By Maïs Bouteldja

Disclaimer: This article uses the umbrella term ‘queer’ in reference to the LGBTQ+ community. I understand those who prefer not to use this term. However, as the term queer is precious to me and my identity, it is used throughout the following article.

The story of a queer Muslim tends to be one of alienation, internal battles and struggling to find acceptance. But there is always another side to every story, and this one continues to be overlooked; queer Muslims can not only survive, but they can thrive – coming (out and) into being.

I am a queer Muslim of colour. An intersectional marvel that would make an EDI officer jump up and down with glee. And I refuse to compromise on any aspect of my identity. I am who I am. There’s nothing I, nor anyone else, could do to change that.

I grew up (and still present) visibly Muslim. I have worn a hijab for longer than I can remember, and over the years I found a style that I felt expressed me best. Regardless, I am still made to feel a little out of place when I’m the only hijabi who turned up to the queer meet-up (it’s quite funny to see some people perplexed). This also means a lot of people assume feminine pronouns for me, even if my bio clearly states something else.

Coming out was not so simple. I live in a state of flux, one label that fits perfectly one day may feel uncomfortable, burdensome, or just plain wrong the next. Having adopted many labels after my first initial coming out to my closest friends, I have finally settled on the umbrella term: queer. It encapsulates me entirely. Queer as in ‘strange’. Queer as in ‘different’. Queer as in something inscrutable. I love it.

Of course, I could go into the struggles: the rampant homophobia from Muslim Instagram podcast bros; the anxiety-inducing islamophobia from some LGBTQ+ influencers; or the initial internal struggle for self-acceptance. But why would I let that define my life and my existence when I could just focus on my joy?

Maya Angelou once said, ‘We need joy as we need air. We need love as we need water. We need each other as we need the earth we share.’ While acceptance is an important aspect of every LGBTQ+ individual’s life, I think we do not dedicate enough space or time to celebrating, let alone nurturing the joy in our queer existence.

Dulcius ex asperis – sweeter after difficulty. After expending energy on an internal struggle, turning to joy is an incredibly crucial step on the journey to loving ourselves in all our glory. It can help us to heal, grow and transform into our best selves. It can help make life worth more than we’d ever dreamed.

So, what exactly is queer joy? Let alone queer Muslim joy? And how on earth can you achieve it when we live in a capitalist hellscape seemingly falling into fascism? Perhaps an outfit perfectly matches your gender presentation in an unexpected way. Or a song hits your soul so deeply it sends shivers down your spine. Or maybe a co-worker CC’d you in on an email and used both of your unconventional pronouns when congratulating you on a recent project.

I also believe that queer joy doesn’t necessarily have to be centred around one’s queerness. Did you go out for a walk and the sun fell on your face so gently it warmed your heart? Maybe you pet a puppy that was especially soft and fluffy and that brought a smile to your face. Or the couscous you made didn’t turn out soggy for once. That’s queer joy too. Keep it close and celebrate it, no matter how big or small.

Personally, I have found queer joy in and thanks to my friends. My loved ones have patiently adapted to my many name and pronoun changes over the years. They take the time to spend some of their precious and wonderful lives with me, in escape rooms, at board game cafes and through difficult appointments. It is thanks to their unconditional love and support that I can find joy in the everyday.

Queer Muslim joy is also catching myself in the mirror on the occasional day and thinking, ‘I love my jawline’ or ‘My moustache looks really nice today’ or ‘You know what? I do look stunning in this hijab!’ And though these moments used to be few and fleeting, I now find that accepting and cultivating my own queer Muslim joy means I can feel more beautiful in my body on most days rather than a precious few.

Most recently, I have also discovered queer Muslim joy in my Amazigh heritage. After a trip to Morocco visiting a Berber village in the mountains, I found peace in nature and just existing as I am. In the mountains, nature doesn’t care who you are. It doesn’t know your name, your gender, who you love or if you even love at all. Nature just exists in its own queer way with its own queer rules.

Traditionally, Imazighen people have been referred to as ‘Berber’. However, due to negative connections to the word ‘barbarian’, a new term was self-appointed – Amazigh. The word means ‘free man’. And thanks to queer Muslim joy, that’s exactly what I am.

Though far from the end of this journey, I am grateful for how far I’ve come, even hopeful for how far I have left to go. I know that my identity is not a war for me to fight, but more a treasure map for me to pour over at my leisure. And most importantly, I have a community who will forevermore love and support me in my queer Muslim joy.