Our Monday Morning

from me and my parts

substack #45

Hi, I’m Bianca — Artist, Professor, & Creative Strategist in Los Angeles. In case you are new here or if a reminder could help, this newsletter began as an exploration of figuring things out, one day at a time. Upgrade to a paid subscription to make sure you never miss out on the really good stuff.

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I woke up this morning (it’s Monday, as I sit down to write this) to see that Israel had bombed Baalbek, the region in Lebanon where my family lives.

Still in bed, I roll over and log into Facebook.

This is why our account is still active.

I scroll past engagement photos and baby announcements to find the pages of my aunties, uncles, and cousins.

Ok so, we’re looking for direct information, local news reports, check-ins, something.

Nothing.

Try Whatsapp.

Nothing.

I read more articles and discerned from the reporting that it’s far enough away from our family home that my relatives are probably ok, but still close enough to them for me to stay worried.

This process is not new to me. I did this a few weeks ago when I read about Israel bombing in Beirut. In 2020 after the Port Blast. In 2019 during Lebanon’s Thawra. The Arab Spring.

Despite the familiarity, I’m still not prepared for the amalgamation of conflicting feelings that always settle in: connection to a place and people I barely know, guilt that I am reading about this from the safety of my bed, concern, isolation, exhaustion.

It’s not even 8:00 am yet but somehow inner critic is right on time:

“Oh, YOU’RE tired? Babe, how do you think your Palestinian friends feel?”

I pause and take a deep breath.

manager chimes back in:

“Okay, maybe stop and T.H.I.N.K. Is this true? helpful? insightful? necessary? kind?”

Uhmmm. Well, they’re not wrong, it’s definitely true. I’m not sure if it’s particularly helpful. I do think it is a necessary point. But maybe not absolutely necessary in this private processing moment?

Before I can go any deeper my phone interrupts this gathering of my selves:

Thirty minutes before our first commitment of the day.

Our day is starting.

Between meetings, projects, and emails I see commentary about someone named Aaron Bushnell. Soon I am inundated with information.

@abolitionschool

I think about the fact I’m not even supposed to have my phone in my bedroom. I think of Dr. Kay Tye’s one hour of email a week. I think of

Ayana Zaire Cotton

’s last newsletter:

Instead of asking “what should I do?” these are three questions I’m asking instead:

1. Which roles can I sustain for a lifetime?

2. What containers will I practice inside of?

3. Lastly, who will I practice these roles with? I hope the answer is you.

manager:
we need containers.

I dive into my unread texts and respond to Kamala:
Do you want to write together later?

Kamala:
omg, yes.

All my parts:
hamdulilah.

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The loubeih I just made is cooling on the stove and I am snuggled into the couch in Kamala’s office. I take the opportunity to feel held by the yummy intimacy of quietly doing things separately together.

I think of the unfinished essay sitting in my drafts and the lecture I’m working on open in another tab. My mind wanders to the questions I want to ask Dante about his writing practice and his health.

I try to write to you all like I normally do, but I can’t bring myself to put on any of my hats today. Not professor, strategist, organizer, or artist. So, I just start to write and hope you stick around for next week’s letter. Maybe my thoughts will be more cohesive by then. Inshallah.

manager reminds me:
Only 73% of you read this anyway.

xo,
Bianca

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🎧 Dr Kay Tye on how social media and social connectedness
💡

Ayana Zaire Cotton

on the role you can sustain
🕊 Three years after the Beirut Blast
📚 What I mean by “all my parts”
🫛 This is missing all my secret ingredients, but its a place to start
🍉 Vigil Tuesday 2/27 : Houston, TX

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