Kay Proudlove is a singer-songwriter raised in Wollongong who imbues her art with a raw vulnerability and humour. Said to…
Author: Purny Ahmed
Thus, I was ten and emancipating myself from God, deciding that if my ‘test’ for this duniya was to love a man who did not deserve it, to show him mercy and forgiveness, then I would simply not sit the test. It was shortly after that I decided that I no longer loved my father.
I also know my mother married young. She became a mother long before she was able to become herself. I worry that everything my mother loves, she loves as a mother.
My brown identity is either on exhibit, a tool to exoticize my conceptual framework, or something pushed to the back of storage for when it isn’t required to be gazed upon.
In pedestalling the objects on white fabrics and casing them away behind glass, Naqvi brings immense value to objects which are a part of her everyday life, creating them into symbols of her and her community’s strength.
That was the first time I had left Bangladesh behind, not quite realising that the feeling of loss I was experiencing was, in fact, homesickness, for a place I wasn’t born to, for a language I have now lost fluency in, and a family I could not grow up with.
