Despite not having seen a yellow school bus since 8th grade, we got on one our very first day of The Workshop. Although I’m a day student, I’ve nestled myself quite comfortably into Andover’s community and found that I don’t know our neighboring ones nearly as much as I thought; the moment I entered the cute little cafe atop a bookstore, I realized just what I had been missing these last few years — authentic immersion.
Entering El Taller, I was completely clueless; after all, this field trip didn’t pertain to any specific course, so I wasn’t really sure what to look out for. What was I supposed to be getting out of this experience? What was I supposed to learn? Discover? Contribute? Breaking out of this cookie-cutter student mentality was our first task, but one I didn’t have to worry about getting a 6 on. Remembering that we were brought here without any explicit instruction on purpose, I relaxed and let myself admire the cafe’s atmosphere, from the framed pop-art adorning the walls to the quirky vines climbing the bar’s bottles. The building invited us as we were — confused, awe-struck, excited, nervous, ready, yet not knowing just what we were ready for. Poet and activist Dariana Guerrero’s warm welcome emphasized that that was exactly what El Taller was for — a place where visionaries and pragmatists can all come together and dine on delicious plantains or fictional feasts in a book of their choosing.
Having been a bookworm for most of my childhood, I couldn’t help but get excited at the mere idea of it all; I hadn’t read or written for fun in ages, finding myself too swamped by work or having to prioritize other things in its place. But not only did we get to read some beautiful poetry, we got to have it performed for us! It was my first time ever witnessing spoken-word poetry in real life — I had first been introduced to the genre in ENG100 when I read the Poet X, and even then had only really seen it performed on YouTube. I didn’t think there’d be such a stark difference between the videos and real life, but there truly was — the way Dariana’s voice reverberated through the room, the way she’d reach her hands toward you in the audience. It was beyond mesmerizing.
After her performance — her own personal “remix” of the poem, “Imagine the Angels of Bread” by Martín Espada — Dariana gave us the opportunity to write our own versions. Espada’s poem was incredibly heart-wrenching, Guerrero’s version was beyond powerful, and I wanted to see if I could emulate the same talent that I had seen that day; I was quite proud of the poem I conjured up, an ode to my home country of Lebanon. I really enjoyed creating the poem, as well as listening to others share theirs, despite previously thinking I wasn’t much of a poet. Without the pressure of trying to meet expectations or guarantee academic success, I’m finally allowing myself to discover what I’m passionate about rather than what I’m good at, and providing myself the space to turn the latter into the former too.
