Mufseen Miah shares his story about growing up as a queer South Asian gay man in the UK and his experiences with chronic pain
As told to Alastair James Photography Francisco Gomez de Villaboa
I grew up in a big and loving Bangladeshi family in Brighton, one of the most diverse and welcoming cities in the UK. But being a second-generation immigrant, I always felt one step removed from it. As a result, my childhood was centred within the Bangladeshi community.
School was a mixed bag. I went to a standard state school where you’d have children from all backgrounds, but the majority were white. I was an easy target just for being brown. Thankfully, bullying was mostly verbal and rarely physical. There was a lot of self-suppression, and usually I’d keep my head down and hang with a small group of friends during breaks. It was only when I got to college that the fear of bullies stopped. By then, studying and getting good grades was paramount for a chance of a happier gay life.
Life outside school revolved around the local mosque and seeing relatives. It was quite a sheltered life. I was told from a young age I couldn’t have tattoos, piercings, or even an ‘unconventional’ haircut because if I did, I was bringing shame to my family. I didn’t know who I was back then because, to a certain degree, my hair, my clothing, and even my behaviour was policed by parents and religious leaders.
There was a shift as I got older, when I started to make friends outside the community and ventured into Brighton’s gay scene. It was then that my world opened up, and I learned I could choose what kind of life I wanted for myself. Living in Brighton was great for making new friends, and going to parties and concerts was important for me to express myself in ways I couldn’t at home. I’d also regularly walk along the promenade to contemplate how my life fits together, being gay but also Muslim. Some habits don’t go away; I’m still a huge fan of long walks and music to calm myself.
I know how difficult it is to be proud when all you’ve been taught is to feel shame about yourself, so I’m always inspired by queer people who choose to live their lives proudly, with full acknowledgment of their culture, sexuality and gender expression. Dye your hair, get a piercing, have top surgery or get a hair transplant; at the end of the day, we know our own body the best. These forms of self-expression can’t be underestimated because when our body reflects our true self, it brings so much joy.
The relationship I ha
