I suck at starting things but I have no problem carrying things from Step 2-∞.
Recently, I turned twenty, saying goodbye to all my excuses of being a slightly bratty, moody baby and it's been difficult because not only have I felt no different, I also went through multiple crises that left me feeling very, very confused.
Feelings.
A few weekends ago, I traveled to Lahore for the Pakistan Poetry Slam '16, held at Books n Beans, which was thoroughly impulsive on my part to even register, let alone go through with it. Lahore itself, was magical. When I had always wanted to pursue my medical education in the city, life didn't work out that way but the longer I was there, the more I felt that I belonged nowhere else.
The poem I had prepared was a few years old, mainly because medical school and its wide array of consecutive literal failures had destroyed any semblance of a muse apart from depression, called, "Nine Reminders to Love Myself." Backstory: the poem was written when a nut of a human being said I only write sad things.
My best friend, while helping me choose, told me that Nine Reminders was the poem most sure of itself and I agreed. What I felt performing that poem on the day was incomparable. People describe their memories on stage as an out-of-body experience but for me, it was the exact opposite. It was the single most visceral experience I had ever had. Being a typical Piscean means I am always aloof one way or the other but when I was performing my poem, I was so grounded to the moment, speaking the living lesson Sarah Kay taught me about how poetry was "what I have so far, and this is where I go from here," so completely in the moment, feeling the finality of each second we so often ignore to get on with the future. I knew when I said, "the sun was green," it was over. No matter how many times I gave up on the chance of making an impact before this, how many times I had accepted defeat, I was never going to perform quite like that again.
Though my middle scores were all high nines, the competition got much tougher after that. I've always called myself a spoken word poet, rather than a slam one, because I can never imagine myself angry or passionate enough to think myself an activist or a slam poet. All I write about are the stories and moments that made me because that is my essence, my only word I am sure of and it shouldn't get more genuine than that. And it's scary to think, that you're almost twenty and these fourteen-year-old wonders have had more to be angry about than you could ever dream. You're almost twenty and all you can talk about is being four and thinking that above that woody arch over the boulevard, God is smiling down on you. It was humbling and terrifying to think that my stories were too small an event in all of time to talk about.
In all of that, not once did I think that poetry doesn't mean the same thing for everyone, that all the times I've been told I remind people of Sarah Kay, not once did I sit down and think that she's the definition of a story-teller, going to country after country to show people how she was the coolest thing to happen to USA and Japan in one body. She may not have been all I've aspired to be but she comes pretty damned close. Our stories are what make us and my stories have made me. Mine may not be dripping with the need for gender equality or war-stories but my war-stories don't mean less for that to be.
All my failures have made me, (not claiming to be a master!) but it's hard to remember that it takes a lot to put yourself out there and I was probably the most butthurt teenager when it came to taking criticism. Now, working on a chapbook with the two editors I trust the most, I know I've come a long way. It's not that poems mean lesser, I can probably filter help from true bullshit now.
Turning twenty wasn't a big deal because you don't age overnight. Growing is a relief. I wish I was better reminding myself of it but it's okay. Part of growing up is accepting that no one could have learned your lessons your way and even your stories have a way of helping you. As Zohab Khan, co-host of PPS16, wrote so beautifully:
It was pretty wicked to be a runner-up at the Pakistan Poetry Slam '16, with the poem that was the beginning of the evolution of my writing style.
Shine away, humans, especially if your sweat is all that makes you glisten.
Peace.
Recently, I turned twenty, saying goodbye to all my excuses of being a slightly bratty, moody baby and it's been difficult because not only have I felt no different, I also went through multiple crises that left me feeling very, very confused.
Feelings.
A few weekends ago, I traveled to Lahore for the Pakistan Poetry Slam '16, held at Books n Beans, which was thoroughly impulsive on my part to even register, let alone go through with it. Lahore itself, was magical. When I had always wanted to pursue my medical education in the city, life didn't work out that way but the longer I was there, the more I felt that I belonged nowhere else.
The poem I had prepared was a few years old, mainly because medical school and its wide array of consecutive literal failures had destroyed any semblance of a muse apart from depression, called, "Nine Reminders to Love Myself." Backstory: the poem was written when a nut of a human being said I only write sad things.
My best friend, while helping me choose, told me that Nine Reminders was the poem most sure of itself and I agreed. What I felt performing that poem on the day was incomparable. People describe their memories on stage as an out-of-body experience but for me, it was the exact opposite. It was the single most visceral experience I had ever had. Being a typical Piscean means I am always aloof one way or the other but when I was performing my poem, I was so grounded to the moment, speaking the living lesson Sarah Kay taught me about how poetry was "what I have so far, and this is where I go from here," so completely in the moment, feeling the finality of each second we so often ignore to get on with the future. I knew when I said, "the sun was green," it was over. No matter how many times I gave up on the chance of making an impact before this, how many times I had accepted defeat, I was never going to perform quite like that again.
Though my middle scores were all high nines, the competition got much tougher after that. I've always called myself a spoken word poet, rather than a slam one, because I can never imagine myself angry or passionate enough to think myself an activist or a slam poet. All I write about are the stories and moments that made me because that is my essence, my only word I am sure of and it shouldn't get more genuine than that. And it's scary to think, that you're almost twenty and these fourteen-year-old wonders have had more to be angry about than you could ever dream. You're almost twenty and all you can talk about is being four and thinking that above that woody arch over the boulevard, God is smiling down on you. It was humbling and terrifying to think that my stories were too small an event in all of time to talk about.
Sarah Kay performing at TEDWomen in San Francisco, CA.
In all of that, not once did I think that poetry doesn't mean the same thing for everyone, that all the times I've been told I remind people of Sarah Kay, not once did I sit down and think that she's the definition of a story-teller, going to country after country to show people how she was the coolest thing to happen to USA and Japan in one body. She may not have been all I've aspired to be but she comes pretty damned close. Our stories are what make us and my stories have made me. Mine may not be dripping with the need for gender equality or war-stories but my war-stories don't mean less for that to be.
 |
| "What is the difference between a master and a beginner?" |
All my failures have made me, (not claiming to be a master!) but it's hard to remember that it takes a lot to put yourself out there and I was probably the most butthurt teenager when it came to taking criticism. Now, working on a chapbook with the two editors I trust the most, I know I've come a long way. It's not that poems mean lesser, I can probably filter help from true bullshit now.
Turning twenty wasn't a big deal because you don't age overnight. Growing is a relief. I wish I was better reminding myself of it but it's okay. Part of growing up is accepting that no one could have learned your lessons your way and even your stories have a way of helping you. As Zohab Khan, co-host of PPS16, wrote so beautifully:
"Clouds come,
Clouds go.
People come,
People go.
Change,
Change stays."
Clouds go.
People come,
People go.
Change,
Change stays."
It was pretty wicked to be a runner-up at the Pakistan Poetry Slam '16, with the poem that was the beginning of the evolution of my writing style.
 |
| Runner up Orooj-e-Zafar with Zainab Z. Syed. |
Shine away, humans, especially if your sweat is all that makes you glisten.
Peace.
You are beautiful and unique and your words give me hope in this world and a reason for being. That is all.
ReplyDeleteKeep being amazing you perfect cosmic deity in corporeal form.