Slam. Click. Lock.  

 What to do with the key? Guess I’ll give it a toss. 

Over the bridge, down into the river, at the bottom it sits.  

Outside my reach.  

 Now to find some relief.  

Riding along the long winding roads with my partner.  

Headed to a more secluded destination. 

Away from the noise.  

The distractions.  

The frustrations.  

Drifting away from 2020’s depression monster.   

I find myself surrounded by nature.  

By stillness.  

By beauty existing despite the world’s bleakness.  

Actions taken for self-preservation became my mantra. 

Merriam-Webster defines tune out as to become unresponsive: ignore. As selfish as it sounds to disassociate myself, at that moment I felt this was the lifeline I needed to avoid drowning in the anguish of others. Lucky for me, I did not have to go on this journey alone. Sensing my distress and feeling my agony, my partner helped me discover my means of escape.  

Riding along the long winding roads. 

Windows down.  

Wind blowing on my face.  

Sun streaming on us, warming my golden brown skin.  

Music up LOUD to drown out the outside noise.  

Headed to a safe space, a safe place, where I would put away the notifications, alerts, and doomscrolling that leads to a vicious cycle of negativity.   

Purposeful time set aside to reconnect with me.  

Walking trails surrounded by nature.  

Soothing sounds of water trickling down paths and rushing down falls.  

Quiet. Stillness.  

A release and relief from the aches in my heart and my head.  

Joy is found once again.  

2020 did not hand deliver to me the blows that many of my family, friends, and colleagues faced. I was blessed beyond belief and yet, I still had a valley of my own to overcome. You have heard of the term empath? Highly sensitive individuals who are able to sense what others are thinking and feeling. Now imagine for a moment being an empath whose every day job revolves around news and social media. My life became inundated with the information about COVID-19, social justice issues, racial injustices, and – in my industry – devastating stories of the never-ending stream of loss after loss suffered by individuals, institutions, organizations, and groups in the arts and humanities.  

 Existing in a climate of constant sorrow, grief, hopelessness, negativity, discord, and discontent. Continuous arguments between keyboard warriors screaming at one another with no intent to listen, to understand, to show compassion or empathy. This very LOUD environment absolutely took its toll on me.   

I sensed my joy slowly slipping away with each passing day. My superpower of empathy suddenly became an iron cage trapping me in my nature. I felt the mental and emotional turmoil of others but could not find words to bring about understanding. I became paralyzed in a constant state of yearning to help heal the pain and tearing away from the agony to safeguard myself. My inner struggle and daily dialogue relentlessly tearing as I argued over how to lend a life raft in this sea of shrieking words. Meanwhile my silence continued to grow. 

Riding up the steep mountains. 

Photographing breathtaking views.

Stopping at a bridge.

Listening as the river flows rhythmically downstream. 

Up we go, higher and higher. 

Helmet on. 

Harness in place. 

Buckle. Click. Lock. 

Jump. 

 Gliding from point to point. 

Sliding over trees and valleys. 

Feeling the rush of adrenaline flowing through my body. 

Deeply breathing in the fresh crisp air. 

Gazing out over the stunning landscape. 

I found my escape from the world’s troubles in these brief occasions. And now I know what to do when things get too difficult to bear. Turn the world off. Lock it up and for a few moments, throw away the key.   

With a constant barrage of negativity, it can be difficult to fight off the feeling of helplessness, especially for empaths like me. This is why I get so excited when I learn about people who are out there doing everything they can to help those in need. To see humans exercise empathy and band together in support of one another. 

In my random searches for all things cultural and creative, I unknowingly began to follow my unconscious desire and cravings for something positive. While I still took in all kinds of arts and culture experiences, I found myself drawn to those pieces of work that went beyond entertaining but also created a social impact. Murals encouraging environmental practices, music speaking to injustices, theater focused on issues of race, articles about an indigenous culture I’d never heard of before…again, on and on the list goes. 

As a result, I’ve decided to share my explorations by writing a series highlighting creatives who incorporate some form of activism, or as I like to call it ‘artivism’ in their work. First up is an artist, videographer, and champion for her people in my own circle of friends that many of you may already know. For those of you who don’t, I’d like you to introduce you to Emely Torres, a.k.a. La Machetera, of Emely Torres Media. 

Witnessing the natural disasters happening to her home and the lack of aid available for her people in Puerto Rico, Emely decided to do something about it and thus La Machetera was born. Since 2017, La Machetera has been on the ground providing assistance to Puerto Ricans who have been impacted by Hurricane Maria and the earthquake that hit Guánica. From collecting water in the forest and chopping up fallen trees to rebuilding homes and collecting donations, she has become an integral and reliable resource for relief aid that goes directly to the people.

Check out the first video in La Machetera’s latest series documenting and providing updates about what is going on in Puerto Rico. Keep an eye out for more to come!

Inspired to give? Message Emely Torres Media for donation details : https://www.facebook.com/emelytorresmedia/

#LaMacheteraChronicles began as an escape from the seemingly never ending barrage of natural disasters in Puerto Rico.  Emely Torres developed a kind of alter ego, now known as La Machetera, after the world witnessed the effects of hurricane Maria. The support of friends and family was indescribable; everyone began sending donations for those affected. The Chronicles became a way to document and update folks about the status of the island. When the earthquakes began in the beginning of 2020, that same support system looked to La Machetera for renewed updates and stories.

This numbing band is what helps me make it through the day without actively thinking about making it through the day without thinking about you.

I keep my mind busy with noise – a senseless and endless stream of chatter: music, podcasts, audiobooks, phone conversations, text messages, television, movies…No silence because in the silence I have to face the reality that you are gone.

On occasion, depending on where I am, what I am doing, or who I am with, I can feel the band relax. It’s tightness loosening as it slightly lifts up off my heart, throat, lungs, and body. Releasing me and somehow magically, nay miraculously, I’m still able to keep my shape. Instead of oozing out of a mold like spilled liquid, this person or action or outing keeps my mind busy so the gaping whole at the center of my body does not expand.

I recognize these moments. Taking note of who I’m with, what I’m doing, how I feel…not quite myself but, at least, human again. All in hopes of recreating this.

I treasure these moments. Currently, they are as essential to my existence as the very breath I breathe, the water I drink, giving me new hope that this will not forever be my constant state of being. But, this too shall pass.

Then when the moment is gone, the band contracts, once again holding me in place.

It has gotten easier not to dwell on it every day

Easier to not be triggered by every little thing

But my whole heart still hurts when I think of you, see your face, remember your voice

My eyes well up with tears and my nose begins to burn – a sure sign it’s turning as red as the fire inside my soul yearning to be put out, for the pain to lesson, for the grief to settle.

When I feel this way, I remember and cling to my moments ?

Expectantly waiting for the storm to pass and to welcome the numbness once again.

A few weeks ago, I came across an announcement for Netflix. It was a call for female writers for an animated series. As a lifetime lover of animation, I was over the moon about the entire project and immediately wanted to apply. The best part was, the show is going to be their first original African animated series. What could be better than that?! Absolutely nothing! So, why did I find myself hesitating? What was it that gave me reason to pause and consider whether or not I am the best candidate? Deciding to put this on the back burner until I could give it more thought, I shared the call and my excitement on social media. Within minutes, a close friend of mine saw my post and commented, “apply!”. Now I had a choice to make, listen to my friend and my initial instinct or use this as a teaching moment and a chance to practice what I believe to be right.

Let’s break this down. The call was for female African writers. In her eyes, and the eyes of many others I’m sure, I fit the bill, right? Not quite…I am female and I am African American, not African – an important nuance many people do not understand. The animation was created by Zambian writer Malenga Mulendema and the show tells the story of four teen girls living in the neo-futuristic African city of Lusaka, Zambia. My ancestors are from Africa, my roots are African, my heritage is African but I do not have a direct personal connection to the continent. My immediate family is from the United States, my closest friends are from America, U.S. Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico. My experiences and traveling adventures have not yet taken me to the motherland. Upon acknowledging this, I decided it would be best to make space for someone who would be a much better fit than myself.

I know that I could do research, visit Zambia, and learn about their customs, however, none of that would equate to someone who has lived there, whose family migrated from there, who regularly visits loved ones – who has lived outside of Africa but grew up in the culture. Thinking through this lens, would my voice be authentic to this show? In my opinion, no. For me, applying would have been similar to the issue of white-washing and colorism we so often discuss in the entertainment industry. How many times have we seen characters whitewashed? Or artists of color who are of a lighter complexion cast in roles that were originally written as dark-skinned characters? Knowing the outrage I felt upon learning that Zoe Saldana (although I am still a fan of her work – don’t judge me) accepted the role of playing Nina Simone, I could not turn around and do the same thing. I am confident there are a plethora of fabulous female African writers who are chomping at the bit for a chance like this and I could not take this opportunity away from them for my own artistic gain.

“While we are fighting for equity in the arts community, for marginalized voices to be heard, for all cultures to be celebrated – let us not forget to be equitable and fair to one another.” (@brittney_dubose) #IAMVISIBLE
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Instead, I want to call on my creatives of color and ask them to begin taking this important moment of pause. While we are fighting for equity in the arts community, for marginalized voices to be heard, for all cultures to be celebrated – let us not forget to be equitable and fair to one another. When an opportunity arises that you could do, but you know someone else would do better… pass and keep looking forward to your next open door. By empowering one another in this way, we are able to take another step towards putting ourselves at the helm of telling our stories. If light-skinned actresses decline to play Nina Simone and African Americans choose not to apply for a call specifically for African writers, it is another way we can fight for the right artists to tell our stories with authentic voices. Then we are not only opening, but holding open doors of opportunities for those who otherwise may have been shut out.