Black Joy
Black Joy Exists In Every World
Written by Day Eve Komet
Illustration by Astro , Photos by Sahand Gorbanpoor
Black Joy Exists in Every World
Written by Day Eve Komet
Illustration by Astro , Photos by Sahand Gorbanpoor
I have never felt at home in the world or in my body. I started to see the importance of cultivating a space for myself when the pandemic started. Since I was a teenager, I had restless feet, and spent my time wandering from one city to another. When the world came to a halt, I realised I felt like a stranger to everyone around me. It seemed like no one could see me. But I wanted to have a home. So I started to dream of a place that could hold a Black trans, queer neurodivergent artist who is also a shape-shifting, time-travelling alien superstar.
I was so afraid of being myself that I tried to find a home in everyone else. Then I tried to find a home in my political identity, but all I discovered were rooms filled with nothing but wounds. I had to find agency in my internal consciousness. I had to learn to exist for myself, in spite of everything else. What I needed was a home that could contain the possibilities of everything I could be. Somewhere that could house not only my resistance but also my insistence to be delightful in the light of life. I wanted to create a world I could exist in, and I wanted it to be an expression of love. My home needed to be grounded in compassion, empathy, and kindness. It needed to begin with me. I began searching for a home in my breath and footsteps, realising the last time I felt joyful was in 2019 at Black Pride in London.
I have never felt at home in the world or in my body. I started to see the importance of cultivating a space for myself when the pandemic started. Since I was a teenager, I had restless feet, and spent my time wandering from one city to another. When the world came to a halt, I realised I felt like a stranger to everyone around me. It seemed like no one could see me. But I wanted to have a home. So I started to dream of a place that could hold a Black trans, queer neurodivergent artist who is also a shape-shifting, time-travelling alien superstar.
I was so afraid of being myself that I tried to find a home in everyone else. Then I tried to find a home in my political identity, but all I discovered were rooms filled with nothing but wounds. I had to find agency in my internal consciousness. I had to learn to exist for myself, in spite of everything else. What I needed was a home that could contain the possibilities of everything I could be. Somewhere that could house not only my resistance but also my insistence to be delightful in the light of life. I wanted to create a world I could exist in, and I wanted it to be an expression of love. My home needed to be grounded in compassion, empathy, and kindness. It needed to begin with me. I began searching for a home in my breath and footsteps, realising the last time I felt joyful was in 2019 at Black Pride in London.
Black joy glistens in the sun and sparkles in the night; it is blazing electricity that cannot be tamed. Daring anyone or anything that fails to understand the beauty of its mystery, and its insistence on being free. Black joy is an explosive light electrifying hearts into slow movements and fast pumping beats. Black joy is rumbustious. It scares those who want to control the rawness of its expression. Black joy is not monolithic, but recognisable to those who know it. It is nuanced and distinct among the African diaspora, and it is our birthright. Black joy can be found in the side eye, in a knowing silent nod or in the clacking of nails. For me, Black joy sounds like buoyant laughter and spontaneous, spirited singing. It smells like jollof rice and feels as good as a warm, flaky Jamaican patty in my hand.
Black joy lives in contradiction. I know my joy as intimately as I know my grief. My joy, like my grief, is grounded in my humanity. Both are quiet beasts that demand my attention and command my heart. Black joy is the defiant, thunderous, ecstatic movement keeping Black people alive in a world that tries to diminish our light. Black joy is always present. It is a life source that connects me to all living things; it does not exclude but is bewildering to those who wish to claim it. Black joy centres itself in the abundance of now and lives in the dreams of our future. So much Black grief is a political affair, but we are not just political beings.
Black culture is often seen through the lens of resistance. Our resistance isn't only external but also within the internal walls of our being. White rage has done a good job of convincing Black people that we are dependent upon being “recognisable,” but Black joy teaches us that we cannot be pinpointed or stilled. Black joy cannot be one thing. It is a contagious experience that swallows rhythm and breathes out flow. It cannot be reduced, or illustrated in a singular expression. Black joy is exclusive; it is something you become. It is something that you must be.
Take a deep breath.
Release.
We make freedom. My revolution began with knowing that my breath belonged to me. Inside my body is a good place to be, and my safety and fortune live in making space for sunshine and moonlight. I wonder what collective Black liberation looks like? Perhaps it will smell like goat curry and fried plantain. Perhaps it will look like colourful expressions of opulence, fierceness and divinity, while hips and booties jive to Beyoncé and Fela Kuti.
Before we get there, I believe we need to cultivate our own internal revolution, and when we let ourselves exist for ourselves, this liberatory movement is Black joy. Despite my daily experiences, when I am in joyous motion, I cannot be anything but beautiful. I feel like lightning roaring across the sky while being grounded in the elegance of my temporal existence.
Lucille Clifton taught me that my joy is not momentary but continuous. My joy is a choice. She taught me to celebrate that someone has tried to kill me and that they have failed every day. Under extreme circumstances, Black people have managed to create art, culture, language, and political change. Black joy threatens those who want to persecute Black people for existing. Black joy is our internal knowing that we are the fire that warms and fuels life on this strange planet.
Take a deep breath.
Release.
Black joy is the compassion, and the release of light in a world that wishes to dim our existence into comprehensible sentences. We know we can't be defined. We know that we are beyond comprehension. I am still working on believing that I deserve an abundant space of love, but I know that no one has the right to take anything from me.
I had to let myself be pulled towards joy. I had to let myself believe in the power of deep breaths. I had to recognise that I always have the opportunity to be in powerful delight. My home is in my body, which inherited skills, tricks, and mannerisms to protect, restore and rejuvenate me when I forget who I am.
Take a deep breath.
Release.
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