On Oct. 16, I had the great pleasure of experiencing the lifestyle of a great friend of mine.
Her name is Sarah Hemmert, a graduate student at California Sate University of Northridge. We were an hour outside of Little Rock, Arkansas, at the Petti Jean State Park. Our performance ensemble from CSUN was invited to the Petti Jean Petit Performance Festival to perform and learn from others in workshops for the weekend.The festival was enlightening and the CSUN ensemble set a creative bar they should be proud of.
Hemmert performed an individual narrative on body image and the history she carries with it. I witnessed her body like I have witnessed my own. The moments I criticized it for things and the moments I am reminded my body is strong and there is nothing wrong with it.
She speaks of the woman's body carrying memories and painful cries to be freed from her judgment and the judgement of others. But she is aware of her "acidic pool" of false beliefs and she refuses to let them define her or her body. I watched and I listened and I remembered the scars on my body that carry a history, the physical pains I feel.
I could see every person in the small room affected by each word she articulated perfectly and poetically. She took the audience on a journey through her body's history. A history that sometimes we share together in good and bad ways. Hearing Sarah express her breasts were "every woman's and every man's"; it felt like every time I shamed myself, I shamed my mom, I shamed my sisters, I shamed my best friends, I shamed Hemmert.
I witnessed a glimpse inside her life, her story. Her story that is uniquely hers and yet so familiarly all of ours. Being a true witness, I felt like I needed to witness other people and less of myself. Sometimes I get so riled up trying to figure out my story that I forget to be apart of others' stories. I forget to witness it.
Because the sad truth is if I miss out on being a witness, who will tell the stories of the people I love, so they can live on? Who will be the person to say I was truly there? Who will do it if not I?
Like my professor Dr. Minge always says to an audience before our show, "We believe stories can heal the world," and every time I hear her say that, I remember Hemmert's performance. I remember the tones of her voice that strategically synchronized her words with each sound bouncing off her tongue. I remember her rose-colored cheeks that made me smile. I remember her story and I remember wanting to tell it over and over again.
Here is Hemmert's narrative:
