Gracefully Broken to China

By Toko Watson

Nothing is more powerful, I tell you, than being away from a force that never meant you any good. So thankful I am and thankful you should be that what once held you away from seeking the best version of yourself, including you, only made you stronger and only made you aware of how important you are. And if you don't know, now you know that nothing formed against you won. If you are reading this, you still have the breath to see this as a sign to live and fight another day. Jesus died so you could live. So live past your past, step forward, forgive, and get ready for that which is for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638814610

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Gracefully Broken to

China

Toko Watson

Copyright © 2021 Toko Watson

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-63881-459-7 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63881-460-3 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-63881-461-0 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

To Hope

Meet Me

Travel far enough to meet yourself.

Travel far enough to meet yourself.

It is crazy that it took 7,205 miles from St. Louis to Shanghai for me to find or even begin to ask the right question of who I was.

Hey now, y’all. I’m Taquoara Anshynna Laquisha Watson Hardieway. Yes, I have five names that were and is a song my mom’s childhood friends still bring up. Don’t worry if you butcher it. I’m used to it, and hey, what does it matter? I’m not there to hear it anyway. You’re reading a book, so have a go at pronouncing it, LOL. Make it your song. Hey, try making your name a song, LOL. I’m sure that will make it a lot more interesting, LOL.

I’m from St. Louis, Missouri, and no, I do not talk country or know where Nelly lives. This usually comes to people’s minds not from St. Louis when I say where I’m from. Or half the people think I mean Louisiana and act like they know where St. Louis is, and it’s that awkward pause. I just say I’m, like, four hours away from Chicago, and then I feel it click.

I’m the oldest of four siblings, two sisters and a brother with my mom and a sister on my dad’s side. How beautiful my life was until I was nineteen years old and the move that changed my whole life a whole backflip, somersault, front tuck upside down and back around, or so it seemed.

Before nineteen, my life was a little messy, but I just was a little more determined to have more and stay focused. I’ll give keynotes to the years before because I know you are just as excited as I am about telling the story of what all happened—the cheers, tears, and downright ready for a beer. No, drinking and reading. I need you to understand everything. I don’t need any angry DMs about how awful my life story was because you were vision impaired from drinking and reading. Keeping my DM’s safe, I’ll put reminders throughout the book on no drinking because I love you and I’m a lookout for both of us. Now, let us go; I’ll keynote the first nineteen years to one chapter so I don’t lose you.

I was born to ingenious sixteen-year-old Takisha Hardieway and Demetrius Watson. Marshawn Watsons—I mean, my dad—got about five different personalities wrapped up into this tall, dark, and handsome young man who is too cool for school. My mom is just a fiery bundle of sunshine that’s gone kick it to you real nice and sweet. In other words, she has a big heart but is nothing to play with. And when we were allowed to have friends over, we were all her children. She wasn’t gone say nothing to them; she wouldn’t tell my siblings and me. I guess that’s what my friends liked about her—mostly positive but wasn’t anything to be played with.

My mom and dad never worked out but always was cool with each other. Sometimes, as I look at it, too cool. But hey, I won’t meddle. My mom raised me, and my dad went off to play basketball throughout high school and college. Hence, my dad just made sure I had all the jays growing up. Stepping up at sixteen isn’t the typical thing if all they know is fatherlessness. As I got older, I stopped holding the ways my parents did something because I saw where they came from and the curses they were breaking off their life, so I genuinely believe they did the best they could.

your parents did the best they knew how or experienced. Love them regardless.

My mom had a little bit more presence from both parents. Hence, I saw her more, but my dad knew little of a functional household. (Imma pause to honestly give hats off to them both because they did the best they knew how. As you read, I hope you will come to peace if that is a similar truth for you, that your parents did the best they knew how or experience. Love them regardless. Okay, off the soapbox and back to our regular scheduled footnotes.)

When I was two, my mom had my sister DJ with my stepdad Dre but not too long after going to jail. It was us three—me, my mom, and sister—place to place with family and my mom’s best friends until Thirteenth Street, and Warren became our favorite place right in the hood but quiet enough for my mom to raise us. To us, it seemed to be peaceful, but not after those streetlights went off.

In my first ten years, my mom practiced Muslim traditions. My sister and I had these beautiful bright-colored prayer rugs that I remember had compasses on them to pray to the north. We switched school every two years, and although we stayed in the same house, I got used to always making new friends and even enjoyed it.

Little did I know that would set up inconstancy in what I like—the getting-bored syndrome and not seeing things through. The relationship with my dad was occasional, of calls, buying me something and showing off. Women telling and seeing a handsome man with his cute little daughter looked good. I always played along with laughs, hugs, smiles, and juicing up how much we were alike. As I got older and used to my mom doing everything and providing, I less and less saw the need for him and made it clear to him one Christmas day when I was fourteen as I firmly told him as he dropped me off some shoes. I bet you can guess what kind of shoes they were. Anyways, I told him I didn’t need him and all he does is buy me stuff and don’t spend any time with me and that my mom would take care of me and I didn’t need him.

We mostly grew up in the city and the south side were the two chosen places of most of our family members. The county was too far, most of them would say.

My mom’s side of the family was close, but my mom was always wanting more than the habits that most of our family members had. My mom exposed us to different things and cultures always talked about what we like to call the profound topic of spirituality and something bigger and more significant than ourselves. She taught us things that opened up our mind and set us apart but sheltered us at the same time that although we lived near and in the hood, we didn’t adopt the same mentalities.

Fast forward to my teens again, I danced to the beat of my drum until I felt the wall closing. Into a world I never wanted, of habit, ways and realities chased me down as I fought to keep a life I could be proud of and, in my eyes, not to be like my mother. Playing the game came to typical teen things—boys, overly social, peer pressure, alcohol, and drugs. We will get to those experiences later on in the chapter. My childhood was pretty plain to outside interceptions until I got to about fifteen.

During my sophomore year in high school, dance became a huge part of my life and schedule not only as an elective at University City High School but outside of school with hip-hop dance classes and shows.

First, it was my escape, a place that wasn’t home, which wasn’t my thoughts, that ran wild in my head if I let them sit too long. Dance saved me, and I like to tell myself I will save it one day. But that’s another story for another book. Most dancers will tell you it was their form of therapy and expression. I shared that same passion. Thing is I didn’t know I did until my senior year hit. For the first year given, Dance St. Louis awarded me the Dance Career Award (an award that identified and honored local high school students who are exceptionally motivated and talented in dance and show potential for a professional dance career).

So that summer, when I stepped somewhat into the shoes of dance being a career and not just a hobby, things got a little limitless. (As in, I never worked for something so hard in my life as I would be for the next year.) I took extra classes at COCA, a performing arts center, and auditioned for the first time. I auditioned for AMDA College of Performing Arts and Webster University. With the help of Dance St. Louis (an organization that brings world-class dance companies and transformative dance education outreach to the St. Louis area)