An autobiographical comic.
When Thanksgiving rolled around I spent all my money on alcohol, and was left eating potatoes every meal for two weeks.
I don’t think there was a specific cultural inception, but rather a percolation of various feminist ideals that bubbled over during the 1980s, the decade that female masculinity went mainstream.
I don’t think anyone looks at the introverted, disabled woman, and thinks she’s powerful. But my family chose to. They are the reason that I can pushback against the stereotypes society holds for a quiet blind woman, and assert my place in this world. They taught me to swim in the waves.
Astrology was too complicated. I decided to place my trust in Co–Star.
“I told myself that moving was not going to actually fix my life, that living in a different state didn’t mean that my personality was going to change. It wouldn’t fix my depression and anxiety. I told myself this, all the while secretly hoping this move did have the power to fix me, to break me down to an elemental level and rebuild me.”
This was the way we found power over pain: Move.
The tears came only after I thought about how cowardly I felt for denying my sexuality in order to fit in better, for how hurt and betrayed I felt that a group of marginalized people that I connected with so well would so easily marginalize me in return.
When I do hear Springsteen’s “4th of July, Asbury Park,” I won’t long for something I never had because I was born too late. I’ll let the song wash over me gently, wistful for all the people I knew who made the best of bad luck down the shore.
Considering the discomfort my friends and loved ones experience when we travel together, or when I share what I think are unremarkable experiences of microaggressions or discrimination, has helped me understand the degree to which I’ve normalized things that are not normal.
The entire time I was waiting for Tanja I was trying not to panic, but couldn’t help thinking: If we can’t find this screw, then how will I make it to the airport?
Somewhere at the back of my mind, I’d convinced myself that attempting to pull my slightly overweight and totally out of shape ass across the seven levels that made up the gigantic waterfall was an impossible dream…
I didn’t expect us to create a Blood Moon Healing Circle Ceremony. It wasn’t on the emailed itinerary. Why did we even feel the need to create it? Two words: intergenerational trauma.
In the middle of a winter night in 1973, while the residents of a small island fishing town in Iceland slept peacefully in their beds, a crack opened up in a flat patch of farmland and began spewing fire.
In the span of a few hours, in two different Indian airports I experienced a spectrum of responses to my gay trans self that would serve as a microcosm of not only my trip, but of my entire queer experience. There are no guarantees, so I’m learning to be my own safe space.
There’s nothing like a beach date to the Northernmost tip of your home island of Cebu, Philippines to make you ponder the meaning of love and life, as part of the Filipino diaspora!
Being in places that took pride in their weirdness made it feel natural to take pride in my own.
I spent my adolescence trying to be a boy. I wasn’t very good at it, but I tried really, really hard. I didn’t wear bright colors, I didn’t listen to pop music, I didn’t even style my hair until I was 17. I certainly wasn’t the kind of person to dress in drag. And yet I was. And yet I did. Because when I was 16 I won a drag show in Florence.
Romantic getaways help form bonds, memories, and connections. The regular stress of traveling as a couple is amplified when traveling as a gay couple.
Tip #2 – “Don’t Trust the Internet.”
“We were talking about all the places we wanted to visit, all the people we wanted to be. When she asked to kiss me, I said yes.”