Akun Ding performs a spoken-word piece about wearing a blank face to hide and the yearning to be called by a forgotten name. The speaker sits in a pristine white room, keeps a mirror at distance, and holds silence as both shield and fracture, while dust settles from the pandemic's lingering presence.
Chapters
You left the white room spotless, no fingerprints along the glass. I wore that blank face to the hallway so no one had to ask. The mirror kept its distance, the ceiling stayed awake. I learned to hold a silence. Like something I could break. If you see me, call me by the name I forgot beneath the porcelain shade. I'm still here, breathing through the space between what I conceal and what I crave. And still remember you. If you see me, call me by the name I forgot beneath the porcelain shade. I'm still here, breathing through the space between what I conceal and what I crave. Take the COVID from the table. Let the dust land where it may. I don't need to look untouched now. I just need to stay. If you see me, call me by the name. I can set this borrowed face away. I'm still here learning how to stay with the parts I never learned to name. I am alone. The room is quiet. The room is mine. I leave the blankness at the line.