Hugging My Younger Self
Opening my eyes as a child, I always wished for a day of silence, a day of peace, a day where I would not be ridiculed for the way I walked, talked, and swayed to the sound of the world’s music. A day where I could spend its entirety with my grandma and be showered with hugs, kisses, and words that made little ole me feel like I was the most special boy this world had to offer. Opening my eyes as a child, I always wished I wouldn’t have to attend recess because I was tired of sitting alone and watching other kids running around. Instead, I wanted to flutter away from the playground like a butterfly, ready to metamorphosize into the next life. This next life—the life of my dreams—would allow me to watch music videos of Beyonce dancing her heart out and mimicking every move. In this next life, I could spend endless hours playing with my sister's dolls and makeup. Instead, however, I felt sadness each holiday when I received bootleg Optimus Primes that could barely move. The stiff joints of the toy reminded me of the stiffness my body had in relation to being forced to abide by masculinity. Every time I opened my eyes as a child, I knew that my life was carved out for me; my body certainly did not fit that carving.
I had to create a carving of my own, so I tried reaching out to anyone and anything to make my body mold into that carving. I constantly surrounded myself with people to prevent feeling lonely, but it always found a way to creep back up inside me. I used humor to forget that I was still the child that sat alone at recess—the child that was afraid to understand what was truly inside. That fear allowed every little hurtful word to attach itself to my body, creating a sense of self-loathing. Self-loathing became a part of who I was once, I questioned how I was not “man” enough in the Black world, how my queerness was an issue because Black “men” can’t be gay. I questioned whether I deserved an ounce of peace because I was constantly told my existence was a contradiction. Something unnatural. Undeserving. Not wanting to fall deeply into a hole where it was impossible for me to climb up, I remembered the butterfly I wanted to be and knew it was time to break free. Breaking free was not only accepting my sexuality, but also granting my inner child the life he wanted. It meant allowing Kam to not be afraid of twirling in skirts, despite people’s laughter and ridicule. It meant allowing Kam to dance to the sounds of life without stopping even though the beats he hits do not align with the lives of others. It meant allowing Kam to understand that it's okay to be feminine. Femininity saved my life and has allowed baby Kam to feel free in a world where his freedom was always controlled.
Upon graduating college, it was my goal to create a community in Chicago surrounded by people who looked and lived a life similar to mine. A community that granted me the space to explore my queerness and understand the maximum capacity of it. Understanding that because I am Black my being is already queered, granted me with the knowledge that I should not live in fear of judgment when judgment was bestowed upon me since birth. I needed to use that bestowed judgment to create art. Using it as a tool to create art, to create a passion for myself where my queerness is able to scream at the top of its lungs. I came back home to Chicago with a purpose, that purpose being the fact I had the power to create a world of my own where queerness is able to run rampant without ridicule or fear of judgment.
The world was created once I met my friend Mike, being able to collaborate with another Black queer person and create art was a beautiful journey. The journey began so simple, us taking pictures with someone we did not know. It was the beginning of a multitude of beautiful connections. That first day I met Mike, I met someone who had similar goals to mine and used their passion to help their queerness and give others the chance to bring their confidence through with their queerness. My queerness was also able to shine so bright the day I began my journey with Mike because I began my journey with my partner who helped me understand that there is an importance of believing in the power my mind, soul, and body has and how I can use all those to create said art. As me and Mike continued to create art together I was able to use those pictures as a way to view my queerness as a power. My queerness was a power because it granted others the opportunity to see me as someone who was confident in their being. Someone who is unafraid of what others have to say about them not abiding to what is deemed normal in the eyes of society. Those pictures granted me the understanding that the power I have seen in all the Black beautiful women in my life, is in myself. Through meeting Mike and creating art, I met other Black queer people who lived a life similar to mine, who saw themselves in me because of the art we were creating. I began to create a community because I was allowed to connect my queerness to art and fashion. I knew it was important for me to continue my passions, even though I knew that my blackness and queerness was not enjoyed by all. It was essential to myself and others like me to continue to use art as a passageway to forge those communities that were needed for our survival. Me and Mike continued to take photos and merge our brains together to bring a world of queerness, fashion and art once together. As my time in Chicago continues, I will use these foundational connections to ensure Black queer kids who look like me have people they can see power within themselves.
