I reclaim literary ownership of this blog. As such, I henceforth reserve the right to vary content and thematic presentation. I assure you: you do not wish to spend the coming eleven months immersed in Danielle’s mental oblivion, manifest in paragraph format. Expect poems. Expect listicles. Expect recipes. Expect the unexpected. I have a new Rwandan name.
In Rwanda, I am Daniella. “Danielle” elicits confusion, as Kinyarwanda permits no distinction in pronunciation between my name and its male counterpart. In Rwanda, I am Daniella. I am Daniella, and I am a writer (Ndi umwanditsi). I am a writer, and I write because I am manipulative.
I write to manipulate. I write to make you see what I see, to hear what I hear, and to feel what I feel. Most readers will remain geographically isolated from my experience in Rwanda for the duration of my stay here. I write because I am selfish. Because as much as I write to invite you into my experience, I write to release my experience from myself.
Why I Write
At its fissures with
A three-dimensional heart
Transforms the tangible
Into symbols unspeakable
Words trace waterfalls
Cascading onto lakeshores
Enrobed in craggy mountainsides
Subsumed in a thirsty haze
Dust like fire, bright-eyed afternoons
Shadow static rhythms of the sun
Morning, evening, rising, setting
Cycles of waking, sleeping
Disorienting fixtures of
A life just beginning
Syllables fuse into sentences
Embers cast off waning flame
If I could write my life into yours
Transcribe the intake of my eyes
Imprisoned in alienation
Burdened with spaces