cripchick's blog

shy shy shy. when you approached me that night at the show, i couldn’t believe it was you. a blooming cross-continental friendship. connected by this silly blog i keep. even more beautiful in person.

i forgot to mention i was shy, huh? call myself a radical woman of color feminist, a disability right activist, a youth organizer but maybe i am just a quiet girl who doesn’t know what to do with herself. maybe systems are the only way i know how to talk. maybe it’s like he says— blahzay blah, what does that even mean, girl?

the third day comes and we are sitting together quietly. over and over again i tell you that i can’t believe you are here. we spend a lot of time sitting like that. smiling. so much to take in. it’s okay though, all the secrets we carry have already been shared. all that is left are merely the details of our lives.

maybe all of these things i do aren’t really about movement-building. maybe this is the only way i know how to deal with the alienation, the loneliness, of being a person of color in white space. asian in black brown space. queer in homophobic straight space. a conservative army town girl who randomly transformed into a lone lefty. simply calling all of this “identity politics” does not do my life justice- it misses the quietness, the sadness that comes with living at the borderlands, the constant compromise, the necessity of an intersectional politic. i didn’t choose to be a bridgebuilder.

i grab every person i know that walks by so they can meet you. the way you speak is so beautiful. words connect and flow out of your mouth like poetry. you are so sharp and on point with your perspective. you understand isolation & the beauty of coming together more than any one i know.

lately, i can’t push myself to move, to be productive. haven’t left the house in weeks. feels like i’m stuck, overwhelmed with nothingness. realizing that this may happen every time this year because i have spent the last few summers in community— not community as the folks you live near but chosen family community— and when you have to say goodbye to that & face the realities of your life… nothing feels like “enough”. my family is amaziiiiing- they are the kind who will massage you to sleep when you are hurting and stay up all night rotating toasty blankets for you when you are sick. but still. once you get to be who you are, fully, it’s hard to go back to this hiding.

need more of you in my life. let’s see each other again soon. love you, sister.

look at little ms. social butterfly
wings carrying her between movements
that girl finds commonality
everywhere

look at little ms. social butterfly
holding your hand & greeting you with a kiss, a hug
she will come
to read poetry
with you
to organize
with you
to walk, talk, and overanalyze
with you

but somewhere between hello
and how are you
she is gone

always pollinating
look at the way she has brought us all together!
no can’t you see
she flies between us all
never calling one place home

could you love little ms. social butterfly
knowing she will be fully present
but only for a little while?

could you love little ms. social butterfly
knowing this, this fluttering between communities,
is the only way
she has figured out
how to survive?

maybe she is all of us:
a breadth of experiences and identities reflected in the patterns of our wings
let’s fly to new heights
and find somewhere to return

weaving together bridges
and relying on no one’s backs

look at little ms. social butterfly

detroit was really powerful to me because it meant that there were always 20-30 people in a half mile radius that i could trust with ANYTHING. still, after the conference, every single person i have talked to has said something along the lines of “it was great to see you! i wish we had time to hang.” i am seeing so many pictures and jokes of moments i missed with people because i was somewhere else. where was i? how many communities am i flying between? if you are having conversations with multiple groups of people, do you ever get to go deep with any of them?

a friend once told me that disability often rejects and transcends what is considered “correct” body language. maybe we are stimming. maybe we are using an interpreter. maybe we are interacting with physical pain, depression, assistive technology.  maybe we are sitting when we are supposed to be standing (or vice versa).  to try and deny ourselves these needs are either exhausting or impossible. that’s just who we are.

i have been thinking about what it means to listen deeply. at the allied media conference, the media makers i surrounded myself with looked at communication as more than trying to get one’s message across. (loved what my girl little light said about media—”media is what we grow when we are trying to communicate with each other.”) at the amc, i would open up about something really personal and the people around me would use their whole bodies to hear me. sitting still. quiet. ears attentive. eye contact. not thinking about other things. reaching out and holding me if i needed it. being listened to like this was the most beautiful thing i have ever experienced. who knew listening could be so transformative.

but knowing that what my friend said is truth (’cause it is!), now i am thinking about where disabled people fit into this. for example, how much is the way i perceive that you are listening to me shaped by ideas of neurotypicality? (love the tshirt that says “eye contact is overrated”). how do we deal with a situation where my communication style is legitimized and yours is not? what do i do if my communication needs don’t mesh with yours? what are all the ways we can show each other that we are listening? is it just a matter of saying holla if you hear me? & i got you, i hear you, yes

so much listening to be done. . .