Maeve: Hi, I’m Maeve Marsden, and you’re listening to Queerstories. This week, Miranda Aguilar is a proud, queer, Filipinx writer, creative producer and community arts worker. They’re passionate about working with young people and providing inclusive, accessible pathways for people to tell their own stories. They write scripts and stories for soft-spoken brown weirdoes, spicy gay nerds and hopeful pessimists.
Miranda’s first play, Let Me Know When You Come Home premiered with National Theatre of Parramatta, in association with CuriousWorks, in 2021. They performed this story at Queerstories Western Sydney.
Miranda: When I introduce myself to people, I tell them many things. I say my name’s Miranda, I’m Filipinx, I’m a writer, and more and more often, I say that I’m a skater. I am very much a beginner still, so please don’t ask to see me grind down a rail or do a kickflip or even an ollie because right now my biggest trick is staying on my board. It’s an important trick. It’s the first thing you learn when you’re starting out, and then from then on, whether you’re going down your first ramp or trying to land a cool trick, you’ll always hear the same things: bend your knees and stay on your board. Commit.
I never cared about skateboarding before I started. I never played Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater games or had any ill-advised crushes on skater bois. Skateboarding sits at the junction of being athletic and looking cool, neither of which are in my comfort zone. When I would do sports and PE, I was of course too uncoordinated to be athletic, but also too competitive to pretend that I was too good for school sports. So I tried really really hard, realised I still wasn’t good, get embarrassed and quit.
Even as an adult I still fight that impulse to quit when I’m not good enough right away. I am constantly reassuring my anxiety: It’s okay that this rough draft isn’t perfect. It’s okay that this second draft isn’t perfect. It’s okay that this email is worded weirdly. There will always be a million more emails. Still no matter what I tell myself, I procrastinate, I get embarrassed, and if it’s not writing related, I usually quit. I have quit crocheting, nail art, dance classes, I have quit learning a million different languages. I know I can alawsy strat again if I mess up ap project or miss a duloigno session. I know I should keep going, keep trying, commit, but so far the only thing that’s stayed is writing and skating.
I started skating mid-2019 and immediately broke two bones in my hand. So despite that, and the bushfires, a pandemic, and even more injuries that would keep me from the skate park for weeks at a time, I kept coming back.
So I’ve now been skating regularly for about six months. The sidewalks near me aren’t very beginner skater friendly, so I tend to go to the skate park and zip around the flat in full pads and a helmet while the cool teens and experienced skaters will snake past me, practice tricks, and bouncing up easily no matter how many unprotected slams they take.
For the longest time, being one of the few skaters in a helmet really got to me. It wasn’t because anyone said anything. In fact, most of the skaters I’ve met, even the cool teens, are chill, welcoming, and are super happy to give you advice. The advice is just, ‘bend your knees,’ and ‘commit,’ but it’s never mean. They don’t have to be mean. I can fill in those blanks myself.
I used to think I’d be less anxious if I were athletic. After years of just living in my head and feeling like shit, I realised I also lived in my body so I should probably take care of it. So I would lift weights or do Couch to 5K or morning yoga, and I’d feel… fine. And if I stopped, I would feel worse than before. It was like body was holding my brain hostage. Walk outside in the sunshine! Buy better running shoes! Run farther! Stretch more! Commit! You won’t have any fun, but at least you’ll feel… okay.
Skating didn’t change that. Skating is fun, it keeps me active, and I love it, but it also makes my anxiety more visible. It doesn’t matter if I know how to fall safely, or to bend my knees, or if the thing I’m doing is actually scary. My anxiety lives in my brain and it lives in my body, and it comes out when I skate.
I feel my anxiety the most around ramps. This one time, I was trying to go up and down these two ramps at Carnes Hill Skate Park. At that point, I had done it before, but I had injured myself a few weeks earlier, and I hadn’t skated for a while. When I returned to the park, it just felt off. I wasn’t falling. My stance was fine. My brain remembered how to skate, my body knew how to skate, my anxiety did not. I knew I had to just do these ramps again to convince all of myself that I could still skate.
But for whatever reason, it wasn’t happening. I’d skate down the first ramp, up to the next ramp– and stop. I didn’t have enough speed to get up and over it. I was pushing off strong, keeping my balance, pumping at the bottom, bending my knees – and stopping. Failing. Over and over again.
Eventually, I learned what I was doing wrong. I would push once, twice, and then right before the ramp, I’d use my whole foot to push off and slow myself down. It wasn’t on purpose. I knew that was the wrong thing to do. I knew how to push properly, I knew I needed speed, I knew I could do these ramps – but my anxiety didn’t.
And the thing is, even after I realised what I was doing and tried to correct it… I just couldn’t get it that day. I tried, I failed. I probably cried. I’ve seen so many kids at the skatepark, and none of them cry more than me. It’s never because I’m hurt. It’s sometimes because I fall, but it’s not because I’m in pain. It’s because I’m a dumbass who can’t keep up with the same simple advice: bend your knees! Commit!
Skateboarding brings out all of my worst qualities. I’m old and uncoordinated, I’m so uncool, an anxious crybaby – and I love it. Skating helps me love myself. And I don’t love myself despite these qualities. I love that I’m trying new things even though it’s hard. I love that I care more about having fun and keeping myself safe than looking cool. I love how much I care, that even when I cry, and I fall, I always get up and get back on my board. It’s not always right away, but that’s okay. You’re allowed to sit down at the skatepark.
I can do those ramps now, but sometimes I don’t try to progress, I just coast on the flat. I’m going at my own, slow pace, because I’m not skating to get better, I’m just skating for me.
So, if you’ve ever wanted to try skating, and you tried and you fell; or you tried and weren’t good immediately; or you felt too old, unfit and uncool to even try, this is an open invitation – hit me up, we’ll try again. It’ll be fun. We’ll both wear helmets. We’ll both be beginners. And when it gets scary, I’ll remind you; just stay on the board. Bend your knees. Commit.
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