Being visible in my own skin

Tonight was seminal in many ways. Ordinary by most measures- we had a drink, took a walk, went to a club, danced a bit, left, walked home, said goodnight, retreated to our respective lives- but I feel more visible then ever.


We were at Rangeela, an annual South-Asian fundraiser, elegantly nested (and somewhat marginalised) at the early cusp of Toronto's Pride celebrations. These were my people, or rather people like me. I didn't feel different, even though I never think I do, or so I tell myself. I recognised the music, the language, the vibe.

There is always a place you call "home" when you use the word, and I realised tonight how much more my identity finds its feet when it feels comfortable in its own skin. I realised in being visible, how invisible I can be otherwise. My community, also has a colour, and acknowledging it is a start.

Songs were played that reminded me of first blushes in my early days at University. I danced in a way that everyone else kind of did. I was no longer a minority. if I was looked at, it was for who I was, not what I was.

Race hasn't been something I've fixated on before, but for a change, 'brown' was the dominant tone in the room, and that let each of us be ourselves in ways we didn't realise we could, or rather I could...

What this may all amount to, I do not know. Like so many points in life when one stops and thinks for a moment about what one has experienced, the impact of that sliver of insight is felt at some other point of time when you least expect it to.

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