In a time where Black people are experiencing new and old collective trauma whenever they scroll through Instagram, please stop asking us if we’re okay. We are not.
“Nobody may come to help us in time; we are all we’ve got. We need to organize, quickly, online, and geographically.”
All people deserve the right to continue their education regardless of their ability to sit in a physical classroom. Accessibility should never determine a child’s ability to learn.
Participating in my mother’s diaspora mutual aid WeChat group helped me learn how far diasporic people will go for strangers sharing a common language when governmental aid fails.
When I teach Rachel how to tie me up and fist me, when I ask her to tell me what to do, when I teach her exactly how I want to submit, I give her permission to go on a journey with me and dive into an expanding world of pleasure.
In finding out that the legacy of redlining was so connected to my childhood home, I started to wonder what else I harbored that no one had ever thought to explain to me. I wanted to understand how my family and I became this way: so oblivious to our direct complicity in white supremacy
When I unexpectedly lost my little brother to cancer, I had to learn how to close out his unfinished business and live life again without him.
Being a first-gen, Indigenous, queer, Samoan girl in diaspora almost cost me my Samoan culture. But one day, I’m going to be the queer Samoan elder who looks my grandchildren in their faces, and says: I was afraid the entire time that I was fighting for the world you deserve, but I did it anyway.
Through my mother’s recipes, I’m reminded of the resilience that flows in our blood. Instead of disconnecting from my body to survive, I nurtured it. Like me, cooking is hella queer and fluid. Every time I reimagine a dish, it can taste different depending on my mood.“How spicy do I want this dish to be today? “How sweet do I want this dessert?” It’s never fixed or prescribed. That’s what makes these evolving recipes — and the queer experience — so delicious.
All we have is each other. And we are the only ones we know, if we believe in the myth of ourselves enough to create truth, who will save us.
Shop for obscure ingredients in Asian supermarkets so you can replicate your favorite homecooked meals your mother used to make for you, and activate your ongoing transformation from helpless child to adult who knows how to nurture their own inner child.
All I ever wanted to say is, “this thing that happened to me…is why I am the way I am.” But it was easier to deal with everyone else’s disappointment than to speak that truth aloud. I wasn’t strong enough for that. Annalise Keating was.
When love is a matter of desperation, how do you even begin to know what it is you desire? It doesn’t matter what shape love takes. Or does it?
I believe my queerness makes my Asian-ness and my adoptee-ness stronger. I am more myself when I hold all these truths together than when I try to compartmentalize them.
I don’t want to be caught parading around in last generation’s false sense of security. I’m kicking off Autostraddle’s first Asian Pacific Islander American (APIA) Heritage month by exploring the values my own South Asian and Japanese American parents and grandparents imparted to me, to learn to carry them forward.
Postcolonial Love Poem is everything the title purports it to be. It positions itself between the worlds of love and violence, and answers the question of where love can exist in a nation with a long list of atrocities, especially against Native people.
The thing is: sometimes I like feeling disposable, like I’m just a bunch of holes that someone else is using for their pleasure. I know I’m fucking powerful, so sometimes I like to release control, let someone else do the work and have the power. That only works, though, when my boundaries are respected.
While the Hanged One asks us to wait quietly instead of pushing hard, to surrender to the experience instead of fighting against what we cannot control, this is also a chance to understand what drives us, fulfills us, inspires us. What are you dreaming of? What has become more important to you, and what have you realized isn’t worth your energy?
Tell yourself that you’re not like one of those chain smokers, that you can stop whenever you want. Start smoking American Spirits, so it’s like, not even that bad for you because it’s natural, or organic, or something. You forget.
One patient in the study “Observation of Trends in Manic-Depressive Psychosis” by O. Spurgeon English recounted that living with bipolar disorder “is like opening all my pores on a cold day and subjecting myself to catastrophe.”
I too have felt like a catastrophe of a person, a catastrophe of a star, a catastrophe of emotions.