The Unforgetting

I have been trying for a couple weeks to write a blog post and nothing has come out. It is almost like I dropped my pail into the well and came up dry and empty. Like I dug the well into ground that could not produce water. I sat in front of my computer and begged my brain to come out with something worthwhile to share. I will confess, I still do not know if what I am going to share is worth the read but I think it is the only thing that my hands know to write right now. And maybe if I get the words off my fingers and out onto the page my well will not have been dug in vain. Perhaps this is the water I have been waiting for.

I often wonder at what point I stopped being so honest with myself and the world. I do not think it was a conscience choice. And it did not happen all at once. I was so inundated with the message from society telling me my story did not matter enough to be told that I started making myself smaller. It was a cyclical process that I did not notice until I was a shadow of myself- a distorted version that I grew to hate with each passing day. I clenched my teeth and swallowed my words, day after day, until one day I opened my mouth and there were no more words left to swallow. Before if you would ask me the quickest way to erase somebody I would say it would be to tell them they were nothing. But now I am convinced the quickest way is to stop saying their name, stop hearing their voice, and refuse to look them in the eyes. I forgot how to say my name and I did not listen for my own voice. When I came face to face with a mirror I did not look myself in the eyes. I made myself into a disappearing act. One which I am still trying to pull myself out of. I am trying to unforget myself. I am also trying to unforget everyone else that does not hear or say their name, is not looked in the eyes, and is not listened to.

I think to some extend that is what artists, writers, and creators do: they unforget what the world has asked them to turn their back on. The creator gets the chance to amplify that which has been silenced. The creator shares a voice, be it their own or someone else, and just like that this voice is no longer lost in the abyss of erasure- it is found. What a wonderful burden we have as humans to be able to create; even as the world tries to forget people, we have the ability to bring them back. We also have the ability to save ourselves. All of this, while easier said than done, is not impossible. We start where we are at with what we know and trust it is enough for now.

I think to some extend that is what artists, writers, and creators do: they unforget what the world has asked them to turn their back on.

That said, as we consume these voices we are surrounded with, it is imperative that we are critical about what stories we hear and listen to. Erasure does not always come in the form of the denial of existence, though that is the quickest way I believe. It also is hidden inside a culture that will leave you saturated with stories but none of which you can see yourself reflected in. Or you see yourself everywhere in the world but you do not see your neighbor. The world has a way of telling us what stories matter by telling us what stories to look at and who is centered in these stories. But I am learning to look for people in the margins and between the lines of stories that overlooked their importance. And I am also learning to write and read work where those on the fringes are brought front and center. This is constant learning and continual failure followed by moments of triumph and joy. This is my act of defiance in a world where I am supposed to be ignored.

So today I tasted my name on my tongue and then yelled it into the void. I gave myself a lifeline and told myself to take it. I said hello to everyone I passed walking by and let them know they were seen. I asked them to see me too. I started creating the environment I want to live in. I’m not perfect at this, not even close. But I am trying. Which is more than I can say for last Thursday at work. And the day before Thursday when I saw a lady cleaning the women’s bathroom and did not acknowledge her existence. And when I saw her again I did not know how to apologize so I thanked her for her work and hoped she could see my honesty. But in the spirit of trying to be better I will apologize to her the next time I see her because I have learned that honesty does not make up for a lack of an apology. I will also try to remember to ask her name and tell her mine. And I won’t stop with her. I will do my best to look people in the eyes, say their names, and hear their voice. I will not get it right very time, or even half the time. But I refuse to let the enormity of this goal overwhelm me. I will start where I am at and keep moving forward.

This is a process- the unforgetting. I do not know if I will ever be done with it. And I am okay with that.

-K