Performing with the Afghan Women’s Writers Project has already been uplifting. Truly. Please, if you can make it, come out to see us speak the words of women writers from Harat, Afghanistan. Women who brave too much just to get their words out. Tickets are a bit steep, because its a fund raiser, but you can always dig out your student ID and come see the show for $15 on Sunday. Rachel Dratch from Saturday Night Live is going to be joining us I believe on Saturday, so if you’re a comedy fan, that rocks for you. It’s at the Magic Future Box Theater in Brooklyn (N/D/R to 36th St). Here are the deets and links:
This past Wednesday I went out to dinner with a few friends, this macrobiotic spot by Union Square, and after we finished the delicious fish soup and seaweed, one sister pulled out a deck of cards. Tarot cards, fairy cards, fortune cards, however you call it, we all did it, staying put at the table till they turned the Christmas tree lights off, letting us know it was time to be up. One of the cards I pulled said, “Be honest with yourself.” But when you’ve learned to lie so well, how then do you get back to being honest with yourself? So I wrote this poem last night. And before I share it with you, I want to let you know that I am chairing a panel on Cinema and Law for the Society of Cinema and Media Studies Conference coming up, and yeah, I’m still writing, but just not blogging or tweeting as much. Maybe I will get back to this practice regularly, or maybe I am simply transitioning away. Either way, thank you for all your comments and for reading.
To Be Real
whatever happened to a dream deferred
does it turn into the sun
glowing behind a perpetual cloud
called the soul conflicted
what does it mean to be honest with myself
does it mean to shake forth the silver studded bullets of my dreams
to my subscribers: it’s been a minute, awkward. but anywho, in the past three months i graduated from tisch with a masters in cinema studies. woohoo, another top three degree, all the ladies say owwwww. and i took the new york state bar exam. went to austin, where i danced all night, little black dress working the floor for the octogenarians and loving the teenage wasteland at the quicenera over there with the perez fam.
Essay On Fatherhood:
and, my parents were just in town for the weekend, sigh, love them.
fav moments: a deep sea deep convo with my father. but first, there was the moment when i took my moms hands, and her smile stretched to brighton, that was my favorite moment, saturday night at the beach, teaching my momto salsa on the coney island boardwalk to the sounds of the salseros at cyclone stadium. we got a pastelita on the pier, me and my moms, all banana leaf hot, she tore that shit up too, but still left the last part for me, wouldn’t even take the last bite when i offered. she went out of her way to act like she didn’t like the pastelita so much, at the end she said, “i like tamales better.” which let me know she loved that shit. melty chicken in all that steaming creamy masa.
fatherhood post, right? well, my moms was my pops for too long not to shout her first.
that convo with pops was a real win. i asked point blank you know, “why are you helping me,” i asked, “why are you doing this?” i mean, so as not to get things twisted, let the motivations and emotional strings attached be clear. because a pruning was in order, emotionally. and it worked you know. it was a conversation i needed to have and i had it, so that’s great. his reply? he said that for him, with my dada ji and dadi ji, he never asked for much. but when he asked they provided. but im not asking, im thinking in my head. i stay quiet, listening. and so, he continued, that is why. later, a tortured look on his face, he says, “i didn’t know you were going to ask such a deep question.” shit. me neither. life, funny how it always provides another chance.