So viel Andersheit und Minderheit geht eigentlich gar nicht. Taub, Tochter einer weißen, jüdischen Mutter und eines schwarzen Vaters vom Stamm der Cherokee. Dazu lesbisch. Das ist Ayisha Knight.
Beim Def Poetry Jam des amerikanischen TV-Senders HBO hat sie dieses Stück vorgetragen — und es haut richtig rein! Übrigens, „def“ hat mit „taub“ nichts zu tun, das heißt soviel wie „cool“.
Für unsere schwerhörigen oder tauben sowie nicht der ASL mächtigen Leser: Ayishas Text findet Ihr nach dem Klick.
Danke, L., für den tollen Tip — und die Verschriftlichung!
Ayisha Knigth: Until
Until last night, I was missing the key to the place I forgot existed.
Until last night, I was afraid to express myself for fear of rejection, retaliation from people who say I’m not deaf, you know, because my English is too good. Not black enough because my mother is white. Not Jewish enough because my skin is black. Not Cherokee enough because each generation gets divided in half.
Some say I’m not straight enough because I share my love in life with a woman. Not Lesbian enough because well, I have loved a man. Not enough labels to go and not enough strength to say ‚Enough!‘
Not until last night.
When I raised my hand and reached through the looking glass to touch the reflection of she, who is me. A naked girl, running free, loving my body, until drunk uncles started loving me too. Believed all women would walk tall until I saw my mother, crouched against the wall, searching for protection against an uncontrolled hurricane of misunderstood emotions.
Years disappeared taking with them denied emotions until I could not longer remember where the seed of rage and fear first appeared. Until I started on the path away from self-destruction and caught glimpses of the flame inside. Uncovered when the mask came off in games off ‚Peek-a-Boo! I see you!‘
I believed I was a rape victim until I owned the word ’survivor‘. Hated my feminine curves, the roundness of my belly until I got it pierced and let myself revel in its beauty. Confined myself to an invisible cage until I decided to move and be free. Until I met strangers soon to be friends. Until I met the woman who loved me and held me with open arms. Until I took a chance, remembered and then transformed myself.
Until last night, when I opened the door and the woman said: ‚Hey sister – welcome home.‘