Wednesday, April 20, 2016

I Write To Survive


I took this photo in Prague, Czech Republic 

I write because if I didn't write, my entire life might suddenly disappear before my eyes. I write to make sense of my existence.


There's this anxiety behind my writing, as if my ideas will expire from my head so I have to expose them before they disappear.

As if my life needs to be documented so that I don't fall into oblivion.

Lately I've been writing more, and posting less. Except for this one instance- right now. I've been feeling more. I've been feeling anger, desperation, fear, frustration, pain, anxiety. I have wanted to switch my life completely, let go of everything, I've been wanting to give up.

The truth is I'm exhausted. I'm exhausted of performing day-to-day life in the internet and in person and the constant competition to be right. I'm exhausted from day to day activities. I want to sleep. And be outside. I want to plant a tree and grow a garden. I want to do more work with youth. I want to dance. I embody dance and light.

And I feel hope.

I write to document my emotions. As if I can only make sense of my experience through words.

Or perhaps it comes from a place of power. Because I also write to end the silences, my own silences. This blog was once called "Born 2 B Loud" to fight back against those who told me I was too loud.

This is art. This is power. I write to preserve my full self. To survive. To tell the world that I am here. For self-empowerment. To tell myself that I am here. And when I do, I give up a piece of myself. Some folks believe photographs can capture parts of us and our spirits--writing is the same. After writing, purging, I have to reenergize especially if it's made public. Please, don't take a writer's work lightly. Don't take this lightly. This train of thought is running through my head and landing on this page with fierceness that I can't contain.

This is energy that is often harvested for a while. I write to survive. I write to let go and hold on. To share and keep. To hold on to love and let go of despair. You see, there's hope in typing these words.
And there's also pain.

In every word that I write there's a thousand myths breaking about a little girl who's ideas don't matter. In every word that I write, there's a scream excited to take up all the space that it needs to take up.

I write to knit my love into the fabric of society like my mother and her mother and my dad's brothers and sisters, who's knitting expertise happens in small apartments away from the lights. I write to make sense of my own mortality, expecting words to live beyond me today and in the future. I write to survive.




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