“P***s can’t play”

 

P***s can’t play
The simplicity of it makes my stomach turn
The boundary it creates between the climbing frame and I
The exclusivity of three small words

 

I would laugh at the sound of it
The repetitive P’s
The upbeat rhythm it had when I said it
The imagination of it being chanted around a fire

 

With it, came the stares
The intrusion of my brown body breaking the pattern of other white bodies
The questions I drilled into my brain whilst staring myself down in the mirror
The constant “why the hell are you so brown?!”

 

I’ve always wanted to stand out, but never like this
It’s hard to obtain a sense of belonging
Because how can a P**i belong
If a P**i can’t play

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“From around here”

 

‘You know…

You just don’t look like you’re from around here’

Around here; the mundane, familiar, white home I grew up
But, you may think, ‘why aren’t you back there?’
The exotic, colourful, hot country surrounded by mangos and cows.

 

Statements you say that make it hard for me to blend in
You make it tiring as I am constantly splitting myself in two
And I’m still knocking it down
That wall you made me build to block out the darkness

 

The possibility of me looking like I’m from around here is unachievable
First glimpse of me and you question how I got here
Whether it’s a stare or a stereotype
You wonder how I am able to walk the same ground as you

 

Can I blame you though?
When there’s 81% of them and only 1% of me

 

I don’t look like I’m from around here
Because no one from around here looks like me

 

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“Where did you come from”

 

Where are you really from?
Where are you from, from?
Where did you come from?

 

It hides in different forms
The small hits to your stomach
In these words that single us out

My face used to turn red in embarrassment

Over time, and with practice I’ve learnt to enjoy myself when you ask
The confusing answer that leaves you unsatisfied

And I gain the pleasure of seeing your face turn red
As you see you’re assumptions of me drift away

And the realisation that you looked, you judged, and then you intruded

You justify your questions to cover up the guilt,
The only reply you think of is to comment on the colour of my skin.
So I top off the conversation,

‘I was just born just down the road’

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The possibilities of Sari

 

A familiar material

That kept it’s distance

Hugging itself tightly around a body and dragging along the ground,

As it drapes and extends beyond the knee.

 

In each of it’s pleats and tucks,

The feeling of rejection is hidden within.

In every embroided symbol,

The feeling of segregation embedded into the silk.

 

The garment now… starts to change

I notice the cobalt blues, the emerald greens, the mustard yellows.

I now recognsie the time taken to weave this complicated fabric,

And I understand the significance of the trees, the elephant and the fish.

 

I think of the struggle this fabric brought and the journey it is yet to bring,

It’s introduced me to friendly shop owners on Gardner Street. And Belgrave Road.

Once a symbol of rejection and now of education,

A material that is new to me but been present all along.