Jump Starting a Car

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So, I’ve not kept promises this year.

I’ve made promises to myself and to anyone who is kind enough to check for my work.

My last blog post (that wasn’t a poem), It’s Ok to Not Be Ok I broke through a creative block to talk about the difficulties I’ve faced this year.

I said I’d follow it up promptly with a positive appraisal of 2020, a celebration of milestones and achievements. Something I desperately needed given every time I think of 2020 all I can recall is the tears, exhaustion and burnout.

Expressing gratitude for the moments of mercy and generosity 2020 has graced me with….it’s a must.

I’m still working on reflecting, appraising and writing about 2020. When I’m done, I’ll share it here. Until then I’ll be publishing and sharing posts I wrote but didn’t put up on my blog.

Writing this, I realise I’ve been guilty of the very thing I criticise other artists of:

Being precious.
Being a perfectionist.
Being scared.

“Tomorrow’s not promised for none of us.”

Ty – I’m Leaving (off of his 4th album “Special Kind of Fool“)

So, I’ll be pouring through drafts of blog posts over the next few weeks and sharing as much of that work as I can while creating new work and sharing that too.

I want to end 2020 strong. In 2021:

I intend to turn up.
I intend to do the work.
I intend to hit the publish button more often.

Golden Brown

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Last year I remember clearly the moment that my artistic journey hit a new stage. 

I wrote the poem 7 Bar Loop. I wrote this while attending a multi week workshop with Rachel Long. 

Rachel Long is an incredible poet and arguably the best poetry teacher I’ve ever had the privilege of studying under. She simply got me to think about poetry, creativity and my own writing differently. 

She single handedly got me to expand my creative, artistic and expressive vocabulary.

During the class she repeatedly came back to Terrence Hayes, an American poet who wrote a new book packed with Sonnets. His Sonnets do not adhere to the same structure as Shakespeares. There are NO rhymes.

But they adhere to one simple rule.

They’re 14 lines.

The other week I attended a poetry workshop run by Hannah Gordon of Word Down. I was asked to write a Terrence Hayes style sonnet. 14 lines, no rhyming. 

Here’s a link to the Terrence Hayes sonnet that inspired my poem….it’s from his collection “American Sonnet for My Past”.

Seven of the Ten Things

I’ll be doing more sonnets……however, this is my first:

Sonnet #一 (Golden Brown)

Golden brown. The Stranglers.
Omar. Married to tomato and
onion stew. Leisurely chopping
of onions releases a baptism
of grief. Wash my eyes and
wash my face. Baptism followed by
baptism. Apt. I forgot to bathe.
Dopamine dips do that daily.
The key is to accept, but not
succumb. Keep working quietly.
Onions learn to share space
with softening tomatoes. Alchemy
creates aromas. I create 
joy disguised as food.

It’s Ok to Not Be OK…

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I’ve been grappling with what to write lately. Part of me has wanted to write a review of the year so far. Part of me wants to tackle my mental health challenges and where I’m at currently with it. Or maybe I write about both?
 
I’m just going to write until I’ve emptied myself, then I’ll figure out if everything I’ve written in this particular writing session will be in one epic blog post or if I’ll create several blog posts.

I just need to get back to writing and doing so without judging myself and without getting so hung up on the end product. 

Process > Outcome.

I keep reminding other people of this, yet I’ve completely forgotten to internalise this truth. Just write. See what takes shape and then take it from there. 

I’ve promised myself and my readers recently that I’ll get back to writing this blog. It’s not happened and I’ve struggled to make it happen. 

One of the best creative decisions I made this year was to start writing this blog. It tapped into latent aspects of my creativity and it has resonated with people strongly. 

I loved doing it and I still want to do it. But I’m struggling. 

I’m struggling to get started. 

I’m struggling to finish what I start. 

I’m struggling to trust myself and my creativity.

I’m struggling to be honest with myself.

I’m running around telling people I’m ok. I’m not. I’m not trying to alarm anyone. I am the strongest and the most resilient I’ve ever been in my life. I’m proud of how much I’ve grown since 2017 and how much I continue to develop my self awareness. 

But in spite of all the positives, I have to really start being honest with myself. 

This has not been an easy year at all. Not even close. Yet I walk around acting like the year wasn’t that bad or that it’s not reasonable for me to be hurting and struggling to function.

I’ve had to process a lot of emotions, thoughts and grief. I’ve had to make some really important decisions around how I look after myself and how I’m going to pursue my dreams.  

My divorce came through in January, it took 3 years and I welcomed it. I felt much lighter as a result of it. But it was quickly followed by unexpected conversations with my ex wife about where she and our daughter would live going forward.

After 3 years of me playing musical chairs around different parts of South London, I’d finally decided to move to Morden to be closer to my daughter in Worcester Park.

The initial plan my ex wife had was to sell up and move to Kingston upon Thames. That was a slight adjustment, nothing I couldn’t handle. An extra 15-30 mins on travel time each way depending on traffic. 

But we had to discuss issues around money, quality of life and yes, Brexit. Brexit is not fun and the UK has become a much more toxic place as a result. My ex said she would stay close to me geographically so that I could see more of my daughter.

But I’ve never wanted my daughter to feel beholden to me. I want her to have the best chance in life. So I told my ex I was open to her exploring her options outside of London.

Within a week, my ex called me up to talk. This was the catalyst for the post “Love Is An Act of Sacrifice”.

She had landed a job offer as a head of maths department at a top private school in Dubai. 

I meant to write a follow up post to that, but I just couldn’t. The same way I’ve struggled to write and complete any blog posts over lockdown.

I’m scared to write because writing is a clarified form of thinking. And quite frankly, I don’t want to think about all the factors that went into me ultimately giving my ex the green light to take the job offer and move to Dubai at the end of July this year. 

I don’t want to write about and ultimately think about a lot of things this year because it has been exhausting. I’m fucking tired. Yet, I know I can’t give up. I can’t give up on life. I can’t give up on my gifts. So I’m trying to navigate the balance between being “kind to myself”, but also holding myself accountable and trying to “get shit done”. 

I’ll likely write a more in detail blog post, or even a series of posts around my daughter and  how I’ve been processing and navigating her move Dubai. 

Needless to say, it’s been challenging and I had to navigate all kinds of opinions and advice from friends and acquaintances on my decision. Most of it has been supportive. Some of it well meaning but really not helpful. I had dinner with my friends Ty and Sofia back on March 8th to process all of this. 

It was an emotional dinner at the time, even more so now as Ty has since passed due to complications from Covid-19 and I almost lost Sofia to Covid-19 too. 

I’ve not allowed myself to acknowledge how hard that was. Two close friends, both struck down with Covid-19. It’s stressful waking up every day wondering if your friends will still be here. 

It’s stressful when you lose a friend. 

I’m grateful that Sofia survived. 

I had to not only lose a friend, but attend his funeral and help lay him to rest.

Prior to all of that, at the beginning of lockdown, my ex wife got ill with Covid-19 symptoms. I had to figure out what life may look like if she had passed away and my daughter came to live with me. My daughter was shook during this whole time. She loves her mother dearly and it knocked her off balance to see her mum so ill and to entertain the thought that maybe just maybe something bad might happen to her. This took so much out of me in a brief period of time. My ex wife recovered quickly, but I’m not sure I’ve fully recovered from this incident.

I’ve literally packed this whole event in a box and sealed it shut with metaphorical rolls of brown tape. 

As this year has progressed my daughter’s departure to Dubai drew ever closer. I focused all of my time almost exclusively on my relationship with her. 

We watched Rick and Morty together, she held space for me and held me when I cried after Shortee Blitz’ edition of “Pass The Torch”, an online celebration of Ty’s life. We joked, laughed and took the piss out of each other. My daughter Zaynub asked me to perform poems I wrote and she complimented me on how much she loves my writing. She told me she acknowledges supports my pursuit of my dreams.

She opened up to me about so many things that will remain private here. She’s getting older and I want her to feel safe and unconditionally loved in ways I didn’t when I was growing up.

I’ve been often critiqued for my parenting skills and my parenting style. I’ve learnt to respect people’s opinions and input, but to follow my intuition as a father. 

Very little of how I conduct myself and live my life adheres to sensible conventions. Why on earth would my parenting and my relationship with my daughter be any different?

Anyways, we’ve become closer than ever. A beautiful double edged sword. My relationship with my daughter is in a place I’ve longed for since she was first born. But it’s bittersweet as it comes at a time when she is now leaving to go live in another country. 

Saying goodbye at the airport was fucking hard. Zaynub’s best friend and her mother also came to see her off and they were both very emotional. I did my best not to show any emotion and neither did Zaynub. Zaynub’s best friend revealed to me that Zaynub had been in tears the night before as she will miss me. It should hurt, maybe it does on a subconscious level, but I was reassured to hear this information given to me by Zaynub’s best friend. 

I’ve struggled to feel secure about my relationship with Zaynub, both for the first 7 years of her life when I lived with her and her mother and then for the tumultuous 3 years her mother and I tried to negotiate our divorce. 

This information and a handful of other moments during lockdown really allowed me to feel closer to my daughter and give us opportunities to clearly express our love to each other. 

This year, I also made some tough choices around how I intend to earn a living going forward. 

I want to earn a living as an artist, I know I can and I will. But I have to bridge that gap for now. Between where I am and where I want to be, where I know I can be. I’ll get there. Insh’Allah. 
But in the meantime I have to find a way to do “bread and butter” work. Stuff that’ll pay rent, groceries etc. 

For the past 3 years as I’ve leaned more into my creativity I’ve grappled with what I do for a living. I’ve alternated between working for startups and during extreme bouts of depression and anxiety, I’ve worked for below living wage delivering pizzas. 

Regardless of what I was paid, the challenges were the same. Giving too much energy to things that don’t contribute to my dreams and then having to find a way to switch gears when I get home and “create”.

I decided to retrain as a copywriter. Again, like so many things I’m touching upon in this post, I’ll go into more detail around why I chose to be a freelance copywriter. This decision to retrain is partly driven by my autism (I’ve been diagnosed) and my ADHD (I’m awaiting a diagnosis). Some of it is driven by the need to have greater flexibility and to earn better money while freeing up more time to work on artistic projects.

I came so close to landing some great clients back around March/April this year. But Covid-19 saw that work disappear. I’m on Universal Credit. This is the first time I’m on benefits. 

Again, I’ve yet to fully allow myself to acknowledge what I feel. I’m frustrated, hurt and angry at my loss of income at a time when I have retrained in a new skill and wanted to make major changes to my lifestyle. 

Let me cut through the noise I’ve just typed above. My self esteem has taken a massive hit. My entire life I’ve struggled to hold down work and earn money, whether it’s when I wasn’t pursuing my dreams and even now while I’m pursuing my dreams.

Basically, those contracts would have been the first time in my adult life I’d be getting paid consistently for something I want to do and enjoy. It was going to be on my terms. It would be to fund my dreams. To keep me going. I’ve taken this set back personally and as a reflection on me and my own abilities. So much so that I’ve not been able to regain any kind of momentum.

I try. I start. I stop. 

I need to forgive myself and remind myself of how hard it’s been for so many people to find work, keep work and earn money this year. I’m not alone. 

I got diagnosed with autism last month. That was huge. For most of my life I’ve known something isn’t quite “normal” or “right” with me. I’ve struggled to hold down jobs, form or maintain friendships and relationships. 

Being diagnosed with autism is a huge win as it allows me to begin to understand myself. But it was a lot to process. Overlapping this with all of the other emotions I’ve struggling with this year. It’s a lot. 
I’ve yet to forgive myself for all the things I did “wrong” related to my autism or that people judged me for related to my autism over four decades of my life. 

I’m anxious about my ADHD diagnosis. The final piece of my mental health puzzle I’ve been trying to solve since 2016. 

You see, even as I write this, I’m only just starting to realise how much I’ve been dealing with this year. 

I’ve succeeded in suppressing almost ALL of it. 

It’s not a shock that I’m currently not ok right now. 

I’m grappling with a very strong and stubborn depressive episode.

I’m in pain and I really want this pain to end. I’ve written about this in a previous blog post called “The Chemicals in my Brain Are Liars”. 

I’ve woken up recently and wished I’d never woken up again. It’s not new, I learn to deal with it. 

Taking stock of this year, I know where the problem lies. This year really hasn’t gone according to how I wanted it to. I have years, decades of unfulfilled potential and output as an artist to make up for. I am closer than ever to carving out MY life, not the one others thrust upon me. 

I’m close. So fucking close. But I’m treating the shortcomings of my achievements this year as an indictment of my own abilities. They’re not. 

I’ve not forgiven myself for how this year has gone. 

I’ve not forgiven myself for the past. For my marrying someone I probably shouldn’t have.

I’ve not forgiven myself for not following my dreams in my 20s and now trying to play catch up.

I’ve not forgiven myself for losing momentum creatively over lockdown. For losing momentum with this blog and my creative practice. 

This blog post is far from my best work. Sentences are not perfect. There’s likely too much repetition and it’ll be deemed “unfocused”.

I’m focusing on all things that this blog post “isn’t”. That’s what’s caused so much creative anxiety and procrastination. 

But what trumps (so sorry for using that word) all of that is what this post IS.

This post IS finished. 

Please stay with me. I have so much to share. I’ll be doing a 2nd write up of 2020 entitled “2020 – The Year So Far” where I focus on my wins and the positives. Things that should be celebrated.

I’ve written a lot of very sad, melancholy and dark work. My output from 2017 to 2018 was largely drenched in that tone and energy. It wasn’t my fault…maybe it was….but shit was hard and I couldn’t frame things in any other way than through pain, cynicism and sorrow.

But that’s been changing. Whether it’s my blog posts or my poetry, I’ll show you darkness, but my goal is to end on the light. 

Light > Darkness

I think that’s another reason why I’ve been reluctant to write and share work with you. I’ve been scared to show you the darkness, the hurt and the pain. There isn’t enough light in this post. But that’s ok. 
My follow up post will have plenty of that. 

I’m learning to trust myself, trust my process, trust my journey and trust my audience. 

Stay with me. Please.

The intermission is over. For now. 

I promise I’ll continue to lead with honesty and lead with love.

Always. 

Zaynub

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So, I’m currently summoning up the energy to go through heaps of notes and drafts and ideas for drafts for the blog. There’s a lot I want to say, communicate and share. But this year’s events have thrown me massively off balance.

While I do that, to keep the flame burning, I’ve been performing and reading poetry on Zoom calls.

As I’ve run out of newer material that I wrote this year, I’ve gone through and found work from last year that I’m really proud of. Work that I hope to publish in my debut collection of poetry.

Until then I put things out on the blog as I’m a big believer in sharing creative work instead of hoarding it.

This poem is about and dedicated to my daughter Zaynub, someone who has and will continue to feature in my writing, my work, and my blog.

Here’s the poem:

Zaynub

Catalysed by opposable thumbs
Hips move
Hope is a groove
The future makes movement manifest in the present
This present was almost miscarried on the day of my birth
I can think of no greater tragedy.

Haroon (proud dad)

Written in Morden, South London

Love Is a Balm

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I’ve been part of a poetry reading group set up by a friend of mine I used to work for last year. It’s been great fun sharing a lot of my newest writing with them, and being exposed to poetry in Hindi and Urdu too.

We get to choose between reading our own work and reading poems by other writers. I ran out of poems I’ve written this year and was going to dig out work by other poets…but glimpsing through an old folder I’ve found forgotten poems.

Like so much of my work it documents the changes I’ve been going through in the past year.

I’m working on my first collection of poetry that I want to self publish. I hope to include this poem.

Love Is a Balm

Love is a balm
Apply gently
to surfaces corroded by a lifetime of neglect
then to those who see you and accept you
Nuclear winter is imminent
We are each other’s garments
Ready to endure
A better world awaits us




Saying Goodbye

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Three weeks to the day today, I laid my close friend Ty to rest in South London. It was the hardest day of my life. Hands down. But I’m grateful that I didn’t have to do this on my own.

I did this together with a village, MY village, a family that has adopted, due in no small part to my big bro Ty who connected me with many of them and vouched for me.

Ty, this is hard for me and for so many others who love you. We can’t just get over you and get over your death from this cruel virus that is sweeping the globe. But I know that if you were able to talk to me right now, you’d acknowledge my grief, acknowledge my love for you and tell me to “keep it moving”. I’m trying bro, I’m fucking trying, real hard.

Thank you for reminding me that in order for me to be “a good player” I need to recognise a “good coach”. I’m sad you’re not here to coach me in person, but you are continuing to coach me with the example you lived while you were alive.

I need to go through whatever process that grief is taking me through. Please allow me that. Please. But as I start to heal, I’m going to get busy doubling down on the work you and I spoke about during our last dinner together, the week before lockdown. You called it my “Pursuit of Happiness” project. I remember you nudging me, motivating me to pursue this project…

“Haroon, you’re sitting on a ‘lottery ticket’, the experiences you’ve had…the story you can tell…”

Man…just quoting you reminds me of how you’re able to spit quotable lines the way most people use punctuation.

But yeah, there’s work to be done. Since your transition, we’ve been holding Pass The Torch sessions on Instagram Live where we celebrate your life and try to help each other heal. Your early collaborator Soliheen has featured on there and he said it best…

“It’s on us to amplify Ty’s legacy.”

I’ll do my part.

As you said on your track “Work of Heart”:

“We all return to dust, that’s a must….”

This a painful reality. Made all the more painful when I hear it from you in your voice on one of my favourite songs by you.

No little brother should have to bury their big brother. And as your mother said during your funeral, no mother should have to bury their son.

My time to transition will come too, that’s a must. And when it does, my lips to God’s ears….I’ll have so many stories to tell you..of adventures, of the stages I’ve performed on, of how I brought my “Pursuit of Happiness” story to fruition, of the new family and life I’ll have created. I’ll tell you about your new Godchildren and all the tales I told them about you and how much you would’ve loved them.

I’ll tell you tales of how I did my best to contribute to a brighter tomorrow, of how I did my best to make you proud.

Thank you for teaching me to look Upwards. I’ll forever keep my head held high. Insh’Allah.

In loving memory of Ben(edict) “Ty” Chijioke.

August 17th 1972 – May 7th 2020.

Tomorrow

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I had 24 hours left to write something that I could submit to Creative Futures’, a writing competition for poets and prose writers.

I ended up writing this poem and realising that it went way over the word limit that Creative Futures’ set.

I decided against editing the poem down to meet their requirements. I love this poem and the final stanza was unplanned, it is an ode to my close friend, big bro, and artistic inspiration, Ty. I’ve bolded all the song titles and italicised all his song lyrics I’ve weaved into the stanza.

Since Ty’s death, I’ve become aware of Soliheen, an early collaborator of Ty’s and he said something fitting about Ty and his passing:

“Ty had an incredible legacy and it’s on us to amplify his legacy.”

The weight of that subconsciously seeped into the final stanza and tied in with the theme of the poem “Tomorrow”. As I said in my last blog post “A New Perspective“, I am looking forward a lot more these days. The past is important, I continue to process it and heal from it, but I am now working in the present to build an incredible future. Enter my latest poem:

Tomorrow

Peer through a wormhole
Blink of an eye
Interstellar
Arrival
Formatted scripts only give a glimpse
Sci-fi like possibilities 
Lifetime neglect
Love left lacking
Heart yearns for a tomorrow drenched in love and acceptance

Gaslit past
Self-esteem burns at 451 Fahrenheit
Made in 1981
Swaddled in kerosene-soaked rags

Flash forward
Consent is a foreign concept
Trust betrayed
Innocence sullied
Mixologist blends neurodiversity 
Add a dash of lime
Ice optional
Blend
Deadly cocktail
Bitter after taste


Flashback
Failed cricket test

Flash forward
Cricket is communion
A people forever held back
Given respite through victory at Lords
Love gestates at home
Nervously I plan my future

Flash further forward
Pull pins from grenades
Walk away
A revolutionary act of self-love
More will follow

Flashback
A love of 35mm, 2-inch reels, and the word
Suppressed 
Self-love lacking
Decade long detour
Love rediscovered
No mean feat
Bread line diets can leave your spirit gaunt like

Present time
Love, ambition, hope
Quarantined but not secluded
Nurtured
Nursing the loss of an Awkward boy who told me to look Upwards
Studying his legacy
I edge Closer to a brighter tomorrow
Peering into the wormhole
I can see it
My stories travel far and wide
New youths
Enthralled by The Tale of a godfather now departed
The cycle of intergenerational trauma finally broken
A new cycle begins
My heart finally sings



A New Perspective

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I really need to start writing more again. Well….I want to write more. “I need to…” is such a strong and absolute statement.

I know I’m starting to repeat myself, but I’m still grieving, it’s thrown my physical health off of balance. I’m also trying to figure out ways to bring money in as copywriting is taking time to yield results. I’m dealing with a lot and it’s getting in the way of my writing.

But when I write, when I bother to turn up and do the work, magic happens.

My friend and brother Alain “Fusion” Chapman runs an event called BMT (Black Man’s Time) which now runs weekly on Instagram as an Instagram Live show at 7 pm UK time every Friday evening. They run a free-write session and I decided to take part in one recently. This is what I came up with.

Affirmations

I’ve let go of resentment
I’m grateful for new beginnings
I’m grateful for the love I receive daily

I choose to craft a positive narrative about my future

I am ready to Create:
art
hope
happiness
love

I deserve:
acceptance
compassion

I deserve to be seen

I am learning to be generous and kind to
myself and others

Access to the muse, to the God within is
my divine right and I am open to receiving it now

Haroon – 29th May 2020

I didn’t know I had this poem in me. I was lucky enough to read it on the BMT livestream and Fusion made a point about how this represented a turning point in the years he’s known me. The optimism and hope is palpable.

I’m done being angry. The things that happened to me, abuse, trauma. None of it is my fault. None of it. But how I proceed from here on in, it is MY responsibility. These past 3 years I’ve been putting in the reps, I’ve got broader shoulders. I can carry this responsibility. I’m sure of it.

Anger and resentment are behind me. Fusion, someone I’ve been a fan of for almost 20 years loved my poem, it made him smile. This is what success looks like.

What Weapon Will YOU Choose?

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I never turn up to battle empty handed…………

Staying Fluid

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I’ve been quiet on here for a while. I lost someone close to me to Covid19 and I’m still struggling to come to terms with my loss and the loss to my community.

I’m working my way through my grief at my own (crawling) pace. Creativity is my refuge. It always has been a way to process loss, pain, and trauma. Right now my creative urges are moving towards bite size thoughts and musings. This is a departure from how this blog got started. I loved writing those long sweeping narratives and I know I’m not done writing them. But right now microblog posts are what emerges on the page when I sit down to write.

I’ve held off for a while, fighting my current direction, thinking that if I could only concentrate harder (it’s fucking hard man, I have ADHD) I’ll write a longer narrative piece. But then I went through my first 13 posts and saw that I’ve broken form, posted poems with little explanation, posted poems with backstories longer than the poem!

My current urge to write shorter pieces will likely get me penalised by Google, but it’s another evolutionary step in this blog that I find so much joy in writing and sharing with you.

My blog doesn’t have to be just one thing, it’s a document of my creative journey.

My takeaway from this? As an artist, you turn up to do the work and if the muse appears, don’t question what form She takes. Stay fluid.