thought about it all the time. So when this past Friday came along and I didn’t make it…you can only imagine. A good year and a half of wanting it, a good 4 months of working toward it, at least two straight weeks of talking about it, all abolished in one night. How is that possible? Coping with that was a task. Then everyone encouraged me to go out for Mercury Café completely convinced that I would make it. No dice.
Not to mention I did a very honest piece called “Shapes”. It fully breaks down how I feel about being raped and my father leaving. It is worth it to explore further of course but it was about as honest as I could get it in that moment. There’s more, I fear there will always be more. But there will come a time when I just need to let it go. A time when I have dug up enough of my gut, torn my self open and then just need to let it heal. It won’t be perfect, it will always be a wound, always be a scar, but it doesn’t have to hurt anymore and it doesn’t have to affect me. It can be a reminder of the change I want to see in this world. With enough time, attentiveness and Neosporin, it can even be a beautiful thing. Just some more paint splattered on this canvas. Hmmm, I should definitely write that poem once I’ve gone through this wound. I am a masterpiece dark strokes simply enhance. Yin Yang. I think that poem will be my rite of passage. That poem Ayinde was talking about, speaking from the perspective of a healed woman who was abused, giving that strength to others. Goodness, I can’t wait for that day. I will get there.
In the meantime however, it did not do good things to my stomach. And Ayinde is right, I keep a fair distance from the truth of that poem on stage. I don’t know what would happen if I got any closer to it honestly. And it’s not worth it. Luc is right, that poem was for me to purge. I, being the born performer that I am, did not think there was a poem that was not for an audience. Learn something new everyday.
Sincerely,
Augustine
No comments:
Post a Comment