I woke up this morning and remembered my own name in a way that felt a little bit new. I guess I mean I said it to myself, out loud, in the kitchen, while waiting for the kettle. Kabal Briar. It sounded soft, like a nickname you give yourself when nobody’s around to hear it. I don’t always feel like anyone in particular, but today my name felt like a small, warm thing I could put in my pocket.
There’s something about being alone in the apartment that lets me notice how I hold myself. I caught my reflection in the microwave, wearing that old “Queer Joy” shirt with the cracked letters. My shoulders were up by my ears again, so I let them drop. I’m always surprised by how much tension I keep, like I’m bracing for something that never really comes. Black and queer in a world that likes to make a show out of both. It’s not a heavy thing today, just something I notice.
I scrolled through my phone and saw a photo from last summer. I’m in the park with friends, laughing, my head thrown back. I look so easy in that picture, so sure. I remember that day, but I also remember how I felt uncertain in my body, not quite settled. It’s funny how I can look like I belong, even when I don’t feel it at all. Maybe that’s just how it goes.
Today, though, there’s a quietness in me that feels kind. I don’t want to make it bigger than it is. It’s just me, here, wearing my name like it fits a little better than yesterday. I let myself feel it, just for a second. That’s enough warmth for now.