Love in the Time of Banned Books #4 | "a spark, a flame" by Avni Nath

Photography by Rajveer Parekh

Introduction by Selina Zha

"a spark, a flame" by Avni Nath

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"Encirclement." Digital Photography by Rajveer Parekh

“Encirclement” is a representation of loneliness gripping me. By reducing the shutter speed and ISO, yellow and blue lights are formed which are contrasting warm and cool colors representing the diversity in the feeling of loneliness that is established by the blurry background and figure representing turmoil and instability .

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Introduction

Fire often evokes an image of fierce, untamed force. It rips through buildings and chars beauty. However, it is also the gentle simmering that creates delicacies, and the blaze that ignites celebrative fireworks. Our deep-seated, even unaware fear of the fire, is largely based on the utilization of its power. The same applies to the queer community, which is often persecuted by the long-held view that its fiery, moving solace is often the cradle of unrest. However, when the public rallies for peace, the majority often overlook that the first person to put flowers in guns was gay. Amid the endless smears and stigmas in a world of inequality, it is the queer community that always strives to transform conflict into harmony, and dedicates its utmost efforts to quell flames of fury with the fire of love.

 If so, as queer individuals, why are we still holding on? Avni Nath's piece, "A Spark, A Flame," provides us with the answer: in each of us there is a spark. The spark, the epitome of warmth and hope, is the fruit of queer joy. Nath writes with skillful rhetoric and compelling narratives, with true-to-life strokes that faithfully capture the transience of emotion, and a soothing flow that weaves touching moments into a kaleidoscopic whole. Nath details her bittersweet queer joy: how the dynamic of her first Pride, though not perfect, imbues a heartfelt celebration; how cross-cultural communication encourages one to embrace true self; and how a panicking suspicion ultimately blooms into joyful self-expression. Between the lines, Nath writes with pride, enthusiasm, and, most importantly, empowerment. She suggests that, by nurturing those blissful origins of happiness, we shall create a beautiful flame. The flame – young and inclusive, fearless of restraint and shyness – has the potential to ignite a promising future, not only for those who embody it, but for all humanity that is warmed by it.

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"a spark, a flame"

by Avni Nath

Joy. It’s that feeling you get on a warm summer’s day taking that first lick of ice cream. It is laughter, small smiles, kicking your feet in the air as you scroll through pictures of them. You feel it when your favorite characters kiss on-screen for the first time, or when you get that text from the one person you can’t take your mind off of. It feels like the amber sunlight encasing a perfect moment into something that will last forever. When you think of joy, you think of warmth.

Queer joy, though, isn’t just warmth. It is a bonfire, or a candle, or any sort of flame really. It is a spark.

The first pride I went to disappointed me. I thought that it would be, I don’t know, more proud? Rainbow capitalism definitely falls under one of the seven sins, but certainly not pride (hint: it starts with a “G”). But despite that, all around me were waving flags and shimmering glitter and fabulous people. Even in my Target pride merch and badly done makeup, I could feel the energy, the electricity. Together, we made up a wildfire—no matter how many hoses try to put us out, we find a way to spread our love.

In each of us there is a spark. Make sure they never put yours out.

That summer I met someone from Turkey. Someone who experienced gender in a way they weren’t allowed to express back home. The whole month, they celebrated with a desperation, an intensity, a fieriness that made up for all the years June passed them by. All the pride flags I could recognize that they couldn’t were made up by how brightly they burned to shine light on those who couldn’t. I learned to do the same.

Pride may be a celebration now, but it started out as a riot. Shows you how fast a spark turns into a flame, don’t you think?

I used to take “Am I gay?” quizzes under the blanket of night, and delete my history as soon as I got my results. I remember wondering if coming out would tear my relationships apart—I couldn’t even be in the same room as my parents when I told them. Some of the scariest moments of my life have been because I am queer. But some of the best moments have been because of that, too. How else could I have sung Girl in Red songs at the top of my lungs with my friends, or made a mess of my kitchen trying to bake rainbow cupcakes for pride, or yelled “bisexual lighting!” every time a police car zoomed past?

What I’m trying to say is that queer joy is bittersweet; it is a revolution. It is an uphill battle, but it is knowing you wouldn’t have it any other way. If they point guns at us, we put flowers in them—the first person to do so was a gay man, so really we’re just following in his footsteps. Paint rainbows on the stones they throw and turn their bullets to glitter, knowing that you have a whole community supporting you.

And most importantly? Force them to watch as we make their societal expectations go up in a blaze of our happiness.

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About "Love in the Time of Banned Books"

In this series, we seek to celebrate LGBTQ+ identities and experiences, while critically examining book bans and how they impact the LGBTQ+ community.

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