Isms, Phobias and Us

'Well to be honest I voted Brexit because I have had enough of the immigrants, she says this nonchalantly as she sips her tea. Milky, one sugar, as the rest of the group grunts in agreement, the conversation moves to detailed talk of immigrants coming for their jobs, schools and what have you. It's at this point I can't help but roll my eyes in frustration.  

This essentially is a safe space, a place where trans, and questioning people can come for support, and to socialise. Imagine a young black second generation person desperately looking for a safe space walking into that. 

Its undeniable that racism is as British as beans on toast, Islamophobia, homophobia and sexism as British as chicken tikka masala.  

Why we act shocked, flabbergasted bamboozled, when we find out that trans women of colour are at the worse end of anti trans violent sentiment is beyond me.

The lack of UK statistics and studies concerning trans people and particularly trans people of colour, means we relay extensively on figures produced in the USA as a starting point, both countries are built on structural and systematic racism, its safe to assume the findings will not differ drastically. 

While the details of individual cases aren't always readily available, the intersections of race, gender, sexual identity and transphobia conspire to deprive trans people access to employment, housing, healthcare and other necessities, this coupled with reports of islamaphobia and racism in trans spaces, people of colour will join groups and not last long within them, isolating them further.

My friends of colour can go into detailed analysis of the systematic racism and my queer identifying friends can speak candidly of the homophobia in straight places and how they feel this limits them. However whenever we speak of the injustices faced by trans women and especially black trans women all the aforementioned groups act as though their homophobia, racism and bigotry do not push these women to the barren outlands of society.  

When 49% of a population group reports having contemplated suicide and 41% of the same group reporting homelessness at what point does the urgency for action come into play. According to a 2018 USA study in conjunction with National LGBTQ Taskforce the National centre for Transgender Equality.

Empress

'I swear one day Imale I will lock you in a room and we will fight' my mum screamed angrily at teenage me.

See my mum and I then were chalk and cheese, water and oil, flammable substance and a spark, safe to say we did not get on. My father's cool demeanor vanishing when he had to play peace maker. I would push my mum to the edge, not on purpose I just seemed to really get on her nerves and I played on that. For years this continuted and my mother and I grew further and further apart, I never understood her nor her me. But I was cool, my dad loved me, enough for both of them and that was good enough for me.

My dad would always tell me my mum was my only friend, I would snort and roll my eyes at this statement. How was he gonna say this woman is my friend? I was offended, friends dont spend 95% of the time fighting. The other 5% was for sleeping, eating, work, school.

Then our world crumbled, when out the blue, my father dyeed - this is great four lions reference btw - then it was just my mother and her kids, she had lost her best friend, we had lost our father. And yet the distance kept widening.

Then I got into situations I can now identify as ridiculously toxic, but its calm innit I can now admit I was looking for some sort of love. Deep.
At the breakdown of that shitstorm I decided I would come out to my mother, hell she was the only person, I felt who didn't know me. I spent days and weeks mentally going back and forth about telling her, but I felt like a fraud and stifled by my facade.

Then a lot of my black gays know this part LOL. I ain't trying to relieve that.

At this point I became comfortable with the idea of being alone, emotionally. I consumed with the desire to be loved relegated the need for my mother's love to the part where all that is disdained inhabits. I greedily gorged on the desire shown to me with little regard to where it came from, it was never about them.

Laziness killed the wanton beast within me, in time for me to move out of my mother's house.

Turns out this is the change we needed. At this point I started to see my mother not as my mother but as a woman, who had kids.

We started to smile more, together.

And as my birthday nears, I see my mother not as a woman but as a fucking hero bro. The love that my mother continues to bestow upon me has been the most radical thing.

Her love feels like the sun on your face on the first day of summer heat after months of winter. Her love feels like nshima after hunger, like finally getting hot water after weeks of kettle boiled bucket bathes, like the £30 contactless limit. Ethereal.

As hard as the last couple of years have been, she has been relentless and has raised 3 fucking awesome well adjusted independent children.

I realise now that all that time that we weren't chalk and cheese, but rather two peas in a pond. Albeit different boats.

Guys hug your mum man.

P.s - Imagine being loved like this. This is God level love. I am gonna go make my mummy a brew.
Lol jokes I am cosy in bed.

Open Office Fishbowl

The day usually starts with a loud blaring alarm.  

Then my heart drops in a drop akin to how your heart feels just before the first drop on the big rollercoasters. Only that this time there is no jovial under or over layer, a large dark void fills the space that excitement once filled.

I reluctantly get up and out of bed, hoping some debilitating illness befalls me before I reach the bathroom. I giggle at the ridiculousness of praying that a stray shower spray goes up my nose and drowns me. I mean we all know a drop of water can kill you.  

This is suicide ideation I will not deny it, nor downplay it. But these feelings hit me at very specific times. Every morning before work. Showers wash this away and give way to nothingness.

The drive to work usually soundtracked by loud blaring music.  

It doesn’t matter what I listen to, it replaces any thoughts or feelings that might have instead occupied my mind.  

I get to work.  

I sit in the car park to the very last minute. I gasp as I leave my car, it feels like I have entered a fishbowl, its filled just below the point of where I can breath freely, when the fishbowl tips in a particular manner I can breathe. But for the most part I am constantly trying not to drown, my nose filled with the stench of humid dank chemical water. 

15:59.

Relief and a little disappointment that I have to do this again tomorrow.

Return of the Mack

Mate.

So I am back.  This time with a vengeance ngl I have heard this before somewhere, maybe in a movie or a diary entry, I dunno my point is my point.

Anyway this time, unlike the other times my motivation is consistency, because now man goes to the gym regularly, enough to not have to be specific, and runs 5km park runs, so why can't she be consistent on a blog right?

You nodded in agreement and I appreciate the belief.

And with this ladies, gentlemen, those that are non-binary, I say stay tuned to this show.

I also want to thank the great cousin Mwambz for igniting the flame, for encouraging me to dust off the soapbox and to clear my throat and to pretend my musings will be coherent and easy to follow each time.

Also I kinda had a mental breakdown and was encouraged to write as a way to express and explore my situation. That is also a motivator I guess.

P.S - This time I will try to be purposeful with my edits, but I am not promising anything. Because proofreading is for proofs.

Peeaacceeeee.