As A Brown Woman, Defining Intimacy On My Own Terms Is A Revolution On Its Own
Image: Pixabay
Before getting to know my love, I would easily think of myself as more of a fighter,
But the same way I experienced an arsenal of feelings for him before I found the words,
We come together to harvest new descriptions for our states of being in relation to each other,
And steer ourselves away from the ghosts that still try to haunt us to a realm of our own making!
In tender moments, while holding each other close, we shine lamps in the windows of our souls,
Knowing all too well the harsh reality of how safety has been torn from us many times before,
Yet we deserve glitter too, and refuse to sacrifice anymore on the altar of our very survival!
If folx had predicted that I would open myself up to the love of my life after the hardest year I ever endured, I would have doubted them with every fibre in my being. Yet that is exactly what unfolded, as surviving a little white man hellbent on my destruction somehow made the prospect of heartbreak feel much less formidable in comparison. I had grown increasingly comfortable with my vulnerability after loss and longing had forced occupancy in my mind in the aftermath of trauma. From the very first night when we met, I can remember parting ways, and worrying that he might feel cold as there was a particularly chilly wind outside, and his light jacket did not seem remotely up to the task of protecting him from the elements.
It would be weeks before more transpired, but I thought of little else in that time, as I reckoned within myself if I even had the slightest capacity to explore a relationship with this brilliant Black trans man. I asked myself what I could offer another when feeling like I was still barely piecing myself back together, yet I also acknowledged that my connection to him held a certainty that I could not begin to ignore, even if it meant something else to recover from, much like all I face as a queer brown woman. I would run into him again a week later, and struggle to reconcile my visceral reaction to his presence, but also allow myself a glimmer of hope that maybe this romantic interest could be mutual, and consider the possibility that we might align well for a relationship with each other, despite all my fears about getting hurt should it end.
Especially following trauma, I have worked hard to decolonize my understanding of all things, including love, as I reflect on bell hooks’ assertion in “All About Love,” that “there can be no love without justice,” which I try to keep in mind as my partner and I develop this bond. As marginalized folx whose existence has often required daily fights for our survival, I reflect on the reality of how hurt folx often hurt folx, so any attempt at love requires a commitment to intentionality with a lens of justice to guide how we engage in relationships with each other. While we may stumble as we work through our respective baggage, we hold space too, as well as we can, even when struggling, and try to at least communicate that when unable to offer more than a statement of limited capacity to manage anything beyond our own basic needs at that time.
Image: Pixabay
As I explore meaning in languages other than that of my colonizer, I settle upon an Arabic word in a poetry workshop that resonates, “Ya'aburnee”, which my friend from Lebanon confirms is the highest expression of love, as it translates literally to, “you bury me” and means that one would prefer to die than bury that individual, which serves to capture the depth of what I feel for my partner. I reflect on bell hooks’ understanding of love as “an action, never simply a feeling”, “a combination of care, commitment, knowledge, responsibility, respect, and trust”, and try to embody those values in all the ways I strive to connect with him. In this relationship, we work together to learn how to provide what we need to feel loved well, even when it means unlearning societal expectations that are inherently about little more than control.
When night terrors are likely to remind one that proximity to others led to harm, it takes profound courage to extend oneself to connect with another, especially when anti-Blackness and transphobia are ingrained in the very fabric of this bigoted society. With this in mind, I reflect on my positionality in my commitment to him because I never want to be guilty of putting my comfort above the safety of my more marginalized partner. In the context of our relationship, that usually means reaching out more and being explicit in how I can offer support, as I only need to think of toxic family to recall how words like “tough love” came to justify harmful patterns of abuse that were often co-signed by relatives, who did not ever have my best interest at heart.
Anishinaabe writer, Ryan McMahon once stated that “it is hard to love when you live in a constant state of emergency,” and it often feels like that for queer racialized folx, but my belief in our ability to sustain a relationship in spite of these odds stacked against us is my revolution. I imagine that a tender love is possible, wherein our acceptance of each other inspires both individual and collective growth, as our relationship provides ample space to envision vulnerability as strength, whereby we work together to cultivate shared dreams for our future. Sometimes I struggle with how intimacy looks and feels different for us, but I remind myself that we will have time to explore more together, as I continue to work towards a love for the ages.
