Who am I?
Art by Heather Doram, Antigua and Barbuda
For as long as I can remember, I have always asked myself who I am, but it has always taken time to think of an answer that would define me. It has taken me years to know that I am a queer black feminist who loves the water; whether it be the ocean, a waterfall, a lake, or a river, the form doesn't matter. I love floating in the water; it is where I find my authentic self.
I know that I am a theologian, writer, and historian when I'm in the water. Water allows my imagination to run wild. I imagine the Goddess separating the waters from the heavens while creating the earth, mermaids, sea nymphs, and other water spirits become real. I see naval ships sailing through Caribbean waters as they engage in battle. There is no end to my imagination when the water calls.
“It has taken me years to know that I am a queer black feminist who loves the water...”
My authentic self is as strong and soft as the water in the oceans. It swirls and foams as it crashes into golden sand. It's coloring a mix of blues and greens from the things it hides and reflects. What do I hide, and what do I reflect? I conceal my queerness; often, when I tell others that I am bisexual or a lesbian, they either look at me with horror or as a sexual object.
Suppose I am not seen as a sexual object. In that case, I can expect to receive a response purely generated from the religious belief that part of me is a sin. Therefore, I must hide a part of myself and reflect society's expectations. I cannot look at another woman in public for fear of crashing my waves onto the hard rocks. They say loving another woman is not natural, but many species display same-sex relations, so like nature, I own who I am.
By the ocean, I remember myself splashing in the warm water of the Caribbean Sea. I think of strong women like Aphrodite and Oshun coming out of the water bare for all to see and confident in their being. I feel just as secure and naked as I feel no need to pretend that I don't see all the beautiful people around me. When the waves cover me, I am in paradise as they wash away the day's constraints. I loathe to leave that feeling, so I sit on the sand, watching the sun sink down into the horizon. It's at this time I imagine another life. One where my waves crash against golden sand meant for me. Every time we clasp hands and watch the sun rise or set, we listen to the songs of freedom sung by the seagulls. We speculate on how mesmerizing they sound, and I insist to her that they must be the sirens of Greek lore because they sing such beautiful songs of freedom. Their freedom song reminds me to fly away and obtain what I want or perhaps even what I need.
Songs of Freedom: it is in this instant I’m reminded of Bob Marley who compiled a four disc set of music. Many of which speak to my soul as a person of color. One of my favorite songs, ‘Iron Lion Zion,’ reminds me of how much fighting I still have left to do in this world, and of how much running I must do as well. There are things I can hide about myself like my sexuality and there are things that I cannot like my black skin. Sometimes I feel like a fugitive in my own body until I am reminded of one line in Marley’s song, “I am on the rock and then I check a stock. I have to run like a fugitive to save the life I live.” And when you feel like a fugitive in your own skin, you stop going places you feel unwanted.
There is this assumption, especially in the USA, that black people cannot swim or do not love nature, but that is because of the racial history surrounding community pools. Sometimes, I would find myself at a community pool full of white people and I immediately became uncomfortable wondering if the eyes on me would stay kind.
“ And when you feel like a fugitive in your own skin, you stop going places you feel unwanted. ”
I would not say that the Caribbean doesn’t have racism or colorism but living on a predominately black island has undoubtedly shielded me from some aspects of racism. I have the freedom of being one with the ocean, to bask in the sunlight in the sea water, and soak in all that Vitamin D. They say black people don’t enjoy nature. But here, on this island, this idea is not one that dominates our narrative. I am free to hike Mount Gimmie and Gros Piton, bask in the cool waters of the springs, waterfalls, and pools of water that reside on these Mountain tops. I enjoy the lush vegetation and eating up the luscious fruits while drinking coconut water that goes down smoothly.
These are all my songs of freedom that begin to make up my four disc set, and I realize that I can be black and queer on the beach or mountain tops. So, I take my blackness and my queerness, and I use it to be a feminist. This revelation seems to bring shock to the people around me, they believe I am a man hater. They see feminism as something that goes against God, because I do not subscribe to that idea that God is male by default. Nature has gifted me a safe harbor in its waters to be only me, and she loads them with reminders that it’s okay to let her come out and play water or no water.
“These are all my songs of freedom that begin to make up my four disc set— and I realize that I can be black and queer on the beach or mountain tops.”
Mother Nature reminds me that seagulls don't care about what other animals say; they are who the Gods created them to be. I don't need to hide what's underneath and reflect the negativity of society. Instead, I say, yes, be like the seagulls— be exactly who you were created to be. For now, that is all a daydream, and I hope one day that my authentic self and her female love can be themselves away from the beach too.
Until then, I go back to the beach, where I am my authentic self, floating in the ocean with my eyes closed as the sun strikes my skin, and I dream of a better life. Floating in the ocean water and asking myself again. Who am I? And without hesitation, I answer myself that I am who I am, and I accept myself. I am queer, I am black, and I am a beautiful human being with the picturesque majesty of nature.