no, my gender is not a refugee caught between the ash of two genocides. i cannot be in exile from a body i was [never/always] home in. i only know how to love the body in [fragments/categories]. my gender is a runaway ghost train. my gender is the mirror speaking back in shattered tongues. i am all of the question marks in your medical books. a [doctor/ anthropologist] once tried to encode the body into a binary rivulet – a sequence of 0’s and 1’s to name this digitized fluidity. but even in its purest form, the body was still a mistranslation of itself
--- George Abraham, from “Binary.,” published in The Offing













