Bodywork
making sense of my body in relation to others and the world
Paper 3 of my medical anthropology program introduced me to phenomenology, a branch of philosophy focused on the body as a source of knowing one’s world. Accordingly, the body’s sensations both directed internally and towards other bodies during interactions help people make sense of who they are in their current situation and their broader context.
Although many people in my cohort roll their eyes towards this school of thought—likely due to ‘it not making any sense nor is it grounded in any kind of objectivity or observation’—I buy into it. In doing so, I’ve become much more attuned towards how my body feels at a particular moment, building intuition towards a situation in which I find myself or a person with whom I am interacting. This has honestly been a healing experience for me, allowing me to make sense of my identity as a dancer, researcher, Oxford student, and Chinese-Canadian. Here, I have tried my hand at poetry to share instances this past year where I’ve felt particularly aware of my body, others’ bodies, how our bodies relate to each other, and how our bodies move through space and time.
Dance Again
Our bodies move in sync Chest, hips, and knees Scooping and bouncing to the strong base That holds us, keeps us in time. My moves explosive and sharp Still laced with the grace of childhood ballet that haunt my hip hop grooves Yours flow like warm honey mid-drip Knife scraping the jar clean at just the right time For each of your voom hit pops Taste so sweet with satisfaction How we have danced together Synergy shaping our flows to become more similar over time Yet they naturally still sit so differently in each of our Bodies. How we have grown together Two young women, aspiring lawyer and doctor Finding the time between work and grad school To move together, (miss the) bus together, create together, eat together, dream together So we dance And dance and dance Our daily problems pushed aside as we Lose ourselves in the moment and Find ourselves in the movement Until one of us moves away…
Play
Of varying ages, flexibilities, psychiatric abilities We all gather in a circle and play. We move our toes and feet, Legs and arms, Until our whole being waves deliberately to the music sway. We are in our own worlds, feeling warmth spread in our bodies, releasing the tensions of existence: Everybody, every body carries some burden; A messenger to the world even before we speak Judgements of who we are Of how we appear, move, and carry ourselves. Cycles of violence Silencing our inner child. The (lack of) trust we have with our bodies. Tenderly, endearingly, we wake our bodies Rebuild our relationship with it—hold it, massage it, Reassure and nurture it Leaning into our softness and Hugging our inner child, we play.
Body Party
Thin white bodies with Porcelain skin glistening at dawn’s light through the estate's windows Ghosts that breathe softly, whisper, moan And disappear into the daylight of Forbidden secrets We lie side-by-side watching, listening, feeling hands clasping our bare stomachs hair sprawled on the bed and each other Her and I Acquaintances from the outer world turned lovers For just one night And no more. Streetwear, costumes, skin, streetwear again we leave with strangers’ sweat in our mouths and the unknown of how to act if we see them again.
To the man who came too close on my walk home
I’ve seen you so many times Crossing my path, At the college bar, Sitting on the leather sofas, Of our shared common space. I’m pretty sure you live in this building too but I would never know; For every time I look at you My gaze is never met Your nose up, You walk past me in Cold silence. And I’ve wondered Is this just who you are? Reserved, quiet, shy perhaps? No. Because I have seen you Smiling, laughing, eyes shining bright, engaged Grasping the Blonde hair, brown hair, Brown eyes, green eyes, blue eyes and fair skin of The other college members. And you’re not the only one here that Takes the yellowness of my skin or the shape of my eyes or the flatness of my nose and Assumes I’m not worth your time Did you know I was born and raised in the west? If only you would look me in my almond eyes Greet me as if they were ‘bigger’, ‘double-lidded’, ‘blue’ Listen to my fluent English Maybe then you would know. But instead, you walk past me nearly bumping into my flesh on the empty sidewalk, As if I don’t exist.
- jas <3