Why we create

The first time I opened my mouth on stage, the words tumbled out. I let the crumpled piece of paper fall out of my hands, which found themselves exploring new liberation and pulsing to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I spoke about violin, about the exhilaration of diving into a rich double stop or painful beauty of a minor chord. The faces of seniors, teachers, and parents faded away as I forgot about my anxiety of being the youngest person in the room, about my hot pink pants, about writing poetry. As I tried to convey my love of the music, I found myself lost in a new passion. A few minutes before, I had been about to take my name off the program of the open mic, feign illness or an emergency phone call. Yet fortunately for my future self, something held me locked to my seat. Everything I do now stems around writing, sharing, and performing. It is how I cope with life, how I express my craziest ideas and most heartfelt truths, how I connect with people. For the past three and a half years, writing and expression in general have been integral parts of me. Simply from choosing to perform my first ever poem, I released a now unrestrained part of me. As words flowed and my confidence grew, a pen became my best friend and the stage became my home.

    At that point in my life, there was nothing I needed more than a form of liberation. Family turmoil at home left me silenced and lost. My only defense was my outward appearance. I took risks with fashion, friends, older boys, but was a complete mess on the inside. There was little support around me. Just lots and lots of darkness. It was no surprise when I decided, as the only freshman, to get onstage and perform my first poem ever. Yet I didn’t realize the effect it would produce. Stepping on stage opened the gates to the flood of expression that ensued over the next few years. I found my true home with the Polytechnic Slam Team, but also maintained callused fingertips from the violin strings, dance bruises that constantly decorated my bare legs, and paint splatters that became common stains on my clothes. I quickly realized I felt at home performing. There was an escape in the lights onstage, a different world I could create for myself. I drew from my darkest hours and poured my heart into poetry and dance. Each limb I stretched on the dance floor I pushed to go an extra centimeter, daring myself to go further. The physical release of each leap, roll, or lift kept me mentally grounded and yet lifted me to new heights. Although at the time I might have just been distracting myself with extracurricular activities, I realized that these “escapes” actually lead right back to the root of my life. Writing is not an avenue to run away from your problems, but a road straight to your soul. Whatever is hiding comes out on the paper. Art simultaneously freed me of certain burdens while reminding me where I came from, good or bad. We create so that we can become something new, but our pasts are the material we use to form the new product.