I’ve been dating. Dating? I’ve been building a relationship with a man. A great man who treats me like precious platinum. Malcolm… as in X. That’s his name.
That’s one of the reasons I’ve been away. That and the fact that I’ve literally been away: back to southern Africa for 2 months. I went back with IN THE CONTINUUM to share it with the citizens who didn’t get the chance to see it last time… people who weren’t able to get to the cities and pay the money to get into the theatres… the people who don’t necessarily have cars and wouldn’t fathom catching a kumbi (a shuttle service of sorts) to go all the way to the city to see some show the theatres hadn’t even bothered to market to them, all for an hour and a half of entertainment, as informative and impactful as it may have been for many audiences, it just wasn’t conducive for most of them.
Up until the point that I went to Africa the tour had really been sort of handle-able. I was living out of my suitcase, but I knew that for at least a month I could unpack a few things. I could cook. I could hook-up with people I hadn’t seen in years and meet some new folks and actually have time to hang out with them once or twice before I had to go again. I could share my experiences and take in some sights and plan and register a business and network and make connections. But this time, in South Africa, there wasn’t time for any of that because everything came at me so fast. It was like riding that ride at Disneyland in the dark. You zoom up and down and flashes of light come at you and disappear as quickly as they came. There wasn’t even any time to unpack because we were traveling to another city or township every 3 or 4 days. I would wake up in the mornings and have to lie there for a brief moment to orient myself to my surroundings. Which bed was this? Do I have to exit from the right or the left to get out of the room? Where’s the bathroom? What city is this? Country? What day is it? There was no time to sit at my brand new MacBook and record the intricate transitions of mind and heart that resonated with me throughout my day. There was no time to record how much I was learning and how much was changing and how exciting everything was, and how homesick I became. And there certainly wasn’t any time to tell you how I had fallen in love. Yeah. In love. There is actually a place that you fall into. It’s a womb of pink rose pettles and warm water. It cradles you. It gets dangerously close to sharp objects and you fear that the bubble will burst, then it gently gets blown in the direction of even more goodness.
At the risk of sounding cliché, I’ll tell you that it happened so fast and came out of nowhere, this relationship. Yet, at the same time, it was no surprise at all. It’s what I prayed for. What I specifically asked for from God, and you know what she says: ask and it shall be given. Believe and you will receive. I wanted to write about it earlier. But I think subconsciously I thought that I would jinx the relationship by permanently recording it for all to read, then when it failed, my punishment for jumping the gun would be the relentless reminders from nosey people asking, “Whatever happened to that guy, what’s his name, oh yeah, Malcolm?” And then I rationalized that if I spent all of my time writing about it, then I wouldn’t be totally submerged in the experience of living it. I’d miss it altogether. I’d ruin it by not being inside it. As if there was anything I could do, or not do, to stop the motion of God. What an ego I have sometimes.
We got together officially in March. Something happened that caused him to loose the other girl he was stringing along, and caused me to drop my “dating persona” early on. We decided to give it a shot, both of us tired of getting half-ass relationships from our half-ass commitment to them. At least this time we could both say that we gave it all that we had at the risk of everything being exposed. I ay why not. I’ve learned that that kind of vulnerability always seems scarier than it is. No, you shouldn’t open yourself to everyone, but if you do, and it doesn’t work out, you won’t vaporize. You won’t die. It feels like you might, but you won’t. And I think your intellect understands this. Just like if you stand on the 110th floor of a bulding and you walk to the panoramic window to look out, your body flinches and locks up, even though, intellectually you know that you’re not going to fall. That the building’s foundation is strong. That your safe. You know that, yet it doesn’t matter. You body flinches anyway. That’s just instinct. A bult in protective mechanism. It comes standard with every model. But you have the power to stand and look out, despite that reaction. I’m doing that now, with Malcolm. I’m standing on the edge. Sometimes I’m scared. But for moments, I actually get to enjoy the view. And the longer I gaze out, the longer those moments of joy become. Perhaps, one day, he and I will get to the point when that’s all there is.
I'm 28 now. Yep. How this happened, I'm not sure. I started this whole touring thing when I was 24. And now I'm 28. Crazy. I don't really feel any different. Things are happening around me... all of my friends are getting married, having kids, moving, and changing. But I don't feel different. Perhaps more mature. More sophisticated. More authentic. More confident? I guess that depends on the day you see me. I wear my hair natural now. I had forgotten what I looked like and wasn't sure that I'd like who I was under the perm any longer. Would I still be pretty and sexy and desired - since those things are the 'real' measure of a woman's worth, right (smirk)? I feel sexier than ever. More beautiful than ever. More myself than ever. Amazing what a little thing like hair can do.
Other things have changed too. I’m unemployed now. No one is paying me to do anything for or with them. So I employ myself. I am paying myself to do what I want to do. Which means, that I have saved money to dole out to myself for the next couple of months in exchange for deep soul reflection, research and creative re-interpretation in the form of novels, plays and screenplays. I am a writer. Not because I co-wrote a successful play that amounts to about 60 pages of writing of which I am only responsible for 30, but I’m a writer because I’m good at it… so I feel, and so I’ve been told by people who love me and some people who could care less. I am also a writer because stories keep coming to me looking for a place to be birthed. My brother-in-law always reminds me in jest that my “clock is ticking” and asks, “When you gon’ have some babies?” perhaps not understanding that I’ve given birth to a big ‘ole baby, and I nursed it for 3 years, and now it’s off doing it’s own thing living on it’s own. It still amazes me to think that I created something like IN THE CONTINUUM. And that it’s living on without my daily interaction with it…and that it will forever. There are productions at the University of Ill., in Cleveland, in Coral Gables, Florida… at Rutgers… it’s out there doing exactly what Danai and I, it’s parents, wanted it to do. I also know – with the kind of knowing that surpasses all understanding – that I’m supposed to keep going. Everything in me knows. And circumstances are perfect to do so. So, here I go. I expect what I write to make me money. I pray that it comes out with grace and ease. I want it to help people. I hope it makes my mother proud.
I’m working on 3 things: IN THE CONTINUUM the novel - turning the play into a novel where I can delve into the thoughts and specifity of each character more. I can paint the picture of the given circumstances more. REPAIRING A NATION where I explore the effects of the institution of slavery on today’s generation of African Americans and addressing the need for internal healing by dealing with the issue of repairations, that one is for my community; and a story about a woman who falls in love with her father…that one hopefully deals with women coping with absent fathers, and looking for them. It’s Oedipal, and mythic while being mundane and everyday. That one is for me. That’s plenty to work on, and I’m completely uneducated about them all. So I get to learn. I don’t know if they’ll be screenplays, plays, novels or short stories. I have no idea about anything really, but I’m willing to do whatever is necessary to manifest them in the form that they need to have. Pray for me.
I’ve already thought about all of the reasons why I can’t do this. I also know all of the reasons why I can’t have or do what ever it is I want in life: I’m too tall, I’m too black, I’m too unexperienced or uneducated. I don’t know the right people, I don’t have the right connections. I have too many bills. No one cares. But I’m going to pursue this anyway, and use this time as a faith-building time. God has put this in my heart and I know that if I act on it, the entire universe will support me. I know that I am a performer. I’m good at it. I have the empathy to give characters and the innate talent for the dramatic and I’ve crafted my technique so that I have the capacity to give it to an audience in a way that they can digest and make use of it for themselves. I know that I’m a writer… no I never went to school for it, but I’ve been telling stories all of my life, and I believe the gift of communication is a gift I have been given to develop and to give. Thank you God.
So, that said, now that I am equipped with a man who treats me like precious platinum, a family who believe in me so much that they would bridge mountains with a human chain to make sure I had what I needed, all the time in the world, money in the bank to handle my affairs, and a new laptop, I embark on the newness of this moment. I make this transisiton. I let the past go, and I don’t worry about what is to come. I’m writing. I’m a writer. And that’s good.