My family is part of the problem, but if I choose to just ignore this fact, do I become part of the problem too?
“And I thought how interesting is it that America can be this dark star, death star, and also at the same time this incredible shining light.”
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.
Someone once told me that if you’re Asian American, or mixed, or whatever, you have a grandmother poem in you that you need to write. This is mine.
Being focused on women never seemed remarkable to me. I grew up in a household with my mom, my younger sister, and my dad, so even if we were just being fair, 75% of our time was focused on women. And we were not fair.
Because you’re gay — and maybe a host of other reasons — you and your family don’t speak. Get through it by exclusively listening to music from your parents’ era and try not to have a meltdown.
Queers, allow me to introduce you to Saint Martha.
Both Marge and Madeline chose to find family within each other, and from there I understood, as I heard these stories from Marge after my grandmother had died, and then from my mother after Marge had gone, that such a thing could be done.
For queer couples, deciding to get pregnant often involves a lot of planning, money, and time.
I hadn’t experienced transphobic violence in medicalized form before. But I’d experienced it in many others: in punches and pushes, through threats with weapons, or by being run off the road by cars while I was on foot.
Dementia used to be called madness, I was told.
“Don’t Tell the Babysitter Mom’s Dead” is a beautifully produced podcast for anyone interested in exploring themes of family and loss, but especially for people looking to connect to another queer soul who lost their mom young.
Some essays and stories about our Dads — the good, the bad, and the very complicated.
I find myself preemptively mourning the transgenerational communities and cliques and cults and clubs and covens of girls like me that could be and may not be.
Your family buys you weird gifts, your mom is kinda rude about your long-distance girlfriend, and you can’t move on after this breakup. Let’s get some shit done! Come on!
Sometimes being queer and black, bisexual and biracial, feels like contradiction, like too many things, and sometimes I’m not sure that I’d recognize myself if I walked by.
I wasn’t at all ready for the feelings I’d have about being adopted and queer and raising a toddler who still isn’t as old as I was when I came to the United States on an airplane.
In which a debate over body hair pushes a white mother and her brown daughter to the limits of mutual understanding.
“I feel like I’m lying to my my parents, hiding part of myself, and disrespecting my girlfriend by constantly avoiding mentioning her or referring to her as my friend when my parents ask what’s going on in my life. Of course, I know coming out can be difficult in general, but I’m wondering if you have any advice for coming out in the context of a toxic family relationship? How can I best protect myself from the inevitable insults, yelling, and criticism while still being honest?”
Being miserable at your 9-5 job, your family isn’t wild about your fiancee and you’re embarrassed to get married, you’re not wild about your current roommate, and people think you might be related to your gal BUT YOU’RE NOT. Come on in!