the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
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one of the things about having an unstable parent is that it can so easily ruin your future. you want to get out, but getting out takes having agency. it takes the resume and the grades and the stellar community service history.
but you have to choose your battles. you know if you sign up for an after-school activity, it'll be okay for a while, so long as the activity is parent-approved and god-fearing. over time, like all things, it will become an argument (i can't keep carting your ass to these things) or a weapon (talk to me like that again, see if you get to go to practice). sometimes, if you love the thing, it's worth it. but you also know better than to love something: that's how they get you. if you ever actually want something, it will always be the center of their attention. they will never stop threatening you with it. telling you of course i'm a good parent, i came to all of those stupid events.
you learn to balance yourself perfectly. you can either have a social life or you can have hobbies. both of these things will be under constant scrutiny. you spend too much time with her, you should be at home with family is equally paired with you're acting like this because you're addicted to what's on that goddamn screen. you cannot ever actually win, so everything falls within a barter system that you calculate before entering: do you want to learn how to drive? if so, you'll need to give up asking for a new laptop, even though yours died. maybe you can work on a computer at the library. of course, that would mean you'd be allowed to go to the library, which would mean something else has to bleed. nothing ever actually comes free.
and that bitter, horrible irony: you could be literally following their orders and it still isn't pretty. they tell you to get a job; they hate that your job keeps you late and gives you access to actual money. they tell you to do better in school; they say no child of mine needs a tutor. they want you to stop being so morose, don't you know there are people who are really suffering - but they revile the idea you might actually need therapy.
you didn't survive that fall the way other people would. you've seen other people scramble and get their way out, however they could. maybe you were made too-soft: the answer didn't come to you easily. it wasn't quick. it was brutal and nasty. some people even asked you why didn't you just work hard and escape during school? and you felt your head spinning. why didn't you? (they control your financial aid. they control your loan status. they love having that kind of thing). maybe in another life you got diagnosed sooner and got the meds you needed to actually focus and got attention from the right teachers who helped you clear hurdles to get up out of here - but for now? here?
the effort of trying. the effort of not-dying. that kind of effort was absolutely agonizing.
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we don't talk enough abt akutagawa's cough / lung disease (chronic&terminal) yet it has so much angst potential?? anywayy
after the current arc, atsushi knows akutagawa is actively dying and he's the only one who does bc akutagawa didn't tell anyone else abt it. (altho, in all honesty, the amount this man coughs should at least hint at it. i'm honestly amazed not more ppl in the story are concerned abt it)
so, the next mission they have together, akutagawa coughs and atsushi is now aware what it really means, so he wonders out loud with nonchalance masking his concern: "hey, so like, do you think yosano's ability would help with your cough and all? would it go away then?"
akutagawa, wiping his mouth, slightly annoyed: "how would i now? i'm not well-acquainted with your coworkers, weretiger, therefore it's none of my concern. and even then, i wouldn't trust any ada members with my issues, nor my life."
atsushi finds his words a bit sus bc 'u do trust me tho', but doesn't say it out loud and they leave it at that.
somehow, it becomes a regular thing. every time they have a mission together and atsushi hears his partner cough, he presents more ideas of how they could cure a terminal lung disease, and they vary in absurdity as he runs out of inspiration.
his ideas range from mere "have you tried going to a doctor?" (<- at which akutagawa stares in disbelief: "you either think i'm an idiot, or you are the idiot. which one is it?" and atsushi pouts bc 'ok yeah, fair... but also, rude') to insanities like "maybe witchcraft would help! i could look up witches in the area and see if black magic or something has any luck." (<- at which akutagawa is so done he doesn't even entertain the idea and just keeps walking)
they never follow through with any idea tho, bc akutagawa stubbornly refuses to waste time on trying to find a cure when his time on earth already is very limited.
it should also be noted that each time the cough gets worse; louder, rougher, more persistent and even bloody, which only makes atsushi more and more worried.
so one time, akutagawa's particularly annoyed by atsushi's insane and stupid ideas. he turns to him and point-blank asks: "why do even care so much whether i succumb to my illness or not? surely, my death should only leave you overjoyed to see the world be rid of one more evil."
that makes atsushi think bc 'why? why does he care whether akutagawa lives or dies? he's right, a bad person like a mafioso dying should be a good thing.'
after lengthy contemplation he comes to the conclusion that he simply cannot have his sworn enemy/rival/partner die from something as pathetic as a disease. someone as strong as akutagawa has to die in a more memorable way - not alone, in a bed, coughing, with nothing more to be remembered by. if anything he'd have to die fighting atsushi or something. yeah that's it. that's why. (<- it's not, but they're not quite there yet)
so atsushi tells him as much. akutagawa accepts it bc 'yeah, makes sense. what else could the reason be?'
the whole routine of coughing and brainstorming a solution in vain continues as the ideas get even more insane, the cough even worse and atsushi more concerned than ever.
the next time akutagawa is annoyed enough to pose the question again, atsushi is close to tears from anxiety as he holds up akutagawa who collapsed and can't seem to subdue his cough properly.
atsushi struggles to get out the water bottle and cough drops he'd started carrying around on their missions together. he's so scared bc he's never seen akutagawa look so sick and frail before (but not weak. never weak. akutagawa could never be weak in atsushi's eyes. it's impossible, bc akutagawa being strong is a simple, unchangeable fact, constant in any possible universe).
what would he do if akutagawa actually died there? in his arms? on a mission? which would probably get cancelled. would the pm think atsushi killed him? does he bring back the body or just bury it somewhere? pretend he got killed on the mission and not by his own body that had turned on him years ago and was in reality a long time coming? he couldn't even bear to think abt it.
"why tf do u care so much??" akutagawa yells with a scratchy voice before his cough continue despite his best efforts to stop.
atsushi can barely breathe anymore. "because i don't want you to die, you idiot! we're a team! you're my partner. who will i be left with if you go?" tears stream down his face, mainly from how overwhelming his anxiety feels. or maybe bc he really doesn't want his partner to die? nah, it's the anxiety. definitely the anxiety. (<- #denial)
akutagawa, at first embarrassed how his collapse derailed their mission bc goddammit he's supposed to be a professional and not let his issues interfere with his job, pauses when he sees atsushi crying... for him? because of him? ???
he's very confused bc he's pretty sure his rival/enemy/partner should not be so concerned abt his health and impending death, but something abt atsushi's expression and that whole situation makes him rethink his outlook on life.
that's when akutagawa starts taking his health more seriously and actively looks for possible, feasible ways to cure his disease, even if there's only a small chance it'll actually work. bc seeing atsushi like that made him realize there are a handful of people who care abt him and would mourn him if he died; more than just his sister and higuchi.
it made him realize his life had a bigger impact on others than he'd previously thought, not all of it bad.
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I know nobody gives a shit about this in comparison so posting a save file with uncredited builds in it, but reminder of that time @mapanou started calling me out of name and spewing hateful nazi ideology at me out of nowhere just bc i made a lukewarm criticism of a paywaller and I dared to say black people are often criticized more for being angry... but since only one of my parents are black that ain't allowed 😬 some of yall acted like this was okay but I didn't forget it, I notice how some of their friends are acting all betrayed now bc their homie turned out to be a sims content thief but you knew who you were laying down with clearly. You were glad to support an extremely nasty ass person when the vitriol was directed at me, but God forbid someone not credit a build! anyway guess who was struck down and it wasn't me bitch 💀
That aside, since the insufferable cunt had the nerve to mention the One Drop Rule, which has been used as a tool to discriminate against all black people and keep their mixed offspring othered for as many generations as possible, here's some sources on what it actually refers to (and some related articles about the struggles of mixed race people). It's a method of discrimination by white supremacists, not a way for mixed race people that you think are unworthy of speaking to "claim" to be black. If you're lurking, mapanou, i hope you and your friends read them and understand something you should have already at your "very big age".
One Drop Rule on Wikipedia (for the basic concept + more sources)
How The "One Drop Rule" Became a Tool of White Supremacy
How The Nazis Were Inspired by Jim Crow
Understanding the Stressors and Types of Discrimination That Can Affect Multiracial Individuals
Exploring Black mixed-race experiences of Black rejection
Not Enough Or Double The Prejudice: On Being Black & Asian American
Why Imposter Syndrome Goes Deep for Multiracial People
When Your Own Family Is Racist Toward You
^ the basic gist for the lazy. and just an added bit. I don't know if mapanou has ever seen me, because I barely know them and certainly didn't share with them, but I have been doxxed plenty and my pics probably shared to them by others and im obviously not white though i am light skinned. im very proud of my dark natural hair, brown eyes, thick lips and big nose that I all got from my father. I have nothing to prove nor hide about who I am. I am black and asian and white and I love every part of what makes me, me. I am mixed race and if you don't believe or like me as I am that's your problem not mine. just wanna clear that up for all the people that may have been confused about it. and for all my followers that are mixed, especially black and asian, I love you and you have a place here. your voices and experiences are valuable and you deserve to be heard. that's all I got to say.
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