Hello my lovely readers
This week's offering from my poem a day project is one I wrote on Saturday in an attempt to process my feelings post-Brexit. It's a sort of thank you note to my many European PAs, particularly those who supported me throughout my time away at university, and is dedicated to the memory of our lovely Ania (especially apt in the week of World Cancer Day). She's pictured with me in the featured photo, helping me hold the biggest loaf of tiger bread either of us had ever encountered, so we could send evidence to another PA (remember that, Bee?).
01/02/2020
'Home/EU':
This week's offering from my poem a day project is one I wrote on Saturday in an attempt to process my feelings post-Brexit. It's a sort of thank you note to my many European PAs, particularly those who supported me throughout my time away at university, and is dedicated to the memory of our lovely Ania (especially apt in the week of World Cancer Day). She's pictured with me in the featured photo, helping me hold the biggest loaf of tiger bread either of us had ever encountered, so we could send evidence to another PA (remember that, Bee?).
01/02/2020
'Home/EU':
Staring at a Student Finance England
screen; no matter how frustrating
the situation seemed, I summoned a smile
at the subtle yet significant forward slash.
Because it really summed up my status.
I was a UK citizen and student, but
my Cerebral Palsy meant that studying
was only possible thanks to my mostly
European PAs, and it was them
being there that let me make
my undergrad halls a home.
Lots of the best working relationships
are founded on a mutual language -
and we had several. A cacophony
of code-switching conversations,
where every sentence made sense
and, if not, the team translated together.
I knew my linguistic needs were niche -
I only learnt l'escaliers* in A Level French,
yet could ask for l'ascenseur** or kinésithérapie***
before I turned twelve - but, at uni,
the word 'straw' taught me about nuance:
paille, paie, cannucia (not paglia), słomka.
We all felt safer with this sort of slippage.
Avoiding English aided privacy in public,
and even my fellow Brits preferred BSL****
when asking awkward questions.
For us, plurality was productive,
full of pleasure and promise...
...and gave me peace when I was in pain.
French, Romanian, Italian or Polish lullabies
sung softly, as I lay beseiged by my spasms
bringing sleepless night upon sleepless night.
Lifelong nicknames forged from fumbled words,
making mirth through misunderstanding tight muscles.
Of course our mini-populace wasn't purely European;
we were an African and an Asian diaspora as well.
But the ten week terms and easy travel arrangements
were especially enticing to our continental cousins.
They got a brief adventure in exchange for helping me
venture to the far-off lands of lectures...and the loo.
Yes, there were tricky times too,
when we were all too tired to talk
in any of our many mother tongues.
But then we sat in silent solidarity,
togetherness tiding us over until
we could find our united voices again.
That strategy has served with
those who stayed longer than a term,
and those others who now help me at home.
But the plethora of people who once popped up
in answer to adverts like mine has,
since 2016, been steadily dwindling.
I can't blame them. I know what it is
to feel vulnerable, unsure of basic rights,
even in an undeniably privileged society.
But I also know that the tangible care
of these fabulous folk from across the Channel
takes the edge off some of my uncertainty.
And isn't that exactly the sort of exchange
the Union was specifically set up to promote?
I don't think there's a word, in all of
my gladly-gleaned vocabulary, to express
my despair at the state of things.
For them. For me. For us.
For them. For me. For us.
So I won't try to tell you how it hurts.
Instead, I'll end entirely differently,
and go with gratitude; for the freedom given
by a gaggle of giggling young women.
I cherish the connection of our countries.
Grazie. Dziękuję. Mulțumesc. Merci.
* 'the stairs'
** 'the lift'
*** 'physiotherapy'
**** British Sign Language
 |
| Me - a white person with short brown hair and brown eyes, wearing a blue striped top - sitting in my powered wheelchair and smiling as I hold a giant loaf of "tiger" bread. Next to me is Ania - a white woman with long brown hair and greenish eyes, who is also smiling as she leans down to put her arm around my shoulder. We are in the kitchen of my student halls, which has white and silver cupboards on the wall, set above blue and white tiles. |
