As I settle back into Toronto, I reflect with gratitude on my time in Banff.

What the fuck?

It’s been a couple weeks since it was announced I was selected as the Tarragon RBC Emerging Playwright for 2023, and I’ve held off from speaking too much about it because I’ve been battling a pretty severe depressive episode. Still am. More on that later, but I wanted to share a story:

I wrote my first dance grant and it ended up being an opportunity to explore my journey in dance and what it means to me. (And it’s a really great exercise for dancers to articulate their practice in words.)

on burnout, breaks and unlearning

He told me the houses were not on fire

But when the smoke cleared

The ashes and embers lay by my feet.

He told me the houses were not on fire

But the trees were roasted

Bald patches, missing pines on the evergreens

There was this ingrown hair on my arm that kept bothering me for days

I felt it wedged into my skin

It ran deep

And I kept picking at it

I know I shouldn’t pick at my skin

It could’ve been you but I’m pretty sure it was me

Me you we

These days I have trouble remembering much of anything

I forget to breathe

are you into games? You must be, the way you been playing me hmmmm?