Repatriation
#calltocreate2019process notes“I engage in this call to create, not to impose, but to remind the community I need them to flourish.”
I make no presumptions about what detonated the illness inside her.
At the age of ten, the impression left on me with indelible ink
was the compulsion to make improved nutritional choices,
to avoid the same fate.
When she passed, I lost everything, art, home, school
Family, friends, teachers, sense of self, sense of belonging.
She is not to blame.
As when one is fortified by their other parent and siblings,
one can recover.
But when she passed, my family was torn to shreds.
For a time,I rarely made eye contact with anyone.
The pity I recognized in the eyes of my aunts, uncles,
and cousins was too heavy to bear.
Their pity jettisoned a cavern between the remaining tribe
and me.
Eye contact was too harsh a reminder
that the pain of her passing was my own,
in solitude.
The depth of which I alone,
would know as intimately.
While their lives continued on the same trajectory,
my presence and her absence
were perhaps their only reminder.
Meanwhile for me,
life and its progression were unfamiliar, transient, and isolating.
This solitude eventually weaved its way into my being.
It displayed as quietness, shyness, self-doubt, risk aversion, and introversion…
Eventually, I was convinced it was my essence.
So familiar was this depiction of self;
solitude would only propagate more solitude.
Unchallenged to be anything but;
I never imagined I could be anything other than.
All this sat in sharp contrast to the exuberant performer I once was.
When at practice and on stage, I would sing for Her.
Dance for Her. Act for Her.
My eyes would always search for Her in the crowd.
My smile had been for Her.
Time has not healed the pain, as we are often erroneously offered.
Instead…
I eventually found a complimentary partner.
We grew a family.
My lamentation was no longer my own.
My husband and children bear the mourning with me now.
The weight of the solitude and sorrow has lifted.
They pulled me in. Community has called me back.
Interns required more of me;
as an advocate my voice was necessary.
Mother Mercy has forced me out.
I engage in this call to create not to impose, but to remind the community
I need them to flourish.
We need each other to survive.
We are interconnected and do not exist in a vacuum.
This project is my response to, “What’s not working?”
The most lethal weapon against black and brown folks
continues to be that which is at the end of our forks.
NØt what comes out the end of the barrel.
Our bodies have been colonized by a Western diet
they did nØt evolve to run optimally on.
An unleaded engine quickly breaks down when given diesel fuel.
These models do the same.
The choice is ours.
Ignore proper nutrition.
inflame, corrode, be invaded
Fall ill.
Leave offspring and community grieving.
Or, Unlearn USDA lies. -
Relearn the fuel on which our
celestial ancestral bodies thrive.
From West to East,
we can all find our energy stuck at the Root
as we yearn for the Crown.
Progress can’t be made
unless we start from the ground.
Fulfill your purpose.
You are needed.
Be healthy.
Be here.
Reconnect with (hue)man fuel.
#WeNeedHealthyOptions
@cuisine_rezistans