Bisma Jay

Three years later and the same tea brews on the stove top. Smells of cardamom, cinnamon and cloves flow through the house. The news plays on the TV, an endless loop of the latest updates on the COVID19 Pandemic. And there are oranges, oranges served on an endless platter. However, there are also whispers that infiltrate the walls, the privacy of a home and the privacy of a mind. After moving out of my family’s home three years ago and leaving the double life I previously lived as a queer Muslim teen, I moved back. In doing so I found myself feeling a mix of emotions that I didn't yet know how to word, so I took a series of self-portraits. Throughout this series I wanted to explore my relationship with the atmosphere of my parents’ house.

I took black and white photos and scribbled words and drawings on top of them. Words that I’ve heard spoken to me hundreds of times, and words that I’ve spoken myself. “What would people say” echoes off the walls every time a misstep has occurred. Wanting peace in the privacy of a washroom and still not finding it there. Feeling guilty for not spending enough time with my parents. Being confronted with my queerness and how others believe it to be a sin. I have Surat Lot, a passage from the Quran that some Muslims use to uphold their homophobia, written on my palms with henna. This passage is often quoted to me in comments on my posts online. The oranges symbolize my family as we own orange orchards in Pakistan. Through the use of this symbolism I wanted to interconnect my relationship with religion, family and my own queerness in an effort to better understand and navigate my identity.