An Ode To Queer Grief

Queer means “denoting or relating to a sexual or gender identity
that does not correspond to established ideas of sexuality and gender.”
The first time I read this definition was while writing this poem and yet I am it.
The first time I read this definition I registered some irony in the fact that queer even has a definition.
To me, it is ambiguity. A label I leave to people for interpretation
Because their perception of the word will still not mould me. I have finally learnt to be free.
My sexuality may be fluid but it isn’t water, taking shape of whatever container you try to put me in.
I dread being asked what does queer mean.

Queer means that your growing up was magical.
Because you literally magicked a rainbow unicorn out of mid air
As you crafted your super-gay identity out of societal and media invisibility.
Queer means you partly brought yourself up.
The internet was your mother who taught you everything and society was the father who abandoned you
Not letting you know where you came from and who you were. You were always searching
Queer meant that some words in your vocabulary were always missing
Like ripped pages in a dictionary. Like a conspiracy theory
That the heterosexual world was in on a plan to not even let me know I was different for the first 18 years of my life.
Queer means you were are a finder. Always looking. Always searching.
Searching for an identity in the words and experiences of strangers on Internet.
Searching for people like me.
I am a database.
Every queer person I meet is a new harbinger of wisdom and
I desperately learn them. Archiving their history at the back of my mind.
Queer means your future is never in sight
And the present feels perpetually information deprived.
Queer means I crack terrible jokes.
I correct my posture by saying “Stand straight. Be gay”
Because I guess I get to have a laugh at the expense of something that hurts me.
Because queer hurts.
It hurts like an open wound. It is that side of me that asks for too much.
I sometimes wake up and wonder what normalcy feels like
But that word “normal” jars against me and I realize
I only wonder what privilege feels like.
Because queer means I have never been spoon fed morals and values
I had to fight enough to find and validate my own
I had extricate my self-worth from the carcasses of my confusion
Find myself in a sea of invisibility
But not reveal myself for the sake of safety
Sometimes people say “It is all the same love” but I beg to differ
Don’t try to simplify this struggle. Trust me, I have tried.
Queer tires. It is feeling like you have been running before you have even begun the race.
And you have. It’s just that some parts of this struggle are seen less.
And when you read a research article use the term “minority stress”
You close the door of the room and you cry.
Because somewhere some great goddamned researcher named the ocean of grief I hold within me.
Queer is an ocean of grief but I grew up becoming a capable enough swimmer to navigate it.
Queer taught me the real meaning of resilience. To keep swimming with no shore in sight.
To get hope from the stars at night when you realize your identity is a part of a larger history
That there are so many who live like this alongside me and shine their light anyway.
We are never alone but sometimes we just need space to call this grief own own.
Recognize that it takes time to emerge from the black to show your colors at Pride
It takes more than just silent acceptance from the world to not let our hope die
So we try.
We fight to live and live for the fight.
Just let us write our ode to our queer grief sometimes.

Feminazi

The first time I heard the word Feminazi
It was just another American stereotype
In this new world of understanding gender equality
Which would soon become my survival guide.
But the first time I felt like a Feminazi
Was when I asked to include sexist statements like “Make me a sandwich”
In a college discussion about gender inequality
My eyes filled with excitement to contribute a point
Only to be met by genuinely fearful eyes
And an expression which said “I know people like you, you are looking to cut my dick off”
As though someone my size with a soft voice
Had suddenly turned into an unstable extremist
Just like saying the word “feminist”
Is sometimes like pulling the pin of a grenade
The overwhelming silence that follows is the one I live in fear of
Even though I know the explosion will never arrive.

Feminists themselves don’t know what feminism means.
Said the loud girl, unafraid to speak, like I wish I had been
Because suddenly identifying as one
Became an examination. I had to learn
To memorize the dictionary definition of feminism. Reaffirm
Every single time that I believed in the equality of sexes
Not the superiority of one.
Unlike random so called feminazis whose words you dig out of the depths of Tumblr to invalidate mine.
Whose hashtags #men are pigs #men are dogs
Travel miles across and translate into a hashtag for me #Feminazi
And I feel its weight on my tongue every time I begin to speak
About feminism oh no wait simply gender equality.
Because let’s face it, those 140 characters or less are seen only in context of their hashtag
And I am afraid of the one you put on me.
As every facebook comment and comments said to my face
Are like adding limbs to my Hangman
Till my I run out of letters to form my opinion
And the courage to say them.

I know that there are serious issues like foeticide and wage gaps that I cannot change
And pointing out sexist comments maybe seem like an insignificant unnecessary exchange
But when I said I was a feminist I did mean I was an activist
I am not going to pretend I’m changing the world
I’m just trying to change the way I see the world
When she said “Thank God you’re not a Feminazi”
Deciding whether it was a compliment or not was not easy
Because it felt less like a welcome and more like a warning
To not cross a certain invisible boundary
Except I had no idea where this line was drawn
And my fear to cross it accidentally keeps me within bounds
Rather than test my understanding and go beyond
By talking to people about it without the fear of someone attacking
The word Feminazi
Surrounds me in an invisible fog of doubt and insecurity
About my own identity.
You see I thought feminism was a learning process
And I was the imperfect student
But you have turned my school into a battlefield
Leaving me to hold up my defenses against you
Rather than accept your words as insight too.
I am guilty of being an extremist in my vulnerable moments
But make up for it daily, moderating my words and actions
I am the girl who will mentally apologise for objectifying a guy before silently admiring his fine ass
Who will never be found staring blatantly at a pretty girl for fear of labeling herself as a pervert,
Who feels conflicted about which compartment or seat to sit in not knowing if it is deserved
Who is afraid her period cramps will be seen as an unfair excuse
And not just another reason to use
To feel a little lazy throughout the day
Who will force herself to face trauma and not stereotype every man on the road as a potential rapist
I have an entire list
Of defences and apologies and excuses
That stick to my opinions as disclaimers and prologues
So that you don’t see me as a hypersensitive extremist
Because feminism,like someone wise said, is a dialogue
We see the world through different filters
But if we exchanged perspectives for a moment
Imagine how many more dimensions we could add to our understanding
Just like the many facets of a diamond
All working to hold and reflect the same white light
To shine our way through this dimly lit maze
Of social constructs and systems we still live in these days
That maybe we can together change.

Femin(ist)nine

When gender confused me, I turned to evolutionary psychology
Because the concepts of femininity and masculinity always confused me
I wanted to understand if there was some truth in the stereotypes,
Or if they were just illusions society had created for me.
You see I played with Barbies rather than Hot Wheels all my life
But I still didn’t know it was mine or society’s choice.
As I stumbled upon gender and it’s theories
I began to push against the boundaries of my side of the binary
Not realising in my excitement to rebel
That not all of me fit in the other side.

The thing is… I sucked at being a tomboy
I liked ballet and hated sports but
I wanted to be one of those soccer girls
Who seamlessly fit into that ideal of empowerment
I wanted to be one of those Iron women who never cried
Who overcame emotion and romantic notion
To become symbols of strength. To be glorified.
Somewhere I had internalized.
This feeling that being feminine was a weakness that I had to overcome to survive.

The thing is I knew that the world was going to pack every human quality
Neatly into two differently labelled boxes of the gender binary
And pretend they were at two ends of the scale
But little did I know that they won’t be weighed and valued the same.
Because in the strangest and subtlest of ways,
We do not value masculinity and femininity the same.

I mean why is it considered a compliment to be called a father’s not daughter but son
Why is ‘girly’ an insult?
Justin Bieber was wrong for many more reasons than just sounding like a girl.
Why is being emotional and empathetic for the soft and weak?
It’s like saying mental trauma as compared to battle wounds is less important to treat.
Everytime the boy got beaten up for being a pansy
My skin turned black and blue
Because according to their standards
I was one too
Why do I see people of my own gender
Claim to be the ‘other’
Claim to be better
Than the typical girly cliques.

What is girly and why is it unintelligent or weak?
Combat boots are no more difficult to walk in than high heels
Make-up could be war paint
And the decision to wear it-a choice
Vanity isn’t always a vice.
Why are we so judgemental of supersonic fangirls?
Why assume that they’re the unintelligent ones and not obsessive Megan Fox fanboys.
Why is it easier for a girl to play with boy’s toys
And not the other way round?
To act out aggression is as messed up as being dramatic and have too much to feel
Are chick flicks really that unintelligent and unreal?
Because honestly their plotlines where the best friend’s sister’s boss falls in love with the smaller sister who is actually banging the husband’s stepmother
Is as complicated as the plot of the latest avenger’s movie.
And both are equally distant from and yet reflect reality

The thing is I have spent too much time sanitizing the femininity out of me
To be able to be more than what society expects out of me.
And that should never have been necessary
If I wanted to be one of those strong independent women, I shouldn’t have to be like men
I should just have to be myself.
I shouldn’t have waited for gay men dancing in flamboyant dresses
To make me realise that femininity can be embraced and is not regressive

I shouldn’t have waited…
When I proudly declared I watched the Royal Wedding with the kind of interest we reserve for India Pakistan matches
To be met with an awkward silence
As though rooting for a love story
Made me take a few steps down in dignity
I refuse to step down now
From my pink princess pedestal
I refuse to be shamed for all those parts of me that you consider girly
Because I jump when I see ants
I am the emotionally vulnerable poet
Who could be in a princess dress and not pants
And still deserve to be called badass.

Maybe it’s time we go beyond just breaking stereotypes
And start revaluing the truth behind them.
That maybe this inequality starts way deeper under us.
Because maybe we don’t need to wait for death to be the leveller
When we the living can be equalizers
I won’t see the world to be an ideal
Till a girl in a pink dress and a boy in a pink dress are seen as equal in strength
Maybe femininity has no gender.
Maybe there is no gender.
And when you dismantle the two boxes, their contents will be worth the same.
Neither deserving of any shame.