To witness

This post is late on purpose. I’ve reached the seams of an old version and the new, riiight where I’m used to stopping. After 4 posts, and 4 weeks of this website being live, its no longer a spur of the moment thing, and the act of sharing my thoughts to an audience (whoever you are right now) is undeniably real.

So, the impulse to stop and put this genie back inside her bottle is real and of course, supportive of my choice to let Tuesday come and go without posting.

But, I rang this bell, and welcome this change, this choice to get out of my head and show up. So - here’s week 5.

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Ok, right now I’m working on a project to pull from my camera roll (starting from the dawn of time) any documentation I have from my apartment back in Washington to create something to honor and memorialize that space. I lived there for 9 years and I went through so many iterations of self in that home turned coocon, turned cubbyhole of grief - internally and externally. I’ve been gone from there for over 2 years now, and from Washington coming up on a year, but the thing that still holds me mentally captive is the fact that I never truly shared that space in the way I wanted to, and I still want to, because I’m proud of it, of what I accomplished there. I spent a lot of time in my apartment and Washington alone and lonely, while simultaneously looking the most vibrant in the pictures I’m sifting through.

I’m saying -  gorgeous colors, textures, patterns, a masterpiece I’m truly proud of and never really shared, or was satisfied with for long. And in looking back, I see how
very hard I tried connect - with others, the community I made there, with my apartment in its endless furnishing interations, trips to Fred Meyer, Target, thrift stores, you name it. But Solange called it - can’t buy, run, furnish your way away from cranes and truths that will make their ways to the surface. I was putting a gorgeous cover on years of self that needed to be sat with, to be fully loved at home first. Especially coming into my womanhood in the PNW as an unambigious Black woman, dark skinned, full figured, straddling class, who loves Blackness and Black people. In walking in and being around space that saw who I was more clearly than I ever realized and didn’t always like it what it saw, and was oh so subtle in signalling that (and I miiight have been persistent in ignoring the signs). So many I’ve connected with who live there, and others who’ve left, have shared the same aloneliness that came with this version of being Black in that space, and we talk about it lightly with one another, but it cuts deep. 

So, looking back, I am offering my self, that home, a witness to say in the language that matters to me - I made a beautful home there and it mattered. I was the primary architect, resident and witness of the space I curated for so much of my time, and for that, I chose to be grateful. It was a space I needed for some big firsts, wins and laughter. Its where I became comfortable with holding space for my lows as well, for allowing myself to fall apart and love what left and who remained. Where I began my journey on learning how to speak my own language of love, power, beauty, safety and freedom. 

I’ll eventually share the project here and wherever else it may end up. After sitting in its early stages, I see now that its a release, this witnessing of a home I no longer live in, but did and was proud of. And its a celebration of all the choices that went into creating and eventually releasing that version of home and self to find other, healthier, more self and finally, community connected, ways of being and living.