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Poetry from Orooj-e-Zafar’s HEART THE SIZE OF A LOOSENING FIST

Fixation

And I used to say, I am in awe of the universe,
when my body wanted to dive headfirst
into its vast everythingness. I have said,
Honesty is important to me, when I’ve meant
I need to know what the collateral damage
will be to cater to it. I say, I’ve never found
home in a place, when my body becomes an earthquake
at the thought of armor clinking.

Fixation is a funny thing. I laugh
it off as quirks until it transforms into the three
hours it takes to calm a racing railroad of a head,
because nothing seems empty enough to dull
the fullness of your own head.

The brain cannot perceive pain. It could be eaten
from the inside out but you’d never feel
the migraine so long as it stays in its substance.

But my brain hurts from all of the thinking-that-
will-help-me-survive-a-surprise-meteor-shower.
My brain is too heavy for my neck to carry
even though Atlas hugs Atlantis to keep it
aimed high. Can I say that I’m just tired from
having to deal with a house on fire that never
existed but feels so real I smell soot on my fingertips?

I’m just tired of seeing the universe everywhere
I catch the color purple. I’m tired of looking
for the ghost of hurt before it is conceived.
Of armor dissolving at the hint of a lover’s smile.

I’m tired of losing so much my body can’t register
it. I’m tired of not having enough migraines
to prove that I’m being eaten alive. Paralysis
and numbness are sign enough. Exhaustion
is crippling enough. Not knowing how to cry
when you absolutely need to is siren enough.

I say, The sky is blue today, because as a kid
I told myself I was a canvas for airplanes.
I say, Jumanji would be a fun game to play,
because I’d rather actually worry for my life
than worry about having to worry about it.

I say, The universe is beautiful—have you
seen the stars tonight? when the ground
fails to be ground enough at the same time
I fail to be enough. Do enough. Feel enough.

The sky is never empty, highway for kites
and birds alike; maybe concrete makes home
inside me someday. Maybe I can be
ground enough someday. Hold night and day alike,
without wincing every time metal clinks.

 

Skinning knees for silver linings

So many times, my six-year-old knees bled
against the best of themselves. Scarring
and hoping I wouldn’t peel off my curiosity.
Begging to let them heal before I remember.

I’m sure all I wanted was to see what made me
so pink underneath all that brown.
What part of me blushed under an unsteady
canopy of dry blood? If it was growing so well
why did it need to hide?

Now, I think about how our bodies
are at constant war. The mind knows well before
the rest of me how much it will swallow until
purging is its only instinct. how much quiet
will blanket over the rattling ghost tracks across
a myriad of brain damage. How long it must hide,
ashamed of its healing, until it can open
its shutters and look human again.

When the scabs fell, the sting soon became
the opposite of amnesia. Repair follows
injury like we imagine misguided satellites chasing
after stars. Injury imprints itself in our bodies in any way
the memory will stick. It cannot be forgotten. For years,
we have grown like fingers from loosening fists,
Remember. Remember. Remember:

pain is memory. Why else would we call it growing pains?

 

 

These poems are from Orooj-e-Zafar’s chapbook, Heart the Size of a Loosening Fist, from Vegetarian Alcoholic Press (2019). You can order the book here.

 

Orooj-e-Zafar is a genderqueer poet with numerous publications, awards and championship titles to their name. They like to believe they’re here on this planet, however briefly, to be brave. They also like achieving impossibly high standards & being miserable regardless. Orooj does not like bullies, wilful ignorance & neon colours but will read words about all three. They currently reside in Islamabad, Pakistan moonlighting as a comedian at Auratnaak and a performer, where they’re trying to make it to end of final year of medical school in one piece. You can follow them on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.

Siobhan Hebron’s FIVE YEARS and “Tolerating the Abled”

At 24 years old, Siobhan Hebron did not expect the migraines she had been experiencing for a week in the summer of 2014 to be anything more than a fluke. Instead, an MRI revealed the actual cause—a tumor, which was obstructing the flow of cerebrospinal fluid in her brain and causing the headaches.

“This project has been brewing for a while, but it really started to form around the centerfold piece, ‘CANCER.’ As that piece started to come together along with the thoughts that now form the essay ‘Our Great Analogy,’ the larger project became clearer.

I knew I wanted to commemorate my 5-year anniversary in some way. Besides the fact that ‘cancerversaries’ in general are meaningful, for so many cancers the 5-year survival rate is a significant marker. Additionally, 5 has been a particularly symbolic number within cancer for me as my chemo cycles were administered in days of 5. Thus each of my series of images alongside the particular cycle was also done in a series of 5.

I wanted to take this particular anniversary to think about cancer. Generally, specifically, aggressively, casually, and from every perspective and facet that I had access to. I’ve spent most of the time since my diagnosis participating more in a space of generalized illness, but for this anniversary I really wanted to narrow my focus.

The resulting collection of works is filled with personal reflections on my own experience, as well as reflections on cancer at large. There are essays that have been thought about for hours and researched and edited, but there are also fractured and fragmented bursts of thought that I jotted down in my phone. I want this inconsistency available to the reader. It’s been a learning experience and I want that ‘messy-ness’ of the process to come through.

I’m hopeful that what has been my own unique version of cancer, during this specific moment in history, can be useful or helpful to not only other patients, but also caregivers, doctors and nurses, medical students, and anyone who comes into contact with cancer.”

An Excerpt from FIVE YEARS: A Collection of Written Works by a Sick Womxn, “Tolerating the Abled”

I do not want to be around healthy people.

This was the first thought that came to mind when I was asked to join a group at a bar. These were not particularly close friends; in fact I would have only known one or two people. I knew how the conversation would go and it was not one I wanted to have. I did not want to see others around my age with lives and priorities so far from my own, at least not that night. This instance made me realize the isolation I felt as a sick person among my peers. I allowed that isolation to radiate out and recognized with stark clarity, the degree to which sick and disabled people exist as one of the least visible groups.

This came on the heels of two similar instances. One being a friend filling up their social media feed with posts and images by and about sick and disabled people, and stating that it made them feel more positive, more accepted and more confident. Not soon after, at the memorial service of a friend’s friend who had had muscular dystrophy, it was said that “it must take a lot to tolerate the abled.”

These three instances struck such a chord within me about the unacknowledged isolation of sick and disabled people within a world of healthy, able-bodied people. I found myself devastated at the idea of how invisible, yet prevalent we are; how unsupported we are by the world around us. And how people forget that we are living dis-abled in an able bodied world.

The recent documentary Unrest opens with Jennifer Brea’s husband saying that “one has to be careful, if you say too little they can’t help you, and if you say too much they think you’re a kind of mental patient.” I found this statement made a profound point about the power structure that exists in regards to health. It exposes the fact that those without the privilege of health are constantly re-calibrating how to navigate that power structure. There is a conscious and constant performance of health we put on while in the world. And I imagine this performativity of self translates for most people in the disadvantaged position of systemic hierarchies, whether it be race, gender, sexuality, etc. If not for actual physical safety, then for emotional security, for a sense of belonging.

And while I don’t think it is as simple as a single factor, I do think it is as simple as the fact that people feel more comfortable around people like them. And this feels all the more pertinent in our current culture of increasing divisiveness. So while the last thing that I want to do is enforce bias or discrimination, we need to acknowledge a feeling of comfort and community when one is with similar people, and that that is neglected when it comes to sick and disabled people.

More and more, I feel unable to join any space or conversation without bringing up the topic of my health. And it does not come from a desire to monopolize the conversation or even that I constantly want to talk about it; it’s just increasingly impossible to engage in any topic without acknowledging how it has in some way been affected by my diagnosis. Politics, employment, dating, hobbies: there is no area it hasn’t affected. It is my life now.

So, while I am open about my cancer and proactively fill my life with other sick and disabled people, the majority of spaces I have to exist in are still mostly unable to acknowledge and unreceptive to anything other than the default able-body. But as a sick, young adult, it is simply hard to engage with people unaffected by health concerns. I don’t feel as though I should have to defend that position. I believe in the radical possibilities of the sick body, and I am proud to inhabit that body and fight for its value and validity.

 

 

(This excerpt was previously published in The Mighty and FIVE YEARS.)

 

 

Siobhan Hebron is an interdisciplinary artist living and working in Los Angeles. She graduated from UCLA in 2012 with a B.A. in both Art and Art History. Starting in 2014, Hebron’s work takes on her personal experience with cancer and broader dialogues of illness, chronic conditions, disability and ableism, and the sick female body. Her visual work engages in feminist social practice, directly embracing community and collaboration. Her writing explores these same topics and functions within the idea that a radically honest dialogue is needed to change the socio-cultural norms around health and illness. Hebron plans to continue exploring and making work about illness and hopes to further the conversation between the artistic and medical communities through a creative criticality.

Her most recent project was a compilation of her own work over the last five years, released on the five year anniversary of her cancer diagnosis. A digital version of FIVE YEARS: A Collection of Written Works by a Sick Womxn is available for download.

Comics by JTMB

In this first black and white sketched comic titled “Jared the Worm,” a man is hunched over a blank sheet of paper. The next two panels show him attempting to draw but not producing anything. The next panel shows a hand sticking out from underwater, holding a pencil. The last is a pencil drawing something on paper. The text on the panels read: “I’m so tired…I want to go to bed. But too much suffering is planned. I must continue. Although nothing new emerges. Although I sink into a pit of despair…Making lines is more important than me.”

A man is shown looking at a pencil that broke while he was using it. The text reads: “My pencil broke again…I had just sharpened it. It broke inside. Like there was something wrong with it. It looks fine on the outside…But some unseen fault deep down inside made it [text crossed out]” and the final image shows a pencil broken in five pieces. The word “useless” has been drawn as a speech bubble above the tip.

This comic is drawn in a layered, distorted style. A man is drinking alcohol while he attempts to draw. As he pours more drinks, he becomes more and more angry with himself. The text reads: “That’s right. Be tired. It’s not like you didn’t just waste a whole day…That pencil won’t help you. You’re too drunk. Get mad!! It’s pointless now… Drink yourself to sleep. Your dreams will weigh just as much in the morning!” The last panel shows the man crawling into bed.

Under the comic’s title is a huge, bloodshot, tired-looking eyeball. A man stares pensively into the distance. The next panel shows him staring directly at the audience with a determined expression. The text reads: “I’ve gotta make my dreams happen. Get my priorities in order. Now’s your chance…Don’t fuck it up.”

A man is seated at his original desk once again. He has a new pencil, a blank sheet of paper, and a hopeful expression. The text reads: “Finally…there is time. Time to draw all of my heart’s desires.” The last panel shows him looking out of the window. The pencil and blank sheet are lying on his desk.

A man is sitting down and staring blankly ahead, flanked by a grave that says “YOU” on the left and a switchblade on the right. There’s a half empty cup and a totally empty cup. The text reads: “In a way I’m starting to feel better. I haven’t ran to the cemetery to get away for a while. I’ve forgotten about suicide. Things are still negative, but it’s all become relative.” The final panel shows an intense close up of the man’s bloodshot, tired eyes covered by his hair. “For now, my inner scream has been stifled.”

 

 

JTMB is a California-based artist who works as a painting instructor and moonlights as a cartoonist and animator. His comics are unflinchingly self-loathing, graphic, and honest. Most of his work remains unseen. His publications include: Ro84N: They’re Putting Something in the Music: Chapter 1 (Aorta VI), The Humorless Joke: A Coolection (Breaktime Comics), and Jared the Worm Vol. 1 & 2 (Official Comics). He regularly grapples with depression and finds it best to do anything else. You can find him on Instagram @thehumorlessjoke.

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