Hi I'm Tiffany Vakilian and this is Transformative Language Arts in Practice. I am enthralled by TLA and the way it affects my life.
I write, I sing, I praise, I create, etc. I am an artist and a womanist, well read and a little nutty because of it. I support artists on their journey to and celebration of wholeness-- be it mental, physical, social, financial or - most importantly - spiritual. These are my findings as I search for truth and freedom via word.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Body Fiction 2
To keep a promise, here's a bit of a different Saturday Post!
Six Separate Thoughts - Part II
From the hospital bed of a young
the toe that pushes the accelerator. It’s the toe that puts the
adrenaline and momentum in Vin Diesel’s inner thigh, and then in my imagination.
All those car chases, all those dances with death. Ballet pointed toes with
bullets and leaps across cliffs; leaps that I can’t do anymore. Then I watch
Breakin’ 2 and crack up at the Boogaloo.
Right now I watch.
Meanwhile is healing.
Meanwhile is pain. Meanwhile is trying not to drown in Percocet. Meanwhile are
a million stupid detailed memories of things I will not be able to do. Even something
as stupid as cracking my toe, which my mother hated, is something I will miss.
But I must remain
positive. At least Mom won’t nag me about that anymore. And there’s the movies
- Bond, Transporter, Fast & Furious. All of my friends vicarious. I’m in
All I have to do is
choose, right? That’s what my big brother always said. “Once you make a choice,
you’ll have more peace.” So, I choose. I choose to get up, to live, to fight,
to honor the body part I lost by making it the underpinning of my future
determination to thrive. I’m going to save my money and modify my whole frickin’
life to do the two things most unexpected of me in this new body.
First I’ve got to tell the
doctors to stop acting like I’m dead already. I’m not dead, and I’m not letting
their opinions of my sitch stop me. If Jason Statham can go from outdoor
salesman to box office action star, then I can learn to walk without one of my
Once that’s done, I’ve got
to tell my family to stop looking at me like a broken bird. It was bad enough
after the accident, staring at my foot like it would suck them through the
bandages into parts unknown. They stopped seeing me, choosing to focus on my
one missing body part. A spotlight on phantom pain, and the irony of it is not
lost on me.
Maybe I should get a new
wardrobe. T-shirts with awesome slogans. STARE AT MY MISSING TOE SOME MORE PLEASE or WANNA HELP ME FIND MY TOE? What would that song Speed Demon
inspire in a nine-toed woman’s t-shirt? I’ll make finding that out number 3 on
Once I get out of this
hospital bed, and through physical therapy, I’m going to learn how to race
cars. I’m going to learn how to dance. Drive and dance.