how's the writing going, you ask?

my grief sits right next to my pen and my life has been all the more beautiful for it ✍🏽

what happens when our dreams get arrested? can clouds escape prisons?

three dimensions is a story about a genderfluid cloud named cloud trying to become human getting arrested for a crime committed by a group of billionaires in a fictional reality where METATRON, a corrupt government agency slash social media company, enables characters from novels to come to life, but really, it’s a story about a flower named flower reclaiming her land against all odds and defending her people: the flowerstinians. it’s about injustice, trans rights, genocides and true crime. do you know who the true criminals are?

@morganharpernichols

The beginning of my current trip to Portugal has been tainted with suffocating feelings of guilt until I allowed myself to grieve. Truly grieve. I asked myself: “What have I been avoiding to grieve?” Finally, I cried for the lost souls I wish I could protect and resurrect. The over 100 women raped in Goma during a prison escape by the male inmates, the 80 year-old Palestinian man who was used as a human shield by the Israeli Occupation Forces, the trans man from Minnesota brutally raped, tortured and found dead. This self-flagellation isn’t new. I know that my survivor’s guilt is anger turned inwards instead of towards the actual perpetrators of violence. It feels easier to tell myself that I don’t deserve to live a beautiful life full of memorable experiences (or at all), rather than being mad at how fucked up certain people in our world are (especially those in power). It’s easier to end my own life than theirs, right?

What I suspected this grieving process would do is what it did and even more. I let go of the guilt. I turned towards myself with love instead. I co-regulated with the compassionate nature around me. I cuddled and bonded with new animal friends.

I’m having the time of my life.

Definitely not visiting sites that commemorate colonizers and definitely eating all the African food in town.

I’m practicing Portuguese. I’m finally connecting with the Afro-Portuguese/Afro-Brazilian community, which has been a dream of mine ever since I lived in Spain and connected with the Afro-Spanish community there. That experience has been vital for strengthening/softening my Black identity and decolonization process.

So, I guess, that’s why I identify as Afropean. My Afro-Austrian identity is just one part of me. I’ve been mistaken for a French person too many times (I’m kinda fluent but it was still a bit of a shock that it was easier for French people to see me as French than for Austrians to see me as Austrian). I have Dutch and Czech ancestry anyways too. When my dad first came to Europe from Nigeria he lived in Poland and then Hungary, where he would still go for years. Tales of (murdered) Black people there have shaped me too. One of my soulmate friends that I met at a music camp when I was eighteen lives in Prague and I visit her from time to time. I’ve crossed too many solidarity borders to solely identify with the experience of Black people in Austria. I don’t believe in borders, but borders believe in me. Tragically.

I’ve been crying to the song Deutscher Akzent by Luna Simao. It hits HOME.

Translation from German

[Verse 1]

I have a German accent
When I speak the language of my ancestors
And here they ask me where I come from
The teachers had to break
Their tongues with my surname
Relatives ask me about iPhone

Only when I leave the country
Do I realize how German I am
Search for my roots
Without a compass and get lost here
Fit into no box

Sometimes I couldn't stand
What my mirror showed me (No, no, no)

[Pre-chorus]

People say I have to choose
My heart says I'm both
My passport says I belong here
My afro tells me I am

[Refrain]

At home
Between two worlds, between two worlds
Between two worlds at home

At home
Between two worlds, between two worlds
Between two worlds at home, yeah

[Verse 2]

I have a German accent
When I dance to the rhythm of my ancestors
Kuduro fights against gravity
Bolinhos and plantain
On my plate against wanderlust
And Afro-house in my heartbeat

Only when I leave the country
Do I realize I've arrived
Searching for my roots
Without a compass, yes, for so long
I don't fit into any box

But at last I love
Who my mirror shows me (No, no, no)

[Pre-Refrain]

People say I have to
Make up my mind (Make up my mind)
My heart says I'm both (Oh)

The Perso* tells me
I belong here (listen here)
My afro tells me I am

[Refrain]

At home
Between two worlds, between two worlds
Between two worlds at home
Between two worlds, between two worlds
Between two worlds at home, yeah
Between two worlds, between two worlds
Between two worlds at home
Between two worlds, between two worlds
Between two worlds at home, yeah

*short for Personalausweis;
could be passport or other ID

Give this episode about Lisbon on the Afropean Podcast a listen. So worth it. It has allowed me to come across this absolute gem I’ve been cathartically dancing to:

The act of crossing a border is a transgressive act. If I had solely traveled in Austria, I doubt that I would have felt this guilty. It’s because I’ve crossed a line that is used to keep people of color out and kills refugees on a regular basis that this guilt arose. Understandably. I fully recognize that traveling is a privilege I have. Yet, I don’t believe that I was born to stay in Austria when I have the privilege to escape. Even if it is just from time to time. My experience can never be equated to that of someone in exile, and yet, we all don’t know if my privilege one day turns into persecution. Or simply bad luck. Today, I might feel on top of the world. Tomorrow, I might die.

So, respectfully, I’m going to live my life fully. I’m going to keep crossing borders. I know that crossing borders has always deepened my solidarity for those who are not able to. We have to be wise judges of how much our privileges corrupt us, or if we can translate them into a deeper ability to care. My healing has always created more healing for the people around me. We could tap into gratitude and creativity instead of guilt. It might allow us to spread important messages across borders too.

Below I’m sharing a bit more about my creative writing process for my paid subscribers. Thank you for trusting, supporting and committing with me!

I truly believe that we can do this in a radically gentle and decolonial way!