Becoming me

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Pic by Roÿmata Holmes

Imaging pathways beyond, the fronds of overhanging forest leaves and branches no longer block momentum…no more hangovers.

I imbibe life, leaving me immune to the decaying past, which is all just memories.

Last night I had feverish dreams. I stood in the old house remembering the youth I had forgotten, my dead father smiling at me because he was proud. I see a good future ahead.

I no longer live and walk dead, I am the person who refused to be beaten and instead forced myself from the slumber of sedate sanity – normalcy and the nine to five fracas will never be my street party. I gave that vision up for the challenging existence from the margins.

I’m lying in bed today, and yesterday too. I have orders from the doctors that it’s ok to chill…I have been so busy. I sent my PhD thesis edits off to my creative supervisors. It’s fucking epic. I am excited to submit it and let it fly because it’s the most engaging artwork I have ever made – a self portrait of intense and honest change to a status quo of dying every day.

I have been working on a lit review to assess access to healthcare for Māori transgender people. It is part of a 3 year project to survey takatāpui wellbeing. The literature spells out an intensely complex web of barriers that will only change when someone is able to understand where the flaws in the system are entrenched and offer ways to strategically challenge them. That person is me.

I got news yesterday that another project I supported to survey and account for transgender people in Aotearoa New Zealand just got funded. I can’t believe that as soon as I am about to submit my PhD thesis on tradtional Māori weaving processes, and the ways they can heal historical sexuality and gender trauma, opportunities to practice my theory arise.

I applied for a job as a curator.

The universe is goodness and fair x.