11 Jan 2019

A meeting at the intersection of death and rebirth.

She becomes neither male nor female.

She is pure vengeance,

raging against time

defying gods in a society

where women are objects to be won.


A haunting familiar tune.

At ang iyong mata’y biglang lumuha ng di mo pinapansin

(Before you realise it, tears are running down your face)

Nagsisisi at sa isip mo’y. Nalaman mong ika’y nagkamali

(And you realise you were wrong. And you repent.)

Hardly soothing but I remember

being lulled to sleep by these words.


S/he moves like a scorpion about to sting.

There is tenderness in this revenge.

S/he moves to embrace him,

He will never fully appreciate the suffering

he has wrought on this life.

S/he touches his face as he dies.

The darkness engulfs him.

The earth cracks beneath their feet.

One kneels. One stands.

One falls, surrounded by arrows.

As this vengeance, hate and suffering falls away,

another cycle of suffering begins.

Somewhere else.  


Only faultlines remain.

Glowing in the darkness.


Until the Lions –



08.03.18 #TheRebelDaughters


08 March 2018

Disavow paternalistic expectations
Writing ourselves through place
Rewriting narratives of place as women
Unraveling constructs of self
Until we understand these differences
as ways of living together.

8 paper cranes
Torn away from the gender expectations of glossy magazines.

8 wishes for hope and healing
Left on the tube, at tube stations and around Parsons Green*, London.

*Note: Parsons Green tube station was the site of a terrorist attack and a stabbing last year.


the end of infinity


Infinite blue skies

merged with your blue walls


we talked about what we would become.


At 15 you were already 27

impatient for the responsibilities of being

a mother, a wife.

Our lives were already

bound for diverging paths.


I don’t remember studying together

time together was too precious…

Soft white cotton from yesterday’s halloween costume

caught up with baby green leaves

rolling down the pavement like tumbleweed

far from home.

I am transported…

back to your room again.

There were books (weren’t there?)

Neil Gaiman (mine) and Margaret Atwood (yours).

I remember talking and dreaming.

the end of an infinity of

five-hour afternoons

in a time without



There was no way of knowing

(what others thought)

and we learnt not to care.

They were tiny grey pebbles

on haphazardly-laid concrete tiles

(perhaps something worth remembering,

even more important now,

when we are not allowed to forget)


There were too many

orange/red leaves

to catch before they fell.

Each one a cradle

transporting wishes

like ours.


After the fall…

crumpled green cans

litter the asphalt

showing up dirty white cigarette butts

flayed and exposed

I fell.

tumbling sideways and laughing

but you were not there anymore.

*This is part of an experiment with poetry, film and movement. Click here for the link to the film.

Listen to the City

the city

08.03.15 What is the new?

it was international women’s day and the pressure to say something about my position on women and prove that i have something to say based on my unique and original experience of being a woman, of being me.

But I’m only still learning, still retracing the steps of others, still trying to catch up. wait for me.

I haven’t managed to find my voice yet/can’t contribute to the women’s movement yet/i’m still using the words of others/don’t know how to say my own thing yet/still finding my way…sorting out my thoughts about what kind of woman i want to be and how the bad habits of the woman I am right now keep me from this (never mind what kind of woman I’m supposed to be) – gotta pick your battles you know.


The familiar craggy surfaces left their mark on my hands that had become soft. Too used to smooth surfaces and repetitive precision jumps. I forgot to listen, to play with the city.

the other city

The wall I used to climb was now boarded up on the other side. The plants above this wall had died – too much trash that was never cleared and it knew its days were numbered. Neglected. Overdosed on alcohol, cigarettes and sugary drinks.

the other wall

As I sit atop the wall and mourn, two girls walk by and one catches my eye. I give her a mischievous grin, silently inviting her to try climbing the wall too.

the view

I’ve been spending too much time thinking about me, worrying about whether I’m strong enough to do pull-ups and trying to work on building strength when I should be talking to the city, listening to its surfaces, breathing in its dreams.

Bare trees. Sculptures of winter.

Sunlight pushing out the cold.

Dark blue berries tangling my hair as I crawl past.

Whispering stories of resilience.

The ambiguous gender I perform gives me freedom – and I like it

Afraid of Heights


The higher you go the harder you fall – they all say.
Wonder Woman afraid to fly.
The invisible plane is a harness,
not a means to escape that glass ceiling.

One step in front of the other.
Light green leaves on dark brown branches
tickle my face.
Do not be tempted to rely on them for support.
Focus on feet.

Not accepting praise.
Or asking for recognition.
“It’s the team”, she says
They leap.
She decides she’s gone high enough
And steps down.

Parkour x Theatre workshop

my catleap

Calling all young women!

Get strong, get fit and have fun! In this parkour x theatre workshop you’ll learn pick-up some basic parkour moves that will be combined with theatre improvisations.

Note: we’ll be joining Parkour Generations for a Beginners’ Outdoor class for the first part of the lesson and this lesson moves around a lot so please do not be late as we will not be able to go back to the meeting point to get you.

This workshop is part of a three-year research project that will involve collaborations with skateboarders, b-girls and street artists. The minimum age required for participation is 14 years of age.

Date: 27 Sept 2014

Time: 10.15am – 1pm

Meeting point: Kilburn Park Tube Station exit

Please email me at / if you’d like to attend.