Instagram: azratabassumwrites
“She peels an orange, separates it in perfect halves, and gives one of them to me. If I could wear it like a friendship bracelet, I would. Instead I swallow it section by section and tell myself it means even more this way. To chew and to swallow in silence with her. To taste the same thing in the same moment.”— We Are Okay, Nina Lacour
“That undeniable spark of some long ago warrior woman lives inside your body and you forget to see her. That bone strength of the witches burned at long forgotten alters smoulders in your stomach and you forget to hear her. You are some indomitable creature, some raging battle worn miracle. You are the coallesing creation of the universe come together at one precise perfect moment. You carry fear and hunger and rage and fight and fight and fight You are centuries. You are civilisations. You are your own wars. You are all women.”
Azra T
Hi Azra! I’m 27, and I’m new to disappointing my parents, I chose a partner they don’t approve of, moved across country, and reclaimed my independence again. It’s heartbreaking to mourn losing their presence as I knew for the past 27 years. Does it get easier?
Ha! I’ve been in the industry of disappointing my parents for years. I would say that it took a lot of self love and self worth work to not hate myself for it. The blame is always there and the guilt just stings. Recently I’ve been trying to understand the toxicity in some parts of South Asian culture, the undercurrents of suffering and particularly the expectation that women suffer. I’ve decided that I don’t want to suffer and that I was brave in leaving and following what I needed. I’ve come to the realisation that my parents won’t ever understand or necessarily accept me and that’s okay. I know that I’m loved by them and almost more importantly, loved by myself. So…easier? I suppose but that longing for them lives in me and occasionally claws and I’ll live with that probably forever.
“Peel your heart like a pomegranate. Offer it to him, palms outwards. Say “eat.” Watch him come away stained red by you. You’re in his teeth. He’ll kiss you with that mouth.”— Azra.T “Fruit”
The fear for my children festers always in my stomach like some malevolent ghost. The slightly missed curfews and the immediate drop of myself, the silence of phone calls and how the body starts to wail, I wonder whether they have been taken from me, whether I’ve lost them today or the next, whether I taught them to be fearful enough. That disparity between teaching young girls to be the brightest, bravest beings they can be and that ghost, held together by the terror and the grabbing and the sexual assault and the murder and that constant terrible ceaseless voice that whispers “you are so vulnerable, so soft and the monsters out there want to eat you alive”.
A reminder that I’m on Instagram as azratabassumwrites! We aim to have something new once a day and I have a sweet friend doing illustrations for me.
“That undeniable spark of some long ago warrior woman lives inside your body and you forget to see her. That bone strength of the witches burned at long forgotten alters smoulders in your stomach and you forget to hear her. You are some indomitable creature, some raging battle worn miracle. You are the coallesing creation of the universe come together at one precise perfect moment. You carry fear and hunger and rage and fight and fight and fight You are centuries. You are civilisations. You are your own wars. You are all women.”
Azra T
“I will grow claws and howl
at any night which tries to
to contain me.
I will worship myself,
I promise,
I promise.”
- Azra-T - Lilith Or The Night Monster
“Kiss her. Slowly, take your time, there’s no place you’d rather be. Kiss her but not like you’re waiting for something else, like your hands beneath her shirt or her skirt or tangled up in her bra straps. Nothing like that. Kiss her like you’ve forgotten any other mouth that your mouth has ever touched. Kiss her with a curious childish delight. Laugh into her mouth, inhale her sighs. Kiss her until she moans. Kiss her with her face in your hands. Or your hands in her hair. Or pulling her closer at the waist. Kiss her like you want to take her dancing. Like you want to spin her into an open arena and watch her look at you like you’re the brightest thing she’s ever seen. Kiss her like she’s the brightest thing you’ve ever seen. Take your time. Kiss her like the first and only piece of chocolate you’re ever going to taste. Kiss her until she forgets how to count. Kiss her stupid. Kiss her silent. Come away, ask her what 2+2 is and listen to her say your name in answer.”— Azra.T “this is how you keep her”
in this story your hair is purple. mine is yellow. our eyebrows are the same. we speak to each other in song. i kiss you and i am sad but i mean it. somehow you know. somehow you leak a lifetime’s worth of music into my limbs and i am okay again. we plait fingers. we press our toes into our toes and think of that almighty softness. how it exists in both of us at the same time. how i swell endlessly and you reach hand first for me. not scared, never were. our eyebrows are the same. we speak our own language. we kiss with our mouths.
