My Other Work

There was always a sense of floating. Or running. Never touching the ground. My personality was shaped by constantly having to adapt to new surroundings as I grew. I learned social skills to survive. Not fitting in was social death. 

So youthfully dramatic.

My Veins are Made of Tree Branches was created on the traditional territories of the Haudensaunee - Six Nations Confederacy, the Anishinaabe - which includes the Mississaugas of the Credit First Nation and the Wendat.

Inose/Field Trip can be experienced anywhere in the world, along a quiet trail through the forest, navigating the sidewalks of a big city, or strolling or rolling down a country road. If possible, we invite you to listen while you move with us in a safe, outdoor space. If that is not possible, you can listen at home and use your imagination. There is no wrong path!

My favorite part about my neighborhood is honestly my street. I live just off College and Ossington—which is an amazing part of the city. It’s close to everything—literally anything I need is basically just down the street. But the street I live on is lined with old houses that have gorgeous gardens and it’s really quiet and is beautiful during any season.

September 4, 2011, 9:00pm, I hopped on a Greyhound bus in Thunder Bay to move to Toronto to become a professional actor. I was alone. I was terrified. But I was also determined to find my place in the big city and add my voice to the already active and thriving theatre community. On my arrival, the first thing I did was head straight to Buddies in Bad Times to volunteer.

How can I find humour when I’m so angry? When I’m so sad? When I’m longing? How can I find humour when my brain tortures me at night? I had a dream the other night that I was holding my niece in my arms and then I woke up and it was as if she disappeared. It was devastating. There’s a loss that’s happening. A mourning. Many of us are feeling it and trying to find ways to navigate through. And trying to create in all of this is … interesting.

I was fifteen years old and spending two weeks of my summer vacation with my best friend at her dad’s place in Sioux Lookout. I had just attended my first concert in Winnipeg and was preparing to spend the last week swimming in the lake and not stressing about the abusive environment I was living in. And then I got a phone call. It was my step dad telling me that I needed to come home right away because my grandmother was in a coma.

I wanted to write a poem.

I tried to write a poem.

I have all these creative ideas swirling around in my head about what I want to say; sometimes about how I want to say it. But sitting down and actually trying to get it out is… challenging. Why write when I could watch the Spring Baking Championship, you know?

I know when it started. That fear. I was in fifth grade. We just received our class picture, and I looked at myself, sitting in the front row, smiling in my pink dress. My calves were rounding out and I knew at that moment that I was going to be fat.

To be clear, white people are welcome to attend the show. It’s important to have witnesses present to understand the ongoing effects of colonialism. And we are totally fine with a person of colour giving us a bad review. It’s not the review we’re worried about, it’s the voice behind it.