I’ve been learning so much about myself lately in terms of what I can and can’t handle at the moment. I’m learning about my capacity on all levels–mentally, emotionally & physically. Whenever I get a chance, I’ve been reflecting on what’s truly important to me. I catch myself sifting through memories and experiences when I’m on the train truly trying to understand the going-ons in my life with an open mind and an open heart.
This is me learning how to be healthy again in mind, body, spirit, soul, and heart. Taking everything day by day and gradually realizing my potential and knowing what I am capable of and knowing what I deserve.
This is me in my mid-twenties still navigating life with a young heart, but maturing with a stronger and more understanding lens of what I can and can’t control… and the power to decipher what is truly worth fighting for and letting go.
i’m not exactly sure what the fuck i’m doing. i spend my weekdays planning for weekends. and i spend my weekends partying so hard, i forget the weekdays even exist. i’m living life in a different world these days parallel to a life that’s almost too good to be balanced. i’ll admit it my habits lately have been unrealistic and irresponsible. i’m starting to lose track of my realities as much as i lose track of my days. i’m losing sight of my vision and my focus needs readjusting. while i know i’m just enjoying life i know there’s more to life than this.
so here’s a promise to myself:
recharge + refocus
educate + elevate
Last week the theme of my writing workshop for my youth was “neighborhoods.” I asked my students to write about where they live and where they grew up. I wanted them to take what I taught them about describing settings and connect it with their daily environments. My goal was for them to write what they see, hear, and feel when they’re in their neighborhoods.
The prompt was, “Write about where you live,” with guiding questions such as “What do you see? What do you hear? Who lives near you? What makes your neighborhood special?”
The assignment was to encourage them to think critically of where they live and to use their lenses as a way to describe their familiar environments in great detail. My intention was not to make them feel inadequate by doing this, but rather to make them feel critical of their surroundings. However, I learned very quickly through this lesson plan that identifying where you live isn’t always the easiest to write about. Like love, loss, and life, location is a sensitive topic for any person.
When I asked my students to write where they live in San Francisco, many of them hesitated. Some remained silent, while others expressed their negative comments aloud. One specific student pulled me to the side and said, “My mom told me to never tell people where I live. I don’t feel comfortable talking about my neighborhood.” And another student screamed out, “Yo! My neighborhood is ghetto! That’s all you need to know.”
At this time I could feel my classroom crumble and a deep heavy feeling overcame me. I could feel the dark cloud hanging over my students’ heads as if they were my own burdens. I knew immediately this piece of writing was a touchy subject, I could feel it. More so it was a heavy subject–a theme tied to experiences they wanted to forget and never relive again.
One of my students couldn’t handle writing anymore she left the classroom crying in the middle of the freewrite. After only writing a sentence, she paused and realized she couldn’t handle what she was about to write. So she put her pencil down and moved to the corner wishing to erase her story. She told me,”What happens if we don’t have good memories? I don’t want to write about this. I live in the hood. Ain’t nothing gonna change here.”
When the workshop was over, I felt defeated. I felt horrible for making my youth relive whatever trauma they’ve been through. I even approached one of the host teachers at the end of the workshop and told her I wanted to cry because I felt so sad. She then looked me straight in the eye and said, “Don’t be. Isn’t this what writing is about?”
That night when I got home, I realized this it isn’t about just today or past experiences. Writing is something that is difficult for anyone of any age. It is an act, a practice, a memory retold that is anything but easy. Writing is never easy. It never will be. Now I know that more than ever. I know now more than ever that no matter how old you are to write is to relive, and sometimes to relive is something a person is not ready to face. And that with writing comes patience, strength, and resiliency. And time, lots of time. I know that now. And I am forever grateful for my young writers who are teaching me to be patient and to only write when ready.
I knew waking up this morning that I didn’t have to rush to make the 7am train. In fact I woke up at 930am, laid in bed for a while, and stared at my ceiling with my mind focusing one thing: to relax and redeem myself.
it feels like it’s been hours and days
of hardwork and no sleep
of reality and no dreaming
of working long nights
and no pay for overtime
timing life with bus lines
trekking through train rides
walking miles just to get by
carrying bags worth of my life
living like a nomad, i try
despite rain or shine
to stand at the front lines
with sanity on the sidelines
using my every will
to power through
and stay on this grind
for the sake of educating minds
XII 