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A dedication to my niece

This is one from the archives. My niece turns 3 in June, but I never had a chance to publish it. With my sister’s permission and with a view to updating it:

Not even a year old and you’ve turned our world around. First born of the next generation, my little niece. I’m writing to you on this International Women’s Day to thank you for being.

I have learnt so much of myself through you already and each time I see you it is amazing to see how much you have learnt about how you work and fit into the world around you and the joy in which you experience it with. It is infectious and I hope you never change.

I hope you grow up knowing how loved you are, not only by your moma and dada, your grandparents and great grandparents, aunts and uncles, but also in your own ability to love yourself. For you are loved and lovable – a lesson I’m still learning myself.

I have seen the transition in my sister, your mother: from girl, to woman, to wife and then to mother. And it makes me smile. I am proud to be part of your story and that of your family as you grow in each other. It gives me hope of a family of my own one day and glimpses of what also might be.

First born, I sense a connection. Through observation at our sensitivity and inability to laugh at ourselves, reminiscing with photos and afternoon cuddles. I pray you never lose sight of that inner child of yours. You swim in a pool of adult attention so effortlessly – the centre of everyone’s world. You brighten our days with your little chatterbox and you remind us of what we once were.

Your smallness in comparison to the size of your uncles, your fragility and yet the strength in those hands, your persistence in standing up, exploring and inviting us into your world of bright lights, loud sounds – technicolour. No wonder it sometimes overwhelms you.

I wish for you a future of happiness, containment and contentment in who you are and all that you can be. I pray you will be happy in all that you do and that your path be blessed. May all doors be open to you for who you are not and hindered by the views of the world defined by biology.

Little girl, may you grow up to be a fierce woman. Proud of who and what you are. Tender hearted, loyal and aware of all you are: potential sister, friend and mother. May your steps be blessed.

And as I learn to parent myself more, may you continue to be my example. To let down my sword of battling and to experience the childlike joy at the world around you. To not be bitter at the judgments people may make about being a woman but to explore each and every shadow. To be content in my own journey and to have grace with others. Take all that life has to offer, often mouth first, as you do.

Dear heart, thank you for helping me to see past my own fear, to take of the glasses of struggling and recognise the call to just live. To stretch out and expand into all that I can be. For the change is through me and you too my sweet. Not only through words and actions but by being. Life is there for us to experience and hopefully many more afternoon cuddles.

Writing through the pain

Is the art of surrender.

My default response has been to freeze. Grip tight. To censor myself further until it becomes safe enough to breathe. Like the mothers of old who would devour their own creations. Pressure valve, shrink and see it through.

Not necessarily fear of failure or getting it wrong. More it just doesn’t feel concrete enough, partial illustrative imagery or I am too small to get it out. Birthing pangs.

The battlelines have been trodden; state explanations and awareness backdropping the parameters but not allowing the strategy to flow. The words leaden on a fractured sky.

Bigger picture thinking is grained into resilience but not always accessible in the moment. Breathing cautiously pushes the horizon wider, pulsating, contracting. Rhythm.

Fixing is the opposite of surrender. Busy solution driven throwing out a spider web at everything, anything to make you feel better. Forcing the mind to shift to a different feeling state as if where you are is not valid. Sometimes it will just not budge.

Reframing that censorship is the next goal. Making peace with and defining my creative process. The need to mull things over, check inwards to see what resonates and fill my focus, shift my focus freeing myself from fear of procrastination or moral judgements about production. All parts of the process are valid and it is only from the lens of the picture as a whole does it make sense.

I am writing this having weathered a storm. I do not feel closer to writing what I need to for work, but I have written this. And that is enough.

And soon I will be able to articulate into words my experiment of the past 3 months: chastity.

Creating a vacuum to let things flow – sounds counter intuitive. But it works.

So, how do you delight in the tumult of the storm? Where sheer frustration others you from that internal world and nothing seems like it’s going to change?

I know not how, but it shifts. It did for me this evening.

The dance

Trusting the process and finding the how…this is my explore;

In the ether beyond the labels, I reside. Pathwalker, soul shaker, axe grinder, intense firer
Fire heart, braveheart, not for the faint heart.
I permeate, desecrate your pathology. Your binary radar of normativity.
Those inner boxes that keep you safe and you from me.
From me will come the fluidity, will come the fluidity, will come
The technicolour, weaving rainbows.
Calling nations to their stations.
Bored of excuses, let me explore your frustration, let me expose my armour, no need for salvation.
Co-creation, validation tools of the trade of this generation.
And whilst this all might not quite make sense. Its just my first attempt at a stream of consciousness.


How do you frame the experience of a white passing mixed race Indian female femme brown eyed brown haired and often bushy gender queer queer trans* autistic perceiving invisibly differently abled middle class eldest child old before her time performing extrovert introvert kinkvert omnilovert somewhat sceptical nonsensical idealist passionate spirituallite intuitivist equalitist?

You just do.

I exist.