#identity

Du weißt doch genauso gut wie ich, welche Auswirkungen deine Bemerkungen haben. Das anrufen und flirten die nebensächlichen Dinge für dich, die bedeutungsvollsten für mich. Ich frage mich so oft was du in meinen Blicken suchst, was du findest wenn du in mich hineinschaust. Ist es die Macht die ich dir gebe, die Liebe, die Abhängigkeit die du so sehr genießt das du nicht damit aufhören kannst sie zu provozieren? Du weißt doch genau was ich in deinen Blicken suche, was ich finde wenn ich in dich hineinschaue. Ich bin es selbst, versuche mich in dir zu reflektieren, da ich mich verloren habe. Ich suche den Boden, den Halt und den Wert meiner ganzen Identität in dir, in deinen Augen. Aber ich kann es nicht, kann nicht mal für ein paar Sekunden deinem Blick standhalten, ich habe Angst darin zu versinken, zu ertrinken in diesem blau, in dieser unendlichen Leere. Als würde ich hineinfallen wenn ich länger hinsehe, in die Unendlichkeit, in das schwarze Loch. Denn eigentlich weiß ich doch, das da nichts ist, keine Liebe, kein Halt, kein Boden auf dem ich stehen kann, denn dann müsste ich mir selbst gründlich in die Augen sehen und erkennen wer ich bin.

An M.

By Thahitun Mariam

We come from the unsheltered cruelty of

broken homes,

broken bonds,

the apathetic, unapologetic,

rawness of shards and solitude,

all mixed into a device of its own being.

We come from the homes where

mothers and fathers never speak to one another,

never to taste

loving words rolling from their lips,

where fathers ask children to not come to his funeral

as he pummels them into the ground

with each venomous insult that grows

seeds in their minds

we come from homes where

mothers are left to take care of the entire family,

when the father returns to their homeland

to remarry a girl thrice younger than

his own age,

where teenage years and our early 20s,

are wasted working 12-hour shifts,

where we accept lovers

who are unavailable and unemotional

because that is all we have seen,

where we witness some of the people

we have shared our childhood with

take refuge in religion

as though it could ever be an answer,

where brokenness is not defined or spoken about

because for so long,

so long,

we thought the way we live

is the way everyone lives

Was there ever any better to be had?

It was not until

the paradigm shifted,

in a new environment,

did we discover the way we were raised,

loveless and cold,

was never the real answer to how

living,

breathing,

functional,

human beings

are brought up in this world.

When we faced confusion

in making the smallest of decisions,

when we began to take on actions

without any contemplation,

when we became machines

who operate in swift movements,

when we could not turn to anyone

to discuss what the next move should be

in terms of our education,

or career,

or realizing one’s potential,

did we recognize

the ones who strive

and do make it,

are able to do so

because they stand

on the shoulders of many

who navigated them to

those waterways.

We see we have been deceived.

We were not raised the same.

The neighborhoods we grew up in

are concrete,

and filled with trash bins,

broken pavements,

and a lurking danger

as the socio-economic class struggle

of the lower-income folks,

living in destitute and dirt,

is as much internalized

as it is an externalized issue.

We take one of two routes—

we either cower in fear

of the inevitable problem that may arise,

from our protest,

or we walk boastfully

as though we can take on any hurdles

that may come on by.

The stoic nature we must carry

with us on the streets

resonates with the stoniness

of our personalities

that we must take on

while inside our homes.

Years go by, but

We don’t just forget

that one time

we had to find

our mother hiding in the closet

of a neighbor’s house as she was

bawling her eyes out

due to the acidic way

he screamed and

threatened to kill her,

or sell her to the streets

words ‘naughty’er baccha’ ‘khankir maagi’

prostitute, and other ruthless possibilities;

and then there are other times

when we were

to be on standby,

as he continued to kick her,

again and again,

on her injured leg,

and although,

she too is

a human,

she is expected to operate,

as a well-oiled machine,

as a puppet,

answering to his demands,

and how can we erase

the way we have to relive

the vivid accounts of friends,

who had been molested,

time and time again,

by these same men,

uncles,

neighbors,

cousins,

fathers.

Where will these memories go?

We cannot undo

the coils of clutter

that causes us

to hurl

within our insides.

We keep seeking escapes

in many ways

to leave these selves we have become—behind.

these unsealed memories,

we did not choose,

this childhood that remains tainted,

relations that offer the very minimum,

and yet we clench onto them;

the avoidance that comes from

realizing there was never any room for love.

Tell me,

Where will these memories go?

~~~~~

Thahitun Mariam is a Bangladeshi-American writer and activist from New York City. She has been wistfully writing poetry and prose since her teenage years. Through her words, she explores deeper questions of self, identity, places, relationships, and belonging. She divides her time between New York, Dhaka, and the Middle East. She studied International Relations at St. Lawrence University. Thahitun publishes her work atthahitunmariam.wordpress.com. 

He all! I haven’t been very active as I’m juggling 3 holidays and 2 families during a pandemic but I was curious is anyone could help me identify this stone pendant! Thank you in advance and happy holidays!

tomcats-and-tophats:

“Temporary” is a good word for the way I think many bi women see ourselves, actually. We only exist when observed, but we don’t exist for long. It’s a phase or an exception or a stepping stone. Our sexuality is always the journey but never the destination. There’s always something better for us just out of reach, so what’s the point in working with what we have now… temporary, and maybe translucent – a shape of a person that isn’t quite there. I hope we can stop ourselves from thinking this way. Our lives are so much more beautiful than we sometimes realize.