real niggas all feel the hook

(unedited/filtered)

i wish i never went to film school. well, i’m glad i went because i moved to another country. i left what i felt was a stifling oppressive home that if i were to stay, i’d die under.

and it may suck to see, as a parent, but it’s what i felt. 

but i didn’t realize what that would feel like. ‘that’ being going into an environment when you’re judged on how perfect you can be. what you present and what that means for others. 

i remember doing this thing for a class in film school. i went to look back on it; even though i don’t like it, i can see what i should have done differently (if i didn’t procrastinate), the feedback i got seemed insurmountable.

it wasn’t just being the only black woman in my cohort. or one out of five? six? maybe black people in my school. taking out loans while the most wealthy people milled around.

i had a lot of pain to confront. i had to find myself. i had to fuck up and get back up. there’s a lot of reasons that i do what i do, i realized: because i want to. 

as i become more radical, or revolutionary, whatever i give myself more time to understand that i cannot handle a tight leash. my bulimia and issues with food are a clear indicator of that. i need to be the master of my own fate. 

but the difference between throwing up after every meal and being an autonomous woman is that i can’t survive that agony. 

when you’re in a space where you’re the only one, isolated, confused, it’s extremely easy for you to get a reputation. let me reiterate—being a black woman is a sin to other people. i let that sin permeate my being as if i had to prove to people that i didn’t deserve it.

the looks, the bias, the shit people put on me. and it was fucking pressure. i remember people saying that it seems like i didn’t take things seriously. take what seriously? do you know me? do you listen to my words? and it made me want to fucking scream.

i wondered why people couldn’t get me or try to get me. i come out on the other side of this, a confused girl at 23 to whoever i am at 28, with an understanding. it doesn’t matter.

life is pain and i hate that pain. i don’t need to hide it anymore. i want to know it all, i want to know what happens after death, i want to be free. i hate working and i am not ashamed.

and here’s where i get to what i need to deal with: the fact that we are told art is a job.

i hate some of my old film work, old work in general, my writing, but i know that i am me. that me is so valuable. that me is something others can’t touch. not because i am better but because there’s only one of me. 

i am the center of my universe. that universe must be good. i have enough time trying to handle perfection. but in school people and authority figures hammer home that it’s just wrong, you fuck up you really fucked up, what AMPA judge will give a fuck about you?

nevermind that the history of film is anti-black and anti worker. nevermind that celebrity poisons our brains and whittles us to think so little of ourselves. no matter how many artists feel the need to die becuase no one sees them.

at this moment in my life, i hate watching films. not because i don’t love them. i love them in a way that my adhd can’t handle all the time. i love them in the way that i see it and know i’m a fucking failure. i love them in the way that i’m scared it won’t be me.

i have nothing to fucking say but i have it all. all i know is how to express my mind and find the proper ways. i will take years to watch a film and write because i want to enjoy it. i want to feel like it’s a social activity that enhances me instead of bogs me down.

the way i understand it is like this—i love music but i can’t do music. and i am so thankful for that. i can sit and enjoy and feel. but i feel like i must do writing. i must do film. even when i can’t focus, even when my brain is screaming, even when it’s killing me. even when i know i cannot possibly absorb everything at once.

i love what i love and i am who i am. but work dictates that you produce. you have to know. you’re on top of it all. when i got into film school i was surprised to see that we all didn’t have time to watch movies or there’s tons of things we haven’t seen.

but what i do know, what i’ve seen, i’ve heard, i’ve felt. the value in that is immense. i recall how i connect life and art. that’s all i want to do. i can’t do a job. but how do we survive?

i’m terrified of survival. i’m terrified of not knowing everything. there’s a long list of films to watch, books to read, things to learn. and yet the things i want to do feel the most disgusting, i feel like if i fail i will fucking die, so i don’t even try.

i have no time with taking my time with music. i know that it’s a process for me. in a way i wish this isn’t what i wanted to do. i’m free when i draw and paint because it doesn’t have to sustain me.

film does. i don’t want to just be a filmmaker, i just want to be me. i miss acting but i don’t love myself so it doesn’t matter. i miss opening avid. i miss digesting. i miss outside. but i’m so pissed off. 

because it isn’t fun. it’s supposed to be fun. it’s not work because fuck work. i want to enjoy my time on earth. if i never make another film and that’s what i have to do to be happy….well i probably won’t like that. 

my brain edits as i go. part of the issues with my brain, mentally, neurologically, cognitively, is that it has transformed me. it’s a huge hinderance in many ways but i wouldn’t be who i am without it.

sometimes i wish i was a genius. i just want to be happy. i cannot open celtx without feeling ok. i can’t watch a film by myself because i’m fucking terrified. i’m terrified. i can’t pay attention, i’m stupid, am i getting that right? and mostly: i will never do that.

i will never be that.

and i won’t because i’m fucking me. i’ll do and be who i want. when reading interviews from musicians, which are my favorite frankly, i get jealous because you can transport music everywhere. music is why i want to direct. music is why i want to act. it’s the catalyst that i think our existence hinges on.

is that the concept from richard wagner? that art is a totality? that it’s everything. my whole life i owe to art and thought. i live for it, i breathe for it, i think, i am not. i am nothing. the punch to the gut when you see a good cut. the slap in the fucking face when there’s screaming. artifice into reality. the one piece of the whole.

i want to be happy. i don’t know if i will be but i know that i always get what i want. otherwise, i’ll die. i just know it. i know it will be okay. but in the interim, i don’t want this job. i don’t want this to be my job. because it is crushing me to become a girl, a woman, i can’t live up to.

when i would throw up after every meal i would think: i’m on my way, i’ll reach some sort of nirvana. i never did. so if i tihnk: push yourself and be uncomfortable, scared, thoughtless, the woman people want you to be…..

i enjoy very little right now. but what i love is that real niggas all feel the hook. i FEEL it. i know that i will feel this woman who will come out. i don’t know how or when. i know my limitations and fears. i can ask for help, right? i can cry? i can freak the fuck out? i can doubt myself. i don’t doubt being an artist is what i want, i doubt my ability to have fun, to stick on this path, because i get bored and fussy and think about stabbing myself in the neck.

and that’s when i write. that’s when i think. that’s when i’m like, i wanna share this. but please don’t make me do it for you. i can’t. i can’t do it for anyone. why can’t my ego be free? i’m searching, searching, searching. is it okay to take time? is it okay to search? to be afraid? or am i no one, fake, not real, not good, not committed. 

only i can answer i guess. fiona apple says, “now i only move to move.” it’s my time. i want to go towards, not away, no more up until the day next day. the agony of having to produce. one day i will feel better because i am trying so hard to not define myself by the thing i want to do. i am so scared. why isn’t that okay to say? i can’t be anyone but me. i am so scared and confused. i have no good thoughts right now but i worry that because it hurts me to think that this isn’t my path.

it doesn’t feel good to think i’m not doing the right thing because i don’t know what the fuck the right thing is. but the thing is, i’m 28, i’m almost dead. that’s what it sounds like. tick.

so i am learning who i am. it’s okay. is it okay? take your time. amara take your time take your time take your time

can i take my time? i don’t need your permission, i don’t want it, but i’m scared i fail without it.