Poems and Prose on the Kitchen Table
Working from home now, affords me a lot of new luxuries. Namely, the luxury of time and space to return to writing and creating and spending time with others who are doing the same thing. Fellow babaylan and cultural youth worker/artist, Darlene Rodrigues, came over this afternoon. Over our lap tops on my kitchen table, our talk-story ventured into childhood memories, new poems, and the return to an authentic"voice" in all places from rallies to this blog.
The last bit of our conversation ventured into this notion of relational pidgin and a poem which Darlene is now hatching about local ways of knowing and acting in the world. She can say all that better in pidgin--I won't even try.
What is at focus, for me, though, is the ambiguous place I often occupy as a diasporic Pinay settler here-rooted and routed in Hawaii. I belong and I don't. I look local and I am not. I slip into a pidgin lilt and in certain contexts, I shouldn't even act.
I don't mean to pose this as a problem. Because it simply is "What is." and I have accepted this. Really. What is a challenge for me within this in-between location, however, is the delicate dance of naming and not naming-making evident a dynamic or participating in the silence of it, calling out or calling on the inner resources to restrain one's truth. Sometimes it's better if an outsider says "it"-whatever "it" is. And sometimes, it's far more effective if the dissenting voice comes from a native/local daughter.
I have come to believe that my mastery of this dance- of knowing how and when to speak, is crucial in a place like Hawaii. And I have to come to appreciate the artistry of not making things always so plainly evident and conveying or imposing my meaning. There is a wisdom that comes with restraint, that comes with establishing relationship, cultivating a bond, and building trust first before the frankness comes.
But what about that authentic voice? Can one still hold that and still not feel self-betrayal? It's a lot of work to say one's truth in a clean, honest way and still be connected, especially if that truth is not particularly flattering. I like to be liked-and who doesn't in varying degrees?
Perhaps, that's why I need to make more time for and cherish the unique relationships that allow for poems and prose on my kitchen table. Because, in relationship, with those beloved special few, authenticity is openly spoken and welcomed here. And in those moments, I am deeply and gratefully nurished and fed.
The last bit of our conversation ventured into this notion of relational pidgin and a poem which Darlene is now hatching about local ways of knowing and acting in the world. She can say all that better in pidgin--I won't even try.
What is at focus, for me, though, is the ambiguous place I often occupy as a diasporic Pinay settler here-rooted and routed in Hawaii. I belong and I don't. I look local and I am not. I slip into a pidgin lilt and in certain contexts, I shouldn't even act.
I don't mean to pose this as a problem. Because it simply is "What is." and I have accepted this. Really. What is a challenge for me within this in-between location, however, is the delicate dance of naming and not naming-making evident a dynamic or participating in the silence of it, calling out or calling on the inner resources to restrain one's truth. Sometimes it's better if an outsider says "it"-whatever "it" is. And sometimes, it's far more effective if the dissenting voice comes from a native/local daughter.
I have come to believe that my mastery of this dance- of knowing how and when to speak, is crucial in a place like Hawaii. And I have to come to appreciate the artistry of not making things always so plainly evident and conveying or imposing my meaning. There is a wisdom that comes with restraint, that comes with establishing relationship, cultivating a bond, and building trust first before the frankness comes.
But what about that authentic voice? Can one still hold that and still not feel self-betrayal? It's a lot of work to say one's truth in a clean, honest way and still be connected, especially if that truth is not particularly flattering. I like to be liked-and who doesn't in varying degrees?
Perhaps, that's why I need to make more time for and cherish the unique relationships that allow for poems and prose on my kitchen table. Because, in relationship, with those beloved special few, authenticity is openly spoken and welcomed here. And in those moments, I am deeply and gratefully nurished and fed.
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