2 responses to “Why were you crying? We wrote them down.”
I’d like to report a incident of Public Crying in West LA, no not the East Bay, but at least it rhymes.
I was on my mother’s bicycle, because mine had a flat tire. The skies were white and grey, cloudy and foreboding, suggesting rain, but not yet letting water cry from the sky. A coldness that sticks to your fingers, the hum of airplanes, the invented pressures of time and day. I went to bring my brother lunch money. With some resentment, with some relief. Gave me purpose, made me feel like a good big sister, and he was grateful, melting any residues of resentment. But as soon as I gave him $5, we embraced and turned away. He, back to school, me, to face the day. With what purpose? I felt so weak and small, wanting to go curl up at home with my words, and tea. I rode to 11th street, and then pulled to the curb, balancing the bicycle, calling my mommy. She told me,”It’s ok, what do you need? Do what you need. No pressure.” And I cried. Because I wasn’t ready to see the new house, I wanted to go back to what was familiar, some semblance of home. I cried, with shame on the sidewalk, holding back a thread of vulnerability. But then I remembered this Coalition, and so I let myself cry publicly, there on the curb while balancing the bicycle. Just then a man’s voice called out behind me, “Heeey Sexxy!” and a man on a bicycle, decked out with everything Red, White, and Blue Patriotic American, from his bicycle shorts to his sunglasses to his waving flags. Tears guarding my eyes, I gave him my gaze: pure “Oh ya? Really. This is me. THIS is what I’m feeling. This is what I AM. You are an IDIOT.” And he stared, scared for a minute, then mouthed, “Wow” and rode away, waving his American Flag. The back if his RedWhiteandBlue cart had a cardboard sign reading, “You can film me.” Yeah, well, you can film me too. This moment, this incident of Public Crying. Solidarity, Unite!
I had a panic attack for the first time in a while ever since I started taking antidepressants. I was on the bus to school and I had a weird feeling in my stomach and chest, which is usually how I start to freak out. As the bus went along, it picked up more and more people; claustrophobia was kicking in. I couldn’t even get more than halfway to my destination. I had to get off immediately in a quiet neighborhood near an Islamic recreational center. I plopped right down in the middle of the sidewalk and cried and cried. I didn’t care whether or not I got to school, all I knew in that moment was that I wanted to stop existing. A wonderful woman named Sunny sat next to me and waited until my mom came and got me. She talked me down from my panic and got me to the calmest state I’ve ever been in. It was the best possible outcome of crying in public.
For more, take the tour or contact us.
Public Crying Coalition 
I’d like to report a incident of Public Crying in West LA, no not the East Bay, but at least it rhymes.
I was on my mother’s bicycle, because mine had a flat tire. The skies were white and grey, cloudy and foreboding, suggesting rain, but not yet letting water cry from the sky. A coldness that sticks to your fingers, the hum of airplanes, the invented pressures of time and day. I went to bring my brother lunch money. With some resentment, with some relief. Gave me purpose, made me feel like a good big sister, and he was grateful, melting any residues of resentment. But as soon as I gave him $5, we embraced and turned away. He, back to school, me, to face the day. With what purpose? I felt so weak and small, wanting to go curl up at home with my words, and tea. I rode to 11th street, and then pulled to the curb, balancing the bicycle, calling my mommy. She told me,”It’s ok, what do you need? Do what you need. No pressure.” And I cried. Because I wasn’t ready to see the new house, I wanted to go back to what was familiar, some semblance of home. I cried, with shame on the sidewalk, holding back a thread of vulnerability. But then I remembered this Coalition, and so I let myself cry publicly, there on the curb while balancing the bicycle. Just then a man’s voice called out behind me, “Heeey Sexxy!” and a man on a bicycle, decked out with everything Red, White, and Blue Patriotic American, from his bicycle shorts to his sunglasses to his waving flags. Tears guarding my eyes, I gave him my gaze: pure “Oh ya? Really. This is me. THIS is what I’m feeling. This is what I AM. You are an IDIOT.” And he stared, scared for a minute, then mouthed, “Wow” and rode away, waving his American Flag. The back if his RedWhiteandBlue cart had a cardboard sign reading, “You can film me.” Yeah, well, you can film me too. This moment, this incident of Public Crying. Solidarity, Unite!
I had a panic attack for the first time in a while ever since I started taking antidepressants. I was on the bus to school and I had a weird feeling in my stomach and chest, which is usually how I start to freak out. As the bus went along, it picked up more and more people; claustrophobia was kicking in. I couldn’t even get more than halfway to my destination. I had to get off immediately in a quiet neighborhood near an Islamic recreational center. I plopped right down in the middle of the sidewalk and cried and cried. I didn’t care whether or not I got to school, all I knew in that moment was that I wanted to stop existing. A wonderful woman named Sunny sat next to me and waited until my mom came and got me. She talked me down from my panic and got me to the calmest state I’ve ever been in. It was the best possible outcome of crying in public.