During the development of Hear Myself Think Series 2, the team worked alongside community groups in South London delivering a series of creative writing workshops.
On this page, you'll find some of the work created by those who took part in these workshops, who have generously agreed to share their writing.
by Vanessa Tresadern
Perfection was created
To make us feel imperfect,
But imperfect, of course,
Is the perfect thing to be.
We spend every hour of every day,
Every day of every week,
Trying to be different,
Trying to be unique.
Our nature is to search
for answers to life’s questions,
concepts we don’t understand.
Like "what is perfection?"
You strive to be "perfect,"
a term you don't understand,
You should be yourself,
Before it gets out of hand.
Surely happiness is of priority
over a word like “perfection,”
So ask yourself this,
Who looks back in your “reflection?”
by Anna-Maria Amato
Heroines are those action packed, energetic stars of humanity. They run. When I run, the air splitters down my throat and is heaved out again, along with sweat straining out of my pores. I carry on running because there is somewhere I need to be. On time. It’s called life, and when you get there it is wonderful. But there is a finite time to do it all in. The journey to having a life can be a tumultuous spin of hardships and lessons, and it really matters who is running alongside you.
Next to me has been a varied selection of creatures. Some may carry my load, some may pass the baggage onto me. Others whisper in my ear ideas for progression, some just put me down.
I was 18 years old, and this spindly leg flamingo was paddling alongside me. It was beautiful, sleek and glorious. It danced solo among a crowd of others. It would meet with another and have a joyous time, then go back to dancing solo in the crowd. One day, I felt lost in the throng. I looked the same as my company, but did I feel the same?
I had stuff to suppress, but also, stuff to cultivate, to blossom. But it had sunk so far I wasn't sure what it was. A few seasons ago a male had asked a question: 'Are you busy?’ I replied 'yes'. He continued to take up my time. A futile question followed by no answer. It was in fact a statement to declare his intentions, not a question to access my attention. There were no more 'questions'.
I had played ping pong with a friend of mine earlier that day. An Alice band to keep the hair out of my face. Taking it seriously. The conversation went back and forth, progressing, gaining momentum as they understood more of each other's point of view. This man was playing pat ball and I was behind the wall sitting alone. He knew I was there. He did not care that the wall stopped me from really being involved.
The males who followed this exhibition were tainted, by me, with negative expectations. On to the next of the same. Setting them up for perception which damaged us both.
I was 23. Next to me was an iguana. My heart was dearly taken by a male, but my senses were telling me that an alternative was brewing excitedly in mind.
One approached the other with tension in his voice, reciprocated with an angry rebuttal. Eyes followed by jerking movements of aggression. I stood there watching, feeling significantly uninvolved.
I was 31. The blue footed booby stood beside me. A male who seemed to encompass a destiny of happiness, security and potential for growth, greeted me with his dance and offered me a gift to solidify the appearance of his love and affection with a symbol showing he was going to remain with me, eliminating the discomfort that life with him was borrowed, that it was conditional, that it was ok to revolve my plans around life with him.
I was 36 and a sea lion stood beside me. My male was guarding our young. We taught them to be healthy, to swim in the shallow waters, ready to go into the deep. There was joy in imparting life lessons onto our little ones. Living all together. Living in harmony with each other.
I was 63. The tortoise creeped slowly up on me from behind to settle in my reality. We had a comfortable home. A family. A closeness. We have a world full of different stories interlocking, carrying on side by side in disparity. The narrative, which seemed linear, became longer. The road spread wide in front of me. Possibilities and paths opened their appeal to my inspired mind.
I was 67 and next to me was an animated paint brush. It told stories of what I had seen and what I wanted to see. It opened up conversations and in turn friendships. I know that life was in me and what was next to me only needed to bring it out.
Myself and the creature beside me, sit comfortably together, when in line with convention. To break this convention, one must be mythological and step out of the narrative.
On my 68th birthday, my mother passed, with a story clutched in her hand. Not written, or depicted in the delicate ink lines of visual art. But with the lines of her hand telling of the money, love and life she had lived. For as long as she lived, those lines existed. Along with one more line. A line she wasn’t born with. A strike. A person who stood beside her with no insight of their corruption. They thought it was ok because she never said a word about it. She knew what was happening. She knew herself well enough to know them and know their why’s.
And, she did know, and they did not know, that, like the concept of a piece of art which is a product of thought, the delivery of the painting was telling of every mark which was yet to appear on my own hand.
Her teeth and her hair were the most telling features that she was her mother’s daughter. She bore a grin when confronted with adversity from her peers. She flung her locks when romance twinged in her heart. Each generation makes it easier to live, to be. The innovation of industry, the innovation of systems and politics, the innovations of how to build a family and how to be with each other. If only my daughter knew what it took and how much we all thought of her. Next to my daughter was a man, holding her hand.
by Iyah Uddin
Dear Mel,
I have no idea where to start, I received a letter signed your name. It even had our secret code, well partly it was placed in the wrong place.
I’ve managed to track down who might od sent it and I have already sent you the information I have discovered ‘in person’.
I dare not send it by mail for fear of being discovered. I have destroyed the photographs so you need not worry (as I am sure you will when you find what I have discovered).
You must not worry about me I am fine where I am. I want for very little, and I forgive you for your part of sending me here.
I’ll write more later; the bell has just sounded; my time is up now.
Yours sincerely
Simran
Dear Simmy,
I hope you are well; I think the plan we have set out is working, Mell has booked ticket to travel.
I do not know to where, when I do, I will write to you. We are so close, and I feel we will succeed this time.
Yours faithfully
Daimen
Dear Simmy,
a quick line, she is setting off today for the capital, apparently, she was summoned, it had nothing to do with our plan.
Not to worry; I have set up our spies to join her entourage when she arrives, so we will still receive information about her every move.
Yours faithfully
Daimen
Dear Simran,
I refused to sign for your package, you should receive it promptly, I have no need for any information you may wish to share with me.
I am very confused as to why you think I would be. I’m also curious why you call me Mell and why you think I had interfered in your life.
My only advice would be for you to stop this, it is decisive and of no good will come of it. I urge you to think about what you are doing and consider the steps you are taking.
I’m asking you to stop messaging me, you have caused quite enough drama in my life, and I want it to stop, stop writing me.
This will be the first and final time I write you on the advice of my solicitor.
Melkia
Dear Mel,
I was surprised to hear from you in that tone, how could you forget ‘me’ and what you did to me. I hold no grudge and no malice towards you, I only ask you to look at the papers I have sent you. You need do nothing more.
Yours fondly
Simran
Dear Damian,
Have you reached the capital yet? I received all your letters at the same time, as you haven’t dated them it was a task to work out the order, the post make was on all the same day.
I must ask you to have you found Mel and do you think you can get her to look at the documents?
Please write to me soon about the progress you have made.
Many thanks
Simran
Dear Simmy,
I have not reached the capital yet; I was waylaid with some urgent work. I will tell you when I see you.
I fear we have lost Mel; I urge you to continue writing to her, maybe your letters will trigger some memories of your childhood.
I reviewed all the documents myself; it has led me to find more which I will send you when my investigations are completed. For now, hold strong.
It is far worse than we had originally thought; many members of your immediate family are involved.
There’s seems to be very little that we can do at this point, except gather as much intel as we can for the storm that approaches.
Yours faithfully
Daimen
Dear Simmy,
I have set off today and I hope to arrive before you get this letter (we have failed, and I feel we must now lookout for our own interests for now) If not, please, make ready for travel. I believe I can get you out and back home, but we must be swift.
Make sure to pack everything; it must look like you are leaving leaving, they must not think we are fleeing at this point, appearances are everything.
I believe you understand what is going to happen from now, we will talk things through once this is over and decided how we want to proceed.
Yours faithfully
Daimen
(Printed in the Local Newspaper)
Obituary
Two people were reported dead in yesterdays train accident, while authorities were unable discover their identity, the ticket master reports that the tickets for that cabin was booked by Daimen
If anyone has any family missing as of the 2nd of the caped moon, they should contact the news paper a small reward has been announced by the train company to identify the bodies.
Updated information will be published in the ‘more news’ section of the paper as we received it.
