Hey loves,
Happy new month, and happy #pridemonth to the queer community!
We will be featuring a few stories on what it means to be queer and Malawian. It is a form of release for most of these writers, and I ask of you that you treat these stories with the love and grace that they deserve.
I put out a call via Twitter for some writers to submit their personal stories of dealing with sexuality – and this here is one of them. The writer requested to be kept anonymous.
All my love,
Ntha, The Editor.
I am more than my sexuality.
More than sex.
All in reality.
On the surface the water moves so effortlessly that we tend to forget that it has weight to it.
We tend to forget it carries and that at the same time it deposits.
It’s sacred regardless of all the filth that may live in it.
It flows. Bending. Changing form but always remaining water.
Wet but allowing the dry to exist.
Grating air and yet still respecting it.
Those are the waters that flow in this motherland.
Water listens although it wooshes.
Water is the paradox of life.
And I. I am the paradox of love.
that we tend to forget that it has weight to it.
We tend to forget it carries and that at the same time it deposits.
It’s sacred regardless of all the filth that may live in it.
It flows. Bending. Changing form but always remaining water.
Wet but allowing the dry to exist.
Grating air and yet still respecting it.
Those are the waters that flow in this motherland.
Water listens although it wooshes.
Water is the paradox of life.
And I. I am the paradox of love.
Bisexual I tell them.
They respond with “when did you make that choice?”,
forgetting that hate lives within me.
They respond with “which are you more attracted to?”,
forgetting that mind doesn’t have a gender.
They respond with “how are you reconciling your relationship with God?”,
forgetting that God still hugs me with the warmth of his love.
What they can’t blatantly admit is that behind all these questions,
lies doubt, unease and fear.
How can I blame them?
Knowing that that’s a human reaction to the unknown.
But of course, behind the latter question lies sacrifice.
A sacrifice of self.
And so must I deny myself sovereignty?
It’s a war I tell you.
But I can assure you,
I am more than my sexuality.
I am a writer.
I am black.
I am African.
I am Malawian.
I am female.
I am lovable and capable of loving.
I am more than my sexuality.
More than sex.
All in reality.
– Anon
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