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In the quiet stillness of a photograph, my parents sit—a testament to love and resilience. Dad, with his whiskey, a silent echo of a Madison cigarette absent from his other hand. This snapshot in time, captured in our new home of the early ’80s, speaks of a phoenix rising from the ashes of our first house that burnt down. It’s in this frame I see my reflection mirrored in them both.
Time, a concept as elusive as the wind, is something I grapple with most of the time. The mechanics of clocks, watches, and celestial cycles make sense. Yet, the true nature of time, the comings and goings of life on this planet, the murmurations, and the many gravities that shape our existence remain a mystery to me in the most tender and achy way.
In my opinion, there are indeed many gravities. In contemplation’s silence, my mind drifts through the cosmos, considering the forces that tether us to the ground and the essence of existence itself. Newton’s gravity is but a mere layer in the stratification of our being.
Below the “apple’s” descent lies the gravity of mortality—the pull towards an inevitable stillness, marking the ephemeral dance of life.
Then there’s the gravity of the soul, an invisible tide that sways with our joys and sorrows, anchoring us in despair and lifting us toward hope, time and time again.
Alongside these is the gravity of the spirit, a force that can either crush or liberate. It’s the weight of conscience, the pressure of ethics, and the push and pull of our deepest convictions sculpting our character, valor, and aspirations.
And then there’s the gravity of love, a mysterious power that dwells within the heart’s chambers, defying measurement, capable of both grounding and liberating, binding and releasing.
We also confront the gravity of humanity—the collective weight and honour of our shared path. It’s the duty we carry for each other, the support we provide, and the burdens we bear together, compelling us to uplift the fallen and support the weary. We often fail dismally at this one. Breaks my heart.
These gravities weave together, forming a complex web that stretches the fabric of our lives across the Universe’s expanse, reminding us that we are simultaneously grounded and free, finite and infinite, mortal and enduring.
It leads me to ponder the gravity of my father—an ever-present weight upon my conscience, morality, and zest for life, all inherited from him.
I reflect on my own identity—an African gay man born to two young lovers who faced adversity before my conception and later embraced my divergence from their dreams. As an artivist, I have and continue to fuse storytelling, poetry, photography, and performance to dismantle barriers and amplify marginalized voices. I confront outdated notions of African masculinity and sexuality, champion LGBTQIA+ rights, and advocate for mental health awareness. My art bridges cultural divides, empowers queer Africans [and others whom I encounter worldwide], and reveals art’s transformative power—a culmination of the hardships, upbringing, and discrimination I’ve faced.
Though my father, Malachi-Allen, is no longer with us, time and gravity ensure his essence is woven into my DNA, a living tribute to his legacy.
With Dag Blakkisrud, my steadfast husband, at my side, I confront self-doubt and societal scrutiny, finding strength in his unwavering support. He’s oftentimes been a voice of reason when I’ve been unsure, fearful, or apathetic.
This Pride, I share the complexities of my worldview, a dense tapestry of heart, soul, and perception woven in this moment we find ourselves in worldwide.
My parents beam with pride for me—and, I presume, for my siblings too. Yet, I strive to keep unraveling the knot in my chest, seeking understanding in the midst of time, gravity, love, and the relentless march of existence.
This Pride, may you uncover the unique constellation of your identity. Embark on an inward journey to discover your true self, embracing your authenticity with pride. Let’s honor the love that elevates us and the connections that strengthen us against judgment’s currents. May we all embrace the courage to be our true selves, cradled in the constellations of love that define us.
Peace Be Our Journey,
Frank Malaba
Frank Malaba is a Zimbabwean writer, poet, and LGBTQIA+ activist. He is known for his works on queer identity, African masculinity, and mental health. Malaba's writing often addresses the experiences of being a gay man in Africa and the challenges faced by LGBTQ+ individuals in the region. He has been published in several literary journals and anthologies and has performed his poetry at various events and festivals. Additionally, Malaba is an advocate for mental health awareness and often speaks about his own struggles with depression and anxiety. He currently has two touring productions: Stories of My Bones and The Chaos of Belonging. In 2014, Frank was recognized by Mail & Guardian’s 200 Young South Africans as an Achiever in the category of Arts & Culture. View all posts by Frank Malaba: https://frankmalaba.wordpress.com/ Social media: https://linktr.ee/frankmalabaFrank Malaba Prosetry
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