I am a soft rebellion
Four years ago, I shared a piece of writing titled ‘Maiki – Reclaiming Beauty’ and a series of self-portraits that, in hindsight, marked the beginning of my journey toward self-acceptance. While my intention was simply to recreate the childhood photos with my mother, they ended up being a quiet confession about the body, queerness, the gift of acceptance and a desire to be seen without shame. It was the first time I had allowed myself to be vulnerable and share about my gender experience growing up.
I’ve always hidden behind my work. It is easier for me to tell stories through flowers, hands, fragments, through other bodies. Easier to create worlds where beauty could stand in for truth.
But, something has shifted over these years of me creating and sharing my work. My self-portraits hold up a mirror — not just to how I look, but, to how I want to be seen. With softness. With dignity. Without the need to explain.
There always is so much risk in showing the body — my body, my way of seeing my own body, my desire to touch another body. But, I also remember the overwhelming relief of finding a language that feels true and pure. The body has always been a complicated place for me. Both home and battlefield. A site of memory, resistance and longing.
My body has now become a symbol for freedom, for intimacy, for the possibility of being both soft and strong, wild and whole.
It’s still not easy. Visibility is a strange gift. Sometimes it feels like a soft light pouring in. Other times, it burns. I’ve learned that even in spaces that celebrate beauty, queerness and art, there’s a difference between being admired and being accepted.
Between being seen and being understood.
People want the aesthetics of your liberation without the complexity of your truth.
And yet, I refuse to shrink. Even if the algorithm buries me, I still show up. Not to prove anything. But, because I deserve to be seen. Because someone, somewhere, might be waiting for someone like me to show them it’s possible — to be soft and strong, visible and fluid, to not fit and still belong.
But, maybe more than anything, I’ve realised how little of it is actually about identity. Or labels — choosing between being a man or a woman. It’s just about finding peace in my own skin. About standing in front of the mirror and quietly admiring the animal that is my body.
This work isn’t finished, it’s still unfolding. I still hesitate before sharing myself with the world — I still wonder how my image will be received. But, I’m learning to stay with the discomfort. To celebrate the parts of myself I once had to hide. To keep tending to this secret garden inside me, even when it’s out in the open.
I’m less afraid now. Not because the world has changed, but because I have.
It’s not that I don’t care about being understood. I do. But, I care more about being free. And I’ve learned that freedom, for me, doesn’t look like being accepted by everyone — it looks like seeking deep connections with the ones who truly see me.
Sometimes freedom also means saying nothing when someone calls me “ma’am” in a café, not because I agree or disagree, but, because I have better things to do than correct strangers all day. Like falling in love with light again. Or learning of a new flower.
There are days when people stop me in the streets to ask if I am a man or a woman, and I don’t mind the question. I’ve long made peace with not having an answer.
I simply tell them they can decide.
I am fine being either. Or neither.
I don’t waste my time thinking about my gender. I don’t want to perform, I want to live. I want to love.
I think there’s something revolutionary in softness. In being delicate on purpose, in a world that demands sharpness from people like me.
I’m not trying to provoke. I’m not trying to confuse. I’m just trying to live. And in living, I’ve become, perhaps, a question mark to some. But, to me, I’ve never been more of an answer.
I am the answer to the prayers of my younger self.
And maybe that’s the most radical thing we can do — keep choosing to grow, keep coming back to ourselves, even when it hurts. Keep choosing softness, even when it would be easier to harden.
This is me. Still blooming. Still becoming.
Forever soft.
Lovingly yours,
Imdad x
