A digital magazine on sexuality in the Global South: We are working towards cultivating safe, inclusive, and self-affirming spaces in which all individuals can express themselves without fear, judgement or shame

The I Column

An illustration of handcuffs in dull shades.

It’s not ‘just’ play!

Play is not only about cocks, balls, vaginas, paddles, or anything that happens between two consenting adults in the bedroom. It’s also about what goes on in a masochist’s mind before they submit to a cane, or a whip, and before they orgasm from the pain.
An illustration of a person’s face and neck in drab shades. They seem to be in great agony: there are scars and marks on the face, and the inside of the mouth as well as the neck are sketched in a web of overlapping vertical lines.

For the Joy of it

Of course, I knew I wasn’t the only person in the world writing about Sherlock Holmes. I, however, thought I was the only one in the world writing about them like that. You know. Romantically.

If you want safety, you must toil for it.

'Take charge; build safe spaces for yourself.' 'Be the change you want to see.' 'Inclusion starts with I.'   My Instagram DMs are full of many such unironical Instagram quotes sitting as eggs of entitlement. These eggs wait for the heat of ‘yaas kween’ responses and pride-themed logos to hatch into 'ally' pin badges for…

The Space to Be

Every year since I was 20, I’ve been visiting an entirely new place on my birthday as a way of simultaneously celebrating an internal process of self-exploration. In November 2020, I turned 28 in a Vipassanna centre during an 11-day sojourn at the Mastery of the Mind and Wisdom course through meditative techniques which at…

Haunted by Shame: The Struggle of Being Rendered Invisible

Where did my body go? This is a question I have asked myself repeatedly over the last two years. My own body became invisible to me after enduring abuse that was physical, emotional, and perhaps even sexual. It is too much to continue to endure pain, to feel it in its fullest as you flinch,…
An illustration of a blue flower. The tips of its petals are dark blue and lighten as they meet at the yellow-brown centre. A long spindly green stem supports the flower and has three dark and light green round leaves and a dark green bud.. Behind it, on a grey-blue background is a cityscape dotted with buildings and palm trees with muted colour and grey overtones.

Camouflage

I cannot let anyone see the stretch marks, the cellulite, the saggy breasts. I cannot reveal my hideous body. I feel anxiety well up inside me even as I visualise this eventuality. I read about ten ways for a fat person to have meaningful sex. I learn that throwing a cloth over the bedside lamp will help hide my flaws.
A photograph of a water body. The sky is tinged with pink-mauve-yellow and is reflecting yellow on the different shades of blue of the waves.

Burnout, Boundaries, and Better Self-Care

My self-care journey has only just begun and I have a long way to go. I do have bouts of self-doubt, anxiety, and panic, and I still go through periods of feeling overwhelmed. However, more than anything, I have learnt that self-care, for me, is a subversive act, and caring for myself gives me the strength to challenge the status quo and play my part in social justice movements.
A photograph of a person's arm and hand. The background of a couch with a blue duvet is blurred, and the focus is on the person's hands, with brown nail-paint, and a blue pen in their hands. They are writing in a spiral bound notebook. Beside them is a black cup.

Dear Diary: The radically feminist creative journalling practice that nobody talks about

My journal has many entries that are speculative and fantastic. Writing about the mundane leads me to question the way the world operates and from there I frog-leap into a world of ideas where I imagine a radically different way of being. In my journal, I imagine a politics of care, community, and compassion. I become grand, valuable, and unstoppable, even in a world where I am sometimes made to feel small.
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