Copyright Monet Photography
Kai Chisholm is a twenty-year-old, non-binary/gender non-conforming actor who just recently graduated from drama school in New York City. They were raised in Douglasville, Georgia by a Filipina mother who immigrated to the United States in the nineties and a father who xe describes as a “tender-hearted black man from Savannah, Georgia”. In the following paragraphs the young actor reflects on the journey of becoming an adult, their experience of training in New York City and shares a glimpse of a deeply sensitive and by racism affected inner life.
There is a Philippine tradition (like the Hispanic quinceañera) called the Debut. It celebrates a young woman's *gag* coming-of-age. Instead of sixteen, it's at eighteen. I always was fiercely against this tradition. I did not want to get done-up in some hoop-skirted dress, wear a tiara, and be put on display. But the proud Filipina woman that my mother is, insisted. And I had already resisted her wanting me to attend my senior prom, so how could I deny her to watch her child experience the coming of age ceremony that she always wanted? This was the year I turned eighteen . I was a senior in high school and enrolled in the International Baccalaureate (IB) Programme. I was a second-year drum major and an adamant theatre student. All the while, my family and I had taken in a French foreign exchange student who spent an entire academic year with us. I was hellbent on going to art school and my mother had her sights on my Debut. Somehow, it all was not as terrible as I imagined it would be. Yes, I was extremely uncomfortable in and constantly tripping over my dress but surrounded by my closest friends and family. It was my first step towards adulthood. Now, I am nearly twenty-one years old and still, the biggest “bully” I face is the negative reflection of my character perpetuated by bigots and troglodytes alike. In short, adulthood is not like the last two years of high school by a long shot.
You see, the thing is that the present hurts too much. When I walked out of high school, I saw the world changing for the better. Even when I waltzed through the streets of New York City there was a generational healing already set in motion. In my soul-searching, I now have reconnected with old friends and my hometown. Which is, admittedly, weird. I never imagined that I would move back to Georgia (especially so soon) but, in any case, I have been reflecting on my time spent in New York, studying acting.
When I walked into my school building the Fall of 2018, I was exquisitely outspoken. I lived as I breathed, elegantly; I slept as I walked, effortlessly. I knew that I knew nothing about being an adult, and that I could stand to learn just a little more. You know...for the culture. At that time, I laughed loudly, and I cried truthfully on and offstage. I learned a lot about myself and the craft, to say the least, and I went home twice my first year, more confident in myself with every step I took. I miss the carefree natures of age nineteen.
My second year in acting school was spent in silence. I was overwhelmingly cast in traditional female roles. In studying my characters, I questioned the whole of my identity as if I had not already lived life prior. Upon much self-reflection and “deep-diving through old texts and trying to figure out what the hell happened”, I’ve come to the conclusion that there is something else here that is completely my fault: I talked. I expressed myself. And when I was feeling rejected… I stayed. Me. I did that. And for that reason, I believed that no matter what I had to say, no matter the experiences I live, breathe, cry over, scream for: mean nothing. I did not fight back; I grew complacent. I am reminded of a play I worked on called Doubt: A Parable by John Patrick Shanley. Maybe you’ve heard of it—I don’t know—but Shanley writes that “[we] are living in a courtroom culture” (Shanley, 5). He goes on to describe a “culture of extreme advocacy” (ibid) calling the reader to consider themselves on a divine scale by asking them a simple question: What do you know?
I used to live in my head, hoping that the world would perceive me as I saw it: unified. What is unity? Is it measured by abstract political standards of 19th and 20th-century philosophies? How far back do these schools of thought reach and how have they propelled us forward? Did they? And if so, then whom did these ideas seek to benefit? What are our measures of fairness and to what extent are our biases affecting the immediate world around us? I can tell you who it is affecting the most just as I can tell you who is taking advantage of it. As a trans person of color, it is devastating to consider the state of racism and white supremacy in our country. Or when I think of George Floyd and Elijah McClain, when I remember Ahmad Arbury or when I feel for Breonna Taylor and Emerald Black. And I can reach even further when I remember Sandra Black and Treyvon Martin. It hits even closer when I think of my own father and the stories he tells about his experiences as a black man living in America. My family. My cousins, my nieces, my nephews, my uncles, aunties, grandmother. We are affected 400 years deep by institutionalized racism. There are times when people—specifically white people—refuse to acknowledge my existence when I share space with my white friends. Retail owners will clock me as soon as I enter their establishment, believing me a thief solely based upon the color of my skin. Even in the time that it’s taken me to write this piece, Jacob Black is paralyzed due to police brutality, and a white terrorist shoots up a peaceful BLM protest in Kenosha. What is he faced with?
My blackness comes before the bohemian-patterned button-up I am wearing, before the bios on my social media accounts, before the video games that I’m interested in, and even before I can give you the latest scoop on my Dungeons & Dragons campaign. Even then: Am I a Nubian goddess? Am I an exotic gem? Am I to be fetishized by the things that make me less black? And what about the things that do? Filipinos are labelled as untrustworthy gold diggers and the Mexicans of Asia. What the f*ck? And in the same breath, people will still lust after me because of my heritage, because I am “exotic”. It’s sickening.
I look where we stand today, and it is hard to believe that anything changed or that anything ever will. I think of the world that I want to create still and—I don’t know—it seems pretty bleak to birth a child into a society that shoves and shoves and continues to shove TBIPOC off the platform. Black people must work harder to get anywhere close to our white cohorts. Black women specifically and black men especially. There is an undeniable standard of innocence that accompanies race and it is displayed in incarceration rates, city layouts, voting distributions, home security, food security—Do I really have to say more? I yearn to establish a world that is light and sweet like that pound cake batter my father would always save for me to snack on, but the world we live in is not as simple as his recipe. What people do not like to hear is that racism is everywhere. Even up north. It just exists under a different lens. Racism—white supremacy—exists beyond American borders, bleeding into centuries of genocides, slave trades, drug and sex trafficking, and countless other obscenities to generations of TBIPOC. In other words, a global standard of hatred. By invalidating my own experiences, I deny myself the honest growth I deserve and the unyielding love I search for. So no, I will not stop talking. Ever. I will not be silent. We can no longer afford to live in comfort. Not just for ourselves but for our friends, for our families, for our neighbors.
Toni Morrison said to never argue about something you know to be true about yourself when presented with opposition. The day I was asked to write this piece, I had just finished a lengthy discussion with my mother about self, family, and life. Her insights and wisdom are an unbending light that reminds me of myself. Who am I? What could I be? Who am I not? Where could I go? Where have I been? Where am I going next? In times like these, it is all too easy to succumb to the murky shrouds of the mind. There is much to consider, much to learn, and even more to heal from. Hope and love outplay the negatives. Stay strong…!
Kai Chisholm
From xyr childhood home
August 2020
