In our seven years together, we’ve thrived on routine. We’ve done long-distance before, but never quite like this.
At the kitchen table, Jason reminded me, “It’s our wedding. I think you can say whatever you want, in any language.”
Somewhere between the one-dimensional BIPOC sidekick and the final, showstopping kiss, I forgot that I was consuming love stories built on exclusion.
Men around me speak about cancel culture with such hyperbole and terror, you’d think it was a supernatural force.
Chinese culture can’t be made bite-sized for mass consumption.
And somewhere in there, as my hands ached from the work, I began to grieve
Colin Farrell’s friend breakup in ‘The Banshees of Inisherin’ is eerily similar to my own. His is just more cinematic.
The rise of radical politics in shows like “Andor” offer me a surprising source of hope.
Factory-produced clothing still requires human hands. When we pay less for our clothing, it is the cost of labor at play.
The act of the trans trade, and its ritualization, came readily to hand for me, but it’s a distant possibility for so many of us.