The past year has felt like many. You are invited to join Easy Tibetan, Lekey Leidecker, and friends for a multilingual Losar celebration of poetry on Zoom to bring in the year of the Iron Ox, 2148 with good energy. Saturday, Feb 13 at 4pm BST/11am EST/8am PST. A captioned version of the video for the English portions will be available after the event!
Register here. Donations accepted for performers and 15% donated to Tibetan Equality Project: Venmo @Lekey-Leidecker Cashapp: $LekeyLeidecker (Photo via Dennis Jarvis, Creative Commons) [Image description: A black box with a photo of a colorful Tibetan window…
Note: This essay was originally published in April 2020 by Z. Ahmed (@mirrorgrl on Instagram), curator of quarantine art series Homebodies and reposted with permission. The call for submissions is still open!
ALSO: This is my first time trying to include alternate text on images, which is to increase accessibility. I would appreciate feedback.
Name: Lekey Leidecker
Hometown: Berea, KY factually; New York City spiritually
Home during COVID-19: North London, UK
Preferred Creative Medium: Words
Favorite Yoga Pose: Viparita Virabhadrasana (reverse warrior)
Best British Phrase: “You f*ckin’ what?!”
5 Quarantine Trends You’ll Sit Out On:
Note: This letter was inspired by a question I received after the High Peaks Pure Earth Tibetan women poets Instagram takeover series, where I talked about writing from my experiences and how impostor syndrome can silence us. I credit Food 4 Thot podcast for their “We Don’t Belong” episode featuring an in-depth discussion of impostor syndrome as queer writers, mostly of color. I credit Brainpickings for featuring an Anne Lamott essay in which she references impostor syndrome as a writer. I credit Gloria Anzaldúa for her letter to third world women writers for inspiring this format.
Dear R,
Thank you…
Hello! Are you a/do you care about/do you have some weird vested interest in having an opinion about Tibetan women? Do you live in or near London?
Join us to find out how Tibetan women have been shifting paradigms and changing the world at the first-ever London Machik Khabda on March 14th, 3–5pm (TBA Central London location)! We’ll be honoring Tibetan woman dynamo Gen Huamo Tso and talking about my favorite things: Tibetan women, feminism, and poetry!
Let us know you’re coming at this link and share it with your friends/enemies/LinkedIn connections.
From the Machik Khabda website:
To mark International…
I became a writer because of loneliness. A protracted feeling that I did not ‘fit’ in my surroundings began a lifelong habit of recording my innermost thoughts, as if to hear them reflected back to me, to create an archive of myself where there previously was none. It became a way to express thoughts that would otherwise go unsaid. A dedicated introvert, I relish solitude. I write almost exclusively alone. My recent relocation to a new country has, however, spurred a consideration of how loneliness pervades the lives of diaspora Tibetans, and the practices we enact to counter it.
Having…
Relocation is a nightmare for the change-averse. It is overwhelming, unsettling, a recipe for decision fatigue. Since moving to London, I have nearly burst into tears several times at the indecipherable symbols on the washing machine, or after realizing I failed to switch on the rice cooker in time for dinner. In an effort to curtail future appliance-related meltdowns, I have had to create a feeling of home for myself. …
The story appeared on my Instagram feed. I clicked the familiar name Anu Ranglug (also known as ANU). From my basement apartment in Washington DC, I watched, transfixed, ANU’s brilliant Tibetan and Chinese language performance of OneRepublic’s “Apologize.” Suddenly, the tempo slowed and a bell chimed. The triumphant cry of a Tashi Sholpa performer echoed from my phone. The camera cut to the shocked faces of the show’s Chinese judges and audience members. I shouted in surprised joy, and my friend viewing with me asked “Are you gonna cry?”
The moment lasts maybe fifteen seconds in an otherwise skillful but…