on attention, devotion, and love

every time i bring a book into a coffee shop, i feel afraid to be labeled as performative. but the more i exist and live in the world instead of the thoughts that pelt my body with stones, the more i realize that there is so little to fear. i put myself out there every day of my life now, and i am no stranger to judgment. what, then, is the difference between what i do every waking moment and what i’m doing now? is it the familiarity of being myself contrasted with the inherent performativity of being perceived in public? am i allowed to do things i like? is it scary because it's new or because i’m scared that people will laugh at me?

well, why don't i try it once, then? and see how i feel then. and try it again, and see how i feel then. and when i’ve done it again and again, and no one has gone out of their way to admonish me, and no one even spares me a second glance, and nothing happens, will i feel comfortable or will i be mildly disappointed that no one has given me the attention that i so desire? do i want to enjoy the ambiance and read or do i want to be seen reading?

honestly, i believe that i do want to be seen. to be perceived is always to be vulnerable, but vulnerability is the well from which i draw my greatest strength. the source of all my power in this world is that which is my greatest weakness and the weapon that can do the most harm to me. the act of living my life in the way that i want will always be a performance to not draw my own blood with a dagger that brings me salvation. struggle in and of itself is not something to romanticize, but all the beauty in the world comes from figuring things out - about yourself, or other people, or anything.

and today, i have learned that i want to be seen, with no possibility of being hurt. i have also learned that there is no future where this can ever happen. some would rather not be seen so that they can avoid being hurt again, as though any unwelcome touch would shatter them completely. how long can fear rule a heart until it bursts and cries to be freed? 1 year, and 5 years, and 10 years pass, and my youth leaves me to be replaced with graying hairs and regret for the person i could have become. and perhaps in 30 years i may have the will to stand but i will have forgotten how to do so. perhaps my heart will erupt at the ripe age of 55, but my body will not remember what it means to rise when i've spent so long kneeling.

so if not now, when? will i die in uncertainty or live in spite of it?

the first time i perform - whether it is a talent show, or a concert, or a presentation, or a speech, or an official match, or a play, or a poetry reading, or a stream - i always feel fear grip my heart. but it is not the cold, chilling fear that others seem to describe. it is the unwelcome warmth of a hand i did not ask for, one that feels incredibly foreign and violent. i want nothing more than to shrink and run from that touch.

when so much time passes between the present and my last performance, the same feeling always returns. i feel as though i am not ready to be perceived again. i live this moment again and again and again because my soul forgets how to process the several or dozens or hundreds or thousands of eyes on me. but the more i allow myself to be seen, the more it becomes natural, and the more i am convinced that i have things that deserve to be seen. the very act of standing before you encapsulates everything that i would like to say.

to live is to perform, and to perform is to be seen, and to be seen is to be loved. i believe that i deserve to be seen, and that reaching this is a success in and of itself. there are things that i want that i cannot reach when i am safe, and i pray not that i can receive them in total safety, cocooned from the rest of the world, because i know that will never be possible. i ask myself for the right to reach for my desires. the strength to sit in a coffee shop with a book and the longing to be seen are one and the same. i would like to be seen, and everyone else should, too.