Hallway to Nowhere

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  • What’s In A Name

    By now everyone knows that Kamala Harris is Biden’s pick for Veep. What everyone doesn’t know and can’t seem to get right and in some cases REFUSES TO CARE ABOUT (I’m looking hard at Tucker Carson here, among others) is how to pronounce her name. It’s Comma-la Harris. Like the punctuation mark with a la added. Just to make this clear, k? She has explained this in her memoir (The Truths We Hold: An American Journey); she’s explained time and time again in public interviews; and OTHER people have now made helpful Tik Tok videos to instruct the clueless. Look, folks, this should not be that difficult. UNLESS you have a political WALL that forbids it.

    Why am I writing about this? Because I share her story. I live in rural Southwest Virginia. Appalachia. And my name is Kel BasAvraham. Yeah. You can imagine what folks here do with THAT. I sometimes get asked (on the phone) if this is Indian (no); Muslim (no); Arabic (no); Indian (meaning Native American-again no); and very occasionally Jewish (YES). Usually, it’s “Sorry for mangling your name.” But rarely does anyone ask the logical followup: HOW IS IT SUPPOSED TO BE PRONOUNCED? Sometimes I can feel the waves of “you’re not from around here, are you?” coming through the phone line or in modern parlance, bouncing off the cell tower. I now have a practised response: a laugh and a reply that I realize my name gives SW Virginians fits and, no, I’m NOT from around here. Then we get on with with our phone call. Sigh.

  • Brisance (Poem)

    Three words, one death.

    A shattered world.

    It revealed the wreckage

    And ruination of lives

    That always comprised the kaleidoscope base

    That upheld the white edifice of power.

    Time for that fraudulent wedding cake to be seen

    As filled with mold and baked with hate.

    Throw it out into the trash where it belongs.

    Let it burn away.

    We need real food that feeds Black people.

    Brown people. First Nations. White people.

    No more useless fake white cake.

  • Invisible Disabilities

    When you’ve lived with any sort of neuro or mental health diagnosis, you start to really question your perception of things and second, third, and fourth guess yourself. At least I do. I ask myself, “Am I seeing this clearly? How much is depression talking? Is this a medication reaction? Did I forget something important b/c of a seizure?” Life gets complicated. I have to remind myself that I DO have several disabilities that I cope with fairly well that others don’t see. They are invisible but nevertheless very real. But b/c maybe I do manage, I feel like I expect myself to function like I’m normal, i.e., don’t have these things, and thereby others act as if I am also.

    I’m not, okay? I’m not okay. I function WHILE depressed. I function WHILE having seizures. I function while having migraines. I function WHILE having occasional bouts of neuropathic pain that are excruciating. I function WHILE having Stage 1 Chronic Kidney Disease. I function while having debilitating fatigue of unknown origin. I function well sometimes. And sometimes I crash.

    So. I really want to do a better job here for myself. I want to continue to do my tasks, b/c I believe in the causes for which I’ve signed up. But I also need to realize that I need to ask for help when I can use it; space when I’m being crowded; time when I’m being pushed; and to know when I’ve reached my limits. This does not seem like an unreasonable agenda, but it is not an easy one when every day get filled so quickly. Sigh. Time to write another MEMO TO SELF and post it PROMINENTLY.