Ballet is a gamed system. Someone must disrupt it I guess. I hope…
One more step. You have come far and shouldn’t be here in the first place. Keep going. Keep cultivating your beautiful beautiful voice. Accept the difficulty.
I am really frustrated at the moment. I called my younger siblings, and that isn’t frustrating. That is okay, starting to build community as an older sibling who is on the way to I hope accomplishing unlikely goals.
Still, what is hard is that I am around much more privileged people than me. And I talked with someone today about creating a summer program in Denver to improve my dancing and it’s frustrating because I don’t know if I will make it. It’s so fucking frustrating. But you know what I will own my story in this fucking place. It is time. I will have to accept all of my story and experiences.
And it is time.
God, I am asking you to help me rise. And first though let me own the story here. I will take the steps needed to continue building. I will accept the abandonment and neglect I’ve faced. And I have to continue to face this.
My older brother taught me shapes like hexagons, octagons, and the like. I liked octagons. He also hurt my sister badly to the point that we’re working on the impact now, to be vague. He was abandoned twice over by a father and a supposed-to-be father figure. I was abandoned once, and that wound is bloody enough.
Godwilling, to healing for my younger sister…
I have a deep well of dysfunction, and for me to even be in this fucking space, my voice is invisible. I had to tell someone today that dance companies, some don’t even hire Black girls and women. I shouldn’t have to say this but this is what it is like in spaces with White people, and Asian and Black cutouts of this. It is a culture of not seeing reality, or being genuinely honest about it.
They do not get the Black girls like me, and I hate it that I am here with people who had it so much easier. But that is okay. I believe my story will have space and take up space and be my advantage. But I have to continue to own it and blog this out.
Let us own it now.
We were poor when my brother was teaching me shapes. He was nine years older than me. He is. He has stopped talking to us. I do not have strong family bonds like those I’m around. And I have to face my marginalizaiton in a way that is real. Those around me can fake “see” reality — it is the default of ballet. Pretend. But no, I cannot. God, let me have people who see me like the person I hope will teach me this summer. At this point, I left kind of feeling, like shit a little, but really the truth is that I started to speak my reality.
If you haven’t been called a nigger shut the fuck up. We’re not the same. Like I have to stand in my experiences, even when I have siblings who do not stand in theirs. So I have to be the leader among us too (how?).
Let me find converts here and let me find the help I need at this space. Like the person today. And perhaps others.
And be the older and younger sibling that is a leader in my family.
It starts here. One can’t pretend.
It is time to go.
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