Reenacting October: What's In a Name and a Title?

This blog post is long overdue, and I don't know why. There are some things that happen to you, some things that you let happen, and then there are those that are done to you. I have been, for most of my life, trying to make sense and heal myself from the latter, atone for the former, and attempting to find common ground on the good and the bad that's found in the first. This is about the good that's in the first–and that's the work and dedication I have poured into not just the blog, but my work in general. This past October I made the conscious decision to try having a blog one last time. I have had about three, and they just never seem to come right because, despite blaming my chronic case of impostor syndrome for the inconsistency and lack of drive sometimes. It's all me. A couple of months before that I made another decision to rebrand when I reached a milestone in my "career" of writing online: a thousand Instagram followers. Getting to 1K followers was huge for me. It still is, I even reached out to publishers to sponsor a big giveaway in celebration. The thing is, earlier this year I lost my first account and had to start anew. I did that. I climbed up, build myself up and made a name for myself in this small SA Bookstagram community - something I take pride in. But I digress. I reclaimed my name and made it my brand: Nkeshyy. What's in a name? My grandfather gave me that name. It's short for Nkesheza, which means a small thing in IsiZulu. See, I was a tiny baby growing up, and I became a tiny adult. It's who I am, and through my reading and writing I managed to cut myself a tiny piece of space on the internet. My blog and my Bookstagram are that. In October I relaunched my blog. The reception, response and support was tremendous; it warmed my heart. Sharing articles and reviews that delved into the power of our memory as resurrection, I wrote about the harrowing journey of one nonbinary writer who allowed us into eir life story; got triggered into dealing with my own issues as I penned an open letter about the time when I had an identity crisis. The writing just kept coming. The readers need this, I told myself. In Nkeshyy, I intended to provide queer people with a space to exist, to know that they exist and are seen by writers, creatives and artists. I wrote about what drives me, about the books that showed me the light and birthed my passion for representation. I write to archive these works, to amplify these voices and to highlight our lived experiences–whether those are sad, happy or downright disturbing; they are still ours and they are valid. In November I was nominated for the 2021 Afrobloggers Awards, under the Reviews category. My world beamed, my heart exploded and I couldn't have been more prouder of myself. What's in a title, right? When I received the news, I quickly scrolled online and on the website and saw the people I shared the spotlight with. I refuse to see this as going up against anyone. These people were people I look up to and revere; people like James Murua and The Cheeky Natives. In another time I would have been campaigning and lobbying votes on their behalf, but now I was/am in a space where I stand to win the same award as them. So what is in a title? Recognition. The humbling knowledge that your work is seen and appreciated, that somehow you exist in a world where you get to share, even for a little bit online, the limelight with the greats. Even if I do not make it to the next round or even receive the prize–there will be others. It is the receiving this one, my first, that sets the mark and the tone; almost like a pat in the back that I'm doing something right that will propel me towards my destiny. I will always hold this title of award nominee. I am owning that. It's mine. I hold the honour of being recognised by an award committee for African bloggers. By authors on a daily when they comment on my reviews; when I squeal at seeing myself on their stories sharing my work–like the last time I reveled in the beauty of Lexy Wren-Sillevis' book of short poems that sought to turn our pain into powerful strings of words to pull us out of our darkness. She acknowledged my work, including a poem I'd written inspired by her work. I hold dear the fact that I have publishers who, while unlikely, know my name and of my influence lol. Publishers who send me books in exchange for my opinion, as they do other influential Bookstagrammers with a much wider reach than me. I also hold to a high regard those Bookstagrammers for existing, for writing and continuously putting out content. And those that interact with me, those who guide me and show me love and support and kindness in my journey. That's what is in a title–a sense of existence that's beyond just me. It's community. I exist in a multitude of communities. Black. Queer. Writer. Blogger. Bookstagrammer. Award nominee. Award recipient. Contributor. Those are but a few. I am one in many. And all this started because I decided on one thing, then another and another–because I decided to read, to write, to share that with people. Because I relaunched a blog and someone noticed. This entire year has been kind to me, with some hitches here and there; but that's a story for another blog. This one, however, ends here. I wanted to highlight and show appreciation to everyone and everything that's happened. The events of these two months have reignited my love for myself, and the goodness that's in my heart. I am grateful for it all. This is, but, the beginning for this platform, for this brand, and the girl at the helm of it. You watch this space. I love you, besties. 💋