Sometime in 2017, I stumbled into the The Poetry Marathon and signed up to do the "half" or 12 poems in 12 hours. Sadly, a series of events by the creators of this awesomeness meant they weren't going to be able to do it in 2018. I forgot all about it until recently when I saw a call on one of the many writers submissions group I'm in. I loved the energy, the camaraderie and the challenge of creating a poem, following their prompts and uploading it before the hour was up.
Naturally, when I saw they had returned and were going to be doing another anthology call, I jumped at the chance to redo this experience. This time, however, I am aiming to do 24 poems. A full marathon.
Honestly, the other day, my husband said he hadn't seen me so excited and happy in a while. It was after I got on a call with my sister and we were brainstorming and exchanging ideas for this Filipino folklore I've been saying I want to do. Writing stories gets me so excited, and I'm only sorry that I don't do it quite often.
Anyhow, the marathon starts this Sunday and I am pumped!
Write on, friends!
I'm a terrible liar. When I tell a lie, I know my eyes twitch and I can't look at whoever I'm lying to in the eyes. I'm pretty sure I stammer a bit or bite my lip as soon as I've uttered untruth.
So whenever my children asks me a question - about death, about the world around them, about the candy stash in my purse - I have to swallow the reply to make sure I've filtered it for their little hearts.
Sometimes, it works, and they accept the lie. Sometimes they frown and demand the truth (or the chocolate).
There are times when I respond and then make this passionate speech about the truths (as I see them/interpret them) and by the time I'm done, I know I've either confused my children, or opened up their world of innocence just a little bit to let clouds come in.
I've been glued to the news for the past few days. It's one of the most unhealthiest thing you can do. But I can't help it. I've been soaking in the hurt, cursing a little out loud in anger and trying my hardest to find God in the midst of the chaos.
When my children sees the news, they ask what's happening. They wonder why there are marches and fires, what the chants mean and why people are screaming.
I told them it's because black people are tired of being judged and killed for the color of their skin.
I told them that a black man died just because he went out jogging.
I told them that a police officer who should be protecting people made an evil choice and took a life.
I told them people are angry and hurt and exhausted.
I wish I knew a better response.
I wish I could shelter them from hate. I know there will be a time when they'll be asked a seemingly benign question of "where are you from," but really the truth is they're fishing for confirmation that you're different, a 'foreigner,' and your answer confirms that they could tell from far away that you're not from here.
That you don't belong.
I wish I could hold their hand and tell them that they won't be judged because of their skin color.
But the truth is that they will be. They won't see the preemie fighters, or the sweet boy and his precious big sister, they'll see a brown Mexican boy and a brown girl.
And then I think about my own shortcomings and the way I brush off people. I think about the circle of friends and people I surround myself with; mostly white, Middle class women. I know of 2 black women in my mom circle and I rarely see both of them (mostly thanks to nursing school, and travels). I'm the lone Asian in my book club. And I can count on one hand, how many Hispanics I'm friends with in this upper middle class suburbia I'm in.
I need my son and my daughter to be proud of their mixed heritage and their rich culture.
I need them to understand their privileges and to make sure they are able to help those around them who do not.
I need to educate not just myself but the generation I am raising to do better and to listen to stories that aren't ours to tell.
We need to amplify the voices on the screen screaming for justice and take our voices to the polls.
Revolutions were never peaceful.
And that's a story I want to tell.
Some resources I've found:
If you have this urge to reach out to the nearest POC (person of color) in your life about what this all means, please pause. They are tired of having to explain themselves...again. There exists a plethora of information, if you google it. I recommend you start here at "Be the Bridge," as they have educational resources, books, podcasts and movies that can educate you about racial injustice and inequality.
If you know of any other resources, please list them!
https://bethebridge.com/ - which serves to "Inspire people to have a distinctive and transformative response to racial division and be present and intentional toward racial reconciliation. Equip bridge-builders toward fostering and developing vision, skills, and heart for racial healing, and partner with existing organizations who have a heart for racial justice, restoration, and reconciliation.
https://diversebooks.org/ - We Need Diverse Books™ is a 501(c)(3) non-profit and a grassroots organization of children’s book lovers that advocates essential changes in the publishing industry. Our aim is to help produce and promote literature that reflects and honors the lives of all young people.
https://thelovelandfoundation.org/Loveland Foundation is committed to showing up for communities of color in unique and powerful ways, with a particular focus on Black women and girls. Our resources and initiatives are collaborative and they prioritize opportunity, access, validation, and healing. We are becoming the ones we’ve been waiting for.
http://www.shadesofblueproject.org/index.html - The Shades of Blue Project is dedicated to breaking cultural barriers in maternal mental health by raising awareness and ensuring action is taken to break the stigma surrounding seeking treatment in the minority community when experiencing complications after childbirth. We do this by helping women before, during and after child-birth with maternal mental health advocacy, treatment and support.
I drink too much coffee, read too many books, and in between raising miracle babies, I find time to write.