The Relieving Rejection

Saturated image of South Asian woman's back, in bikini, as she jumps into oncoming ocean waves.

I wish sometimes that it were a coffee shop revelation – the camera pans away from me as I enter my favorite spot (probably a bookstore café, probably crowded but with a conveniently placed open table waiting for me), where I sit down and start leafing through a bunch of books or magazines. There’s a close up of me looking longingly at those other lives, mostly ones that I wouldn’t want to have but that still inspire some sort of wanderlust. Then there’s a cut scene, and when we come back I’ve run out of the café, dramatically calling my workplace to say “I quit!” right there on the street and booking the next flight to Dhaka.

My brain’s a little melodramatic.

Whether it turns into a television drama or not, I’m leaving NYC at the end of April. I’m taking the year off to move first to Seattle, then to visit Europe, and finally to spend the better half of this year in Bangladesh - where I’ve been trying to go back to for the past two years but haven’t yet succeeded!

My decision started as a little voice nagging at me, whispering “go.” I could not ignore it. But I also couldn’t make the decision myself. I had applied to several grants – ones that would help the move to Bangladesh, ones that would root me in NYC – and held my breath. I waited on emails for weeks and months, and one by one they trickled in. We really appreciated your application… We’re sorry we cannot offer… We look forward to your... Everyone’s gotten at least one of these in their life. For almost all of last year, as I went through waves of un- and underemployment, they made me question my worth and the quality of my work just as much as the cover letters that never seemed to elicit any reply.

I made it through last year, but it was an agonizing experience (stick around for when I tell you about Roachpocalypse). Even when I felt like I was fully committing to the work I wanted to be doing – training to be a doula, organizing zine events, working with domestic violence survivors – money was still a hovering issue. Or rather, the insecurity that I wasn’t “making it in NY” was the issue. If I wasn’t putting in all my time to either monetary work or meaningful work, then what was I doing? I didn’t let myself relax for a second; I made to-do list after to-do list. I loved New York and I resented it.

Then I received an email in January. Oddly, this was at the point when I was most stable – I was paying all my bills with a job at a clinic I enjoyed working at – but my plans were set. The form letter was familiar, but my reaction had changed. It relieved and released me in a way that felt necessary.

My life since quitting my job and working freelance again as I prepare for my trip has not been TV-worthy. Mostly its involved sending a lot of emails from my couch and attending fabulous but unexciting meetings. But there’s also an ever-present excitement underneath that I will really and truly be doing something different with this year. People (my sister especially) have been telling me not to make everything a goal, so I am resisting the urge to draw up an image of the person I want to be this time next year. I am, however, getting an excellent crash course in trusting in other people. More soon!

One of the first things I’m doing this year is crowdfunding to go on a somatics retreat called Oppression in the Soma – it uses a set of body-based healing practices to restore and make you aware of how you move through the world. If you have a few dollars to support, I’d be grateful if you visited my Razoo page. Sending lots of love and gratitude.

I've also gotten something new published over at The Rumpus! It's a short story called Traditional Healing, and you should check it out.

It's Always Darkest...

I believe that this week is Speak's "darkest." Cancellations, illnesses, and the juggling of stricter performances with prop finding and tech meetings are all attempting to pound me into the ground. Yet I put my faith in that dawn that will inevitably come; how to drag it into being is the real task.
So today was generally productive school-wise. We watched Waiting for Godot [hoorah!] and took notes in biology, finished up projects and watched The Daily Show. We squirreled away our smiles for the end of this short Wednesday - though I was hard-pressed to bring one about as we filed into the gym for our senior picture.
It was such a horrible experience to be stuffed into the center of the bleachers with a bunch of rude jerks [who kept stepping on people and standing up and making general asses of themselves, ugh]. They had prescribed that we all wear bright clothing, but there were so few people who did [I garnered a small victory by having a yellow highlighter-colored sweater]. The photographer took many many many photographs, which I could probably expect, but he kept telling more and more people to put down their hands or that we were too blurry or something else that was wrong. It was all student-induced, which is why it bothers me. People need to either behave or be out. Oh well, though. Ms. Bennett says that it was actually better than average - haha.
I finally felt in control again this morning; I am trying to remember that fleeting time when I did not feel as if there should be more and more assignments for me to do. I think the difference between being a junior and being a senior is that you know what needs to be done, and when, as a junior. So you do it. As a senior, you know there are assignments due, things to be done, and other items - but rather than finding this out way in advance, you are forced to do it the morning before its due date. I'm not sure if this is a function of senioritis, laziness, or poor planning though I assume it could be all three.
Anyway, hopefully this afternoon will prove nicer than previous. I am trying to shake the sleepy doldrums from my shoulders and put together all my work before running off to the gym for some exercise and then going to see Darius Goes West again - this time with the cast in tow. Then, perhaps then, I can start to edit for the next editing class [I feel horrible for not even looking at it!] and working on long-term projects for IB. Who knows? Maybe I'll just sleep.

Also, the picture above is the year of my graduating class. '09! '09! '09!

Check out some more posts featuring my photography.