Word sustenance

from down under!

Hello! I have much to tell about the past few weeks, but for now, I wanted to share parts of a paper I wrote a couple of months back, which I have revised and added to as related to what I have experienced lately. I have been wanting to share it for a while, but right now, it feels more important than ever. I’m ending with a REPORT as well, so this may be a bit of a long one, but I hope you enjoy it!!

Writing has sustained me for as long as I can remember. When I feel as though I cannot breathe, with a shaky hand, I open my notebook and begin to make language. I often write at night. When I read what I have written the next morning, I sometimes mourn the feeling of words flowing out of me in a way that feels fluid and natural, almost like water racing through a river. I worry that I will only be able to write when there are big, full emotions running through me. I worry that without them, my words will be mundane. However, I have come to realize that expression alone has become a radical expression of my identity, and sense of belonging.

I theory through poetry, I understand through poetry, I love deeply and rawly through poetry. I relearn intimacy in ways I had internalized as dramatic, as overly emotional, as exaggerated. Harmful notions of gender imprinted on me when I was younger, and I had learned that verbally expressing frustration and refusal was disrespectful or wrong or went against the things a woman was supposed to embody. I wanted to embody my gender. I began to resent my gender, as I saw it as the thing which silenced me. I later learned that my womanhood allows me to access types of power and protest which are rooted in gender, with the way I have experienced and conceptualized gender in relation to my surroundings and my heart.

I have gained some clarity on how to embody gender, since I was young. My joy emerges from sharing moments with other women, from a simple conversation or dance to venting and crying and laughing for hours and hours. I have done both this past week, in Fiji (I’d love to tell you more about this trip soon). Something I’m taking back from my week in Fiji, something I did not expect, is how much of my happiness is rooted in being a woman, and how I am partly survived by my femininity. This is a complicated notion, and one I will need to reflect on much more (and even after all of this reflection, I doubt I will have an “answer”)... but, in all honesty, it’s one I’m ecstatic to explore.

My first ideas of gender came from the women in my family, especially my mother. I loved seeing her dressed up in the mornings, suits and heels, to go to court and work, as a lawyer. I knew her confidence and her generosity in and out of our house. I could try to replicate it, but how? I began with clothes, my outfits an attempt to express my conception of myself and the person I eventually wanted to transform into. When I felt that wasn’t effective, or like my expressions and ideas of femininity were failing me, I turned to writing. When I felt my disability made me weak, I turned to poetry. I turned to knowing that nobody could take away writing.

I propose that poetry is vital. By vital, I mean a mode of survival. A way of being able to language things that didn’t seem possible to express, and that by being pushed down, cause sensations of being weighed down, of being diminished.I propose that poetry allows us to access different ways of refusing– kinds based in spirituality, in gentleness, in stubbornness, in anger, in peace. Poetry is vital because it is a materialization or verbalization of language resulting in radical expressions of vulnerability, languaging, protesting, and living.

In terms of gender, I grew up feeling conflicted about quiet. I was a very talkative child, and loved to chime in with my opinions. I laughed with my whole chest, leaving echoes (this has not changed). Talking this much, I was called annoying, dramatic, loud, bossy, among a myriad of other things. The boys I went to school with called out to each other across the field, across the parking lot, and they were courageous and strong. Languaging, in a way that felt comfortable, made me weak. It made me despise being a girl.

There were times, when I got older, that I stayed quiet in situations where things would have turned out differently, for the better, if I would have spoken up for myself. I would have been safer, more content, stronger, if I had been more outspoken, if I had advocated for what I wanted. Because of this, I was sometimes told “you should’ve just said something.” Language went from a best friend to a foe. When the men I was around were quiet, they were catered to. If somebody had upset them, it was the fault of the other. My silence made me weak. My silence made me despise being a girl.

Poetry provided (and provides) the opportunity to soak in the spaces in between, the clearings as the lovely JJJJJerome Ellis describes them (I would highly recommend reading his work– he has changed the way I write, and the way I move through the world of words) and take time to look at them, to let your image reflect in its deep, vast sea.

Though my words belong to me, I hope that they will slip out of my hands one day. I hope that they rain light on women in their darkest moments. I hope they start to heal the harm that was out of my control, but now feels movable, even if not erasable. This is for the best– wounds erased are just as dangerous. At the very least, I hope poetry is a space for caring– for ourselves, for others, for our lineages, for the language itself. It is reassuring to know that as long as I continue to write, it will return my love and loyalty.

Thank you for reading that rather lengthy section of a paper that brought me so much joy to write! Now, for the fun part…

REPORT

R- reading

I have been moving through Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler. I’ve been reading it on my little vacation, and it is definitely not a light read, so it was a bit of a funny beach read pick. I’m honestly not sure how to describe how powerful this book is. It was written in 1993, but the chapter I’m reading right now is about 2026. Butler was somewhat of a time traveler– and the aspects of predictability are eerie and read as horror, but also as affirmation in an odd way. Everyone should read something by her, she’s spectacular!

E- eating

So much good stuff. Sydney has really good food, and I have been eating a little bit of everything. Many good meals, but I added pictures of a few here. Sandwiches, grilled salmon bowl, margarita pizza, the list goes on…

P- playing

Swimming in every body of water I pass by. The ocean, lagoons, pools, waterfalls, rivers… pretending to be a fish at any chance I can. It’s a mess sometimes, when you can’t dry off for hours and everything gets all wet, but not once have I regretted jumping into the water.

O- obsessing

My February playlist! Linked below

R- recommending

Watercolors! My dear friend Maiya has a little set of watercolors that inspired me to get some. I had the perfect ones when I was younger that I’d take on trips, but I’m not sure where they are, so I’m excited to have a new palette to play around with throughout the next couple months of travel.

T- treating

Fun drinks! I loved exploring different bars and pubs in Sydney, and there was one in particular that made my heart flutter. We had bread and butter, a few glasses of wine, and hours of beautiful yapping. I wish I could take this place home with me, and I’m excited to try out more sweet bars upon returning to the states!

Thank you very much for reading– I’m already looking forward to next time. Goodbye and goodnight from Brisbane!