Author: yellowmiata97

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My Fused Violin, My Musical Body

Music has always been my way of expression, whether it be through an instrument, a song I sing, or even a dance. Music became a part of my body. Music has always been there for me when I needed to be creative, when I needed to think. As I’m writing this I’m listening to music. Since elementary school I have been enveloped in the love of music. I started to learn how to play violin. My teacher was such a passionate person when it came to teaching music. I think that’s why I began to fall in love more with my music. She always motivated us to keep supporting music and to never let it fade from our hearts. My mom loved hearing me play, she was also in love with music. Her hearing me practice made her joyful that her daughter was carrying on the musical tradition. She was in chorus when she lived in her village and she always came back with awards and trophies because of how beautiful her voice is. My mom’s voice is amazing, she always brings me comfort when she sings to me, I think that also fueled my passion for music. Throughout elementary school, to middle school where I became first chair in my orchestra class, to high-school, the violin was my best friend, my safe space.

When I played my violin, it blurred out all the noise, the voices, the creaking sounds of that music room. I felt my hands connect with my bow, my chinrest melt into the violin. The bow grazing against the string and my fingers pressed on the fingerboard of the violin, creating such beautiful music. I never really told anyone about how connected I am about my violin until this class. I wouldn’t let anyone touch it unless it was the Lashof violin manager repairing my bridge and my strings. When I was sad, I could play my heart out with such balance and heavy energy. When I was happy I would be so quick with my bowing hand and my finger placement. I had the ability to hear a song and mimic it on my violin after two minutes of hearing the song. I would catch every vibrato, every rest, every pitch change. Music was in me, music became me.

When we spoke about music embodiment, the first thing I could think of was my connection to my instruments that I have learned to play over the years. Violin, guitar, bass, cello, and etc. I feel like my parents gave me that musical gene. My dad played trumpet and trombone when he was younger, my mom was so good with her vocal skills, and because of them I became the connection to them for music to live on. I miss playing sometimes since I have not much time to play or take a course in music. But I still play my violin when I am home on break. I still play for myself, my parents here and there. I played for my grandma who also played when she was younger, and she passed, but that’s how I connect to her.

Music is so freeing. I can’t explain how much music saved my life. It saved my body. Music has the power to do so much to a person. Music can move people, it can cause so many different emotions. It can bring different people together. It can help you think. It can help you breathe. It can help you remember your loved ones who aren’t there anymore. It can even create so many memories. Even those who are unable to hear, are able to find music vibrations so powerful. I love music, with all my heart I do. I don’t know where I would be without it in my life. I probably wouldn’t have been able to write this blog post right now without it. As a musician, music is something so powerful, for those who play instruments as well I know you would understand how indescribable music can be. I feel like those who even listen to music understand it too. Music, whether it is being played, being created, being heard, it will always have some sort of embodiment to that person. I would never regret my choice in trying to play the violin, because it wouldn’t have brought me here, where I am able to share my story of how music embodies me.

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com
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His little world

I wanted to talk about my family friend’s son named Shaun. I’ve known Shaun for a while, he was really young when I met him, I was still young however, in my middle school years I was still learning things. Shaun, along with his brother Stefon were autistic. Whenever it came to the family parties I would be the one to watch over them and keep them company since I was still young and couldn’t be a part of the adult or even the teenage conversations. Shaun was an interesting kid, although he didn’t communicate verbally with words, I felt like I could still understand him and what he needed. I felt like I could understand his emotions.

Shaun would always get in trouble for breaking things, but I knew it was him just stimming because that was one of his habits. I remember during a Christmas party he grabbed one of the ornaments from the tree and smashed one to the ground, and then another, several times until he was stopped by his mother. Shaun got in trouble with his mother. I felt bad for him, I knew he wasn’t doing it to make anyone mad, yet his mom did get mad at him for doing it anyway since it wasn’t his house. She looked defeated, like she didn’t know how else to help him whenever his behavior would get worse. She looked tired too, like she was doing everything she can to just enjoy her time at the party and also watching her boys making sure they didn’t break anything or do something dangerous. My parents loved Shaun and his brother, my dad always made an effort to let Shaun be seen, playing with him, making jokes and funny faces. Whenever Shaun was with me, I tried my best to entertain him, to make him feel heard. He always had a fascination with my hair (back then I used to have hair that would reach the floor I had to keep it in a braid since it was so long, I’m not kidding haha) so every time we sat in a room to calm him down he would touch it and slowly begin to settle. The way he felt my hair and stared at it gave me a sense of comfort knowing that I was there with him making sure he was okay. He would hum the majority of the time, whenever he wanted something he would hum in a pattern and point at the object that he wanted. Shaun never had good focus either, after touching one object he would go onto the next and then the next. Shaun’s mom works with other children who are autistic, whenever she would come to these parties, she would bring books for them to read, I would read the books to Shaun and his brother. Shaun was always mesmerized by the images in the books, he would hum and point at the characters. He always made me feel like whatever I was doing was helping him and that gave me a deep sense of reassurance.

Sean was very excited about noises but more specifically with car keys. Whenever it came to these parties or Mass services because we do services in different people’s homes, Shaun would actually find people’s keys and take them and play with them because he loved the sound of the jingling. My dad didn’t care, he would give Shaun his keys so he could be happy and play with them. Of course he didn’t know any better because he didn’t understand the ownership of somebody’s property. I always felt like the adults who would get their keys taken away wouldn’t truly understand how happy it made him. They would just get a little frustrated because of the fact that their property was taken away from them. I definitely think being in middle school and being exposed to that environment where somebody has a disability made me confused at first because back then I didn’t know the true meaning of autism and the levels and how there’s a spectrum. I only got to see the behaviors and patterns of somebody with it during that time, but now being an adult and learning more about autism and neurodivergence I slowly start to understand Shaun and his behavior. He just wanted to be understood because of his different way of thinking. Unfortunately due to family issues in the past I haven’t seen Shaun in a while but I hope right now since he is older that he’s getting the proper care and going through a more suitable way of teaching for him to understand. I really do think Shaun is a good kid.

I just feel like people are always afraid to try to communicate with people who have this disability because they don’t understand the way autism works and the levels of the spectrum. Every time I see a child with autism, or introduced to someone, I am never afraid to interact or learn from them, because with Shaun, all I ever did was make him feel heard and safe, and I want to do that for every other boy or girl who has autism. Society likes to put this negative connotation and label of people with disabilities which to me is just undermining their true potential and power, I learned a lot from Shaun and my other experiences after that, and seeing how their minds think and interact made me open my eyes to a whole different concept of learning and understanding. I learned more patience, I learned to really slow down my “normal” thinking and try and fit their perspective into my life. Doing that type of thinking really does open up your mind to a lot of ideas and thoughts. I am thankful for Shaun and the way I made him feel comforted and cared for, that’s something I won’t ever forget. I do know his parents were really good when it came to teaching him, but just like Shaun and other kids who have it I hope the world is able to see that there is nothing wrong with them they just have a different perspective which isn’t and shouldn’t be seen as a negative thing.

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Enduring Motherhood

Link to Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ibg2FyHET1c&ab_channel=11Alive

Bodies, when in labor, women begin to start with those agonizing contractions, the pain that a woman feels during childbirth is astonishing to me. How can a body tolerate so much pain to bring out new life into the world? The pain can be so overwhelming to the point where you need to have an epidural to at least rest and have energy for when you start the pushing process. When you are giving birth, maybe you can naturally push your child out but in other times if you are unable to you need an emergency C-section. Most times after a woman is done giving birth, she may have complications, such as high blood pressure, loss of blood, etc. But what if doctors choose to show negligence towards these mothers? What if they were a Black mother? After the documentary we watched, my eyes were open to the unequal treatment being given towards Black mother while giving birth, we saw with great sadness the passing of these mothers who could have been treated and cared for their complications right away. But it was the healthcare system and medical workers that had failed them. After watching this documentary and learning more about the maternal health system towards Black women, I began to do some research. I began watching videos of any other Black mother who was going through the same thing or experience. Black women are 3 times more likely to die from complications during birth because of the lack of care from medical staff. I have shared a link to the video so no one is confused lol. Brittnay Alverson, a mother of now four describes her traumatic experience being in the delivery room. Alverson’s main reason for her feeling traumatize was one thing that stood out to me the most, “I didn’t know how to advocate to myself and I was expecting those (medical professionals) to do the right thing.” This woman put her trust into these medical workers who ended up not caring for her in a dire moment. Alverson when in the delivery room was in labor for 5 hours and had ongoing contractions. On top of that she had passed a blood clot (which is something very terrifying to go through when giving birth) where no doctor had come to check up on her about that complication. It was only that after she had started the delivery process that medical doctors rushed in to help, although her birth was successful, the after birth was a turmoil. She began to see “tv static,” as she described it till she saw black. Turns out that during that evening she was supposed to get a blood transfusion, and as always it wasn’t until after that the doctor actually provided medical assistance for it to be done. What’s even worse about this case is that Alverson’s doctor forgot to sign off the medical forms which ultimately led her to wait 12 grueling hours until she was able to get that procedure. Alverson states that she wasn’t able to hold her baby, change her diapers, she couldn’t even bathe. After this transfusion, the doctor never saw her again and didn’t bother to ask her how she was feeling after the transfusion. Thankfully this mother is well again also having her fifth child, but she was able to have a Black OBGYN and that doctor was able to take care of her, be patient and slow with the process and overall not be negligent with her patient. Seeing that this is a sadly normal thing to happen towards Black women pinched a nerve. I was angry at the racial disparities that were happening in a place where health should be the number one priority, not race. I was upset at the health care system for failing the lives of many Black women that had to endure the pain that they always advocate for. Doctors should be able to provide full care to a woman giving birth no matter what race they are, no matter the circumstances. 

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The Safe Space

In class, we were learning about experience, about phenomenology. I understood that with our experiences we add in our senses (taste, touch, sight, hearing). I was honestly stumped on what I could talk about. I know that I have many different experience as a woman. But then I started to think about a specific place that made me feel safe…

As a woman, I feel the constant stress of my body. But I’m not just any woman, I am a brown woman. The pressures of having to keep my grades up or being the perfect brown daughter who lives up to her parent’s expectations. Where would I go to decompress my feelings of doubt and anxiety? Where could I go to make the world go slow for a moment of peace and quiet? The Women’s Center. A home away from home. I can imagine the structure of the room as my safe space. You enter a room filled with posters of colorful affirmations, handouts of mental health awareness. Seeing the names and faces of those who work in the center makes it all that encompassing. I am always greeted with a welcoming smile by the wonderful staff who are ready to care for you. I see a prayer room for those who have no place to go, another for mothers to feed their children. I look to my right and see the many forms of aid. Did you get your period? Take a tampon or pad. As many as you need because your body, your UTERUS, is cared for in this center. Are you sexually active? Go ahead and take some condoms for protection because no one wants any STDs. Coziness is an understatement as you walk further into their center. The round table, to sit and do work or to relax while playing with a fidget toy from the fidget bowl. The hugging of many bookshelves enriched with stories of colored women, LGBTQ+ personas finding themselves, and in those books, a voice that comforts you. A “You are not alone” “You are accepted for who you are” here and there is what you’ll find. Towards the back of the room, soft couches for you to sit down and relax your aching womanly body. My curvy body type just melting away into the cushion, holding me and letting me rest. Are you hungry? Take a bag of chips from the food shelves. No one’s going to judge how you eat or how much. You won’t be judged for being a skinny to thick body type. Every woman is welcome here at the center. I was always scared to enter this environment not knowing that it was so peaceful.

 Why didn’t I take the risk of pushing that door open my freshman year? Maybe it was the fear of other women judging me because they felt it was their own space. Was it was the unknown territory that frightened me to my core? Or my shyness because of the people who worked there could see me grabbing feminine products. But now, it has become my home, my safe place for the rest of my college experience. Of course there are other places I consider my home, sometimes it’s not even places. It’s people. My boyfriend is my home, my comfort. He makes me feel imperfectly perfect. But then I begin to wonder, What about men? Where are their safe places? Do they not have a safe space because it’s uncommon? I wonder these things when I walk into the center. Of course men are welcome inside the center, but maybe men are intimidated by the space. I feel like they are intimated by those bold lettered words above the entrance of the door. Maybe they feel like they would be judged for walking in and taking their own time to decompress. I started to think about the people I met in the center, the conversations I’ve had. There was one girl, I’ll call her M, she had Nigerian parents, we had a 20 minute conversation about the freedoms being a woman in college. We talked about relationships, how her parents wanted her to date her own ethnicity. She wished her parents allowed her to do anything. But just because she was a girl, she wasn’t able to go out, even past her driveway. I honestly am happy that I had parents who trusted me even though I was young developing woman in a very dangerous world. She too had came to the center to clear her head. That was the first time in a while that I had been confident enough to start a conversation with a stranger. But being in that environment helped me bring out my extroverted side. I also think it was just the fact that I am able to talk so comfortably to women. I would encourage any woman to go there for any needs they desire. Whether it be to get a tampon or pad, or a place to relax. I hope that anyone who reads this knows that there are places to go when you are feeling down to no energy. So don’t be shy, don’t be afraid to step into that center, you won’t regret it 🙂