On Homecoming and joy

I saw Homecoming last weekend and it was amazing and - as cliched and trite as this may sound, but nothing else makes sense — inspiring. It was beautiful and sensational to see someone who cares about the art that they are creating and projecting in the world and how that is seen, how that is absorbed and how it encourages someone, what it represents, what it pushes to the forefront. 

it reminded me of a lot of the things I’ve been thinking about lately. what we leave behind when we leave the world; or even while we’re in it: what do we contribute? What do we teach? What can we teach? What is useful beyond just us? What does it mean when you are talented, but you leave nothing behind for anyone to learn from?

it also reminded me of how I often feel this lack of visible female joy in my own space. For generations, Noorjehan was the woman people saw on TV, singing to the country about love and desire. What did it mean that people saw a woman who dressed flamboyantly, who dressed for the diva she was, and how that portrayal of glamour and talent, to celebrate yourself and joy is missing.

Sure, there are images of joyful women — in lawn ads. Playacting, not living. Because to be successful seems to mean that women must rid themselves of joy, to put on a serious face, to downplay success and themselves, to make themselves smaller, their clothes a little blander so they can blend in, their hearts bigger, bigger to take on the hurt caused by this world, to continue to forget, and forget, and forgive, but to never be visibly happy, to be proud, to just be.