What You've Heard is True. I Have a Book.
I cannot think of any better time to use Carolyn Forché’s words other than this moment in my life. What you have heard is true, I have a book coming. A whole book, a spine of life launching out into the world in two months. And I suppose until yesterday, only four people knew about this- the publishing team at Akashic and three close friends. My family has no idea and even now, I’m struggling with picking up the phone and calling home. It is harder in my case because for my mom, I not only have to tell her the good news, I have to explain it too. And in doing so, I must come to terms with the gravity of it, something I always try to escape.Last year in April when I was awarded a fellowship to study at Chapman University, after I had cried openly, sitting outside KFC upon receiving the news, I went home and said simply to my mom “I got accepted into a school. It’s a full scholarship.” In a tone so carefully flat I could have been telling her I was heading to the market. I remember her looking at me waiting and me, looking back at her, waiting for a reaction. In a few seconds, my cousin appeared, and I repeated the news, in a much happier tone, and she screamed, hugged me, congratulated me. In our joy, my mom made meaning of the moment- if we were celebrating, then it certainly had to be for good. Later I’ll tell her more- this means I’m going to America to study without paying tuition. This means out of a thousand applicants; I was among the few to be selected for this award. This means my writing has potential. I have potential. Of course, in the months leading up to my departure, she would ask me the school’s name and my program of study over and over again, she wanted to know what to tell people when they asked about her daughter. That was her own way of telling me she was proud.I was wrong to think that would be the last time I'll mishandle good news. In July last year, I received an email that my manuscript has been accepted to be included in the New-Generation African Poets chapbook box sets, edited by Kwame Dawes and Chris Abani. More often, I don’t know what to do with such news; who to tell, how to remain grateful while still admitting my fear of not deserving what I receive, fear of losing it along the way. And so for most of my life, I’ve settled for quieter ways of going about my victories, chosen a celebration that frankly involves calling up my friends and weeping from shock and joy and the thought of heavy questions: What’s next? What do I do with this? How do I ensure that my life isn’t forever changed by this opportunity? How do I keep this valuable thing small, so small no one can take it away from me? But even more than this is the fear that people will see it and want nothing to do with it. Rejection. I’ve received my share of this from Submittable notifications and one would think I’d be used to it by now, but no. I’ve watched the TED Talks, I’ve read the articles, and although I understand there’s no running away from something as inevitable as this, a practical seam in the fabric of life, I cannot help myself. Self-rejection has been the cause of this unrest, drawing me out and beyond myself to a sense of insufficiency. And I’m not proud of how I have learnt to cope with this. I should be writing about my forthcoming book but it’s crucial that I share what’s been happening leading to this moment of deep contradictions of joy and fear.
“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.” - Brené Brown
I can’t think of any aspect of my life I have showed up authentically and dare I say, fearlessly, as I do in my writing. In this place, I weave a thread from my own life and reveal hard, vulnerable truths, as raw as they come. I suppose writing has given me permission I wouldn’t think to give myself outside of it and the invitation has been brutal and profound, more to me than anyone else. If I have cultivated writing as a mechanism to observe, to process, to question, to confess the happenings of my very real life and the world around me, I have unknowingly nurtured these stories, anchored myself to them as overwhelming proof of who I am in the world, who I could be, and not without the darkness. My abrupt discomfort with sharing my work with an audience is conditioned by this and my long history of perfectionism, wanting my words to be everything to everyone, and to meet everyone’s expectations. But this of course is impossible and that scares the life out of me. I’m learning to see that all writing is a kind of service and I cannot, for the life of me, control the reactions to it.What matters is that in my own service of living, I have offered something, contributed something to the world. And if one person, even just one, takes something from it, I want to be at peace with that. I’m doing it again; actually, I want to be thrilled by that. That anyone would care to read anything I write is a gift I should never take for granted. This humbling craft I’ve taken on will always be bigger than myself and may I learn from this realization, although I must say I am content in knowing that I can love something this much to be afraid of not doing it well enough. Tomorrow’s not a given, and neither is the next poem. Won’t you celebrate with me?The anxiety from imposter syndrome is still with me, even now as I sit to type this, but the truth is- I don’t want a perfect book. There was an ache just as much as there was pleasure, bound up in the making of this collection. And if that means my poems are too intimate in voice, too open on the breadth of human experience, or closed too tight like a fist, I’ll take it. My relationship to my work will always be a pervading mystery and if you ask me if I’m confident about it, I wouldn’t be at all sure what to say. But am I hopeful? Am I thankful? Utterly so. The world might be spinning on its axis right now but, I have a book of poems coming. A difficult time for a debut but no less meaningful. My heart is so full. Friends, A Mouthful of Home can be pre-ordered here.
My sincere gratitude to the team at Akashic, Ama Asantewa Diaka, Lauren Alleyne who wrote such a stunning preface and my professors at Chapman, Anna Leahy and Samantha Dunn for their prompt and immense support.
