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Pierced Years

Written by (Guest Writers) on . Posted in Writer's Space

I’ve always found it uncomfortable attending family weddings and reunion dinners as an officially single person but family funerals are worse. Plus I never thought I would feel nostalgic for the days when people called me ‘Sir’ by mistake. Here, in this very cold room at my mother’s funeral wake, the staff of the Singapore Casket Company are calling me ‘Aunty’.

My Mum died alone. I know I should feel more upset than I do but I think it hasn’t sunk in yet. I didn’t realize people die so fast.
The problem is, we don’t schedule dying the way we schedule other family activities. When my mother died two nights ago, my brother was away on a business trip and I had gone to Phuket for a weekend to get over a break up; what’s known in the community as the annual break-up. The one that begins with, ‘Don’t you care about anything?’
, ‘Why do you have to be so intense about everything?’

Most inter-generational Singapore lesbian couples will probably know what I mean’of course you don’t have to have a younger partner to have problems, but if you do, they tend to be more ‘interesting’ and if you really want trouble, get involved with a young activist. (One thing I find amazing now is how breaking up takes so much longer and consumes so much more effort and energy than dying.) Pinky says people her age are the only ones doing anything because those my age don’t dare and those younger than her don’t care.

For the record I would like to point out it’s not that I didn’t dare join Pinky in that ‘getting the Singapore flag painted on gay bare body parts project (organised by her hero Alex Au’’Proud parts of a proud Nation’) it’s just that other things are important too, like not getting fired so you can earn a living and pay the mortgage’ also for the record I realize I’m starting to sound like my mother’s my late mother. Funny. I thought I never listened to my mother. Like she never listened to me. And apparently didn’t look at me.

My mother left me all her earrings; at least two dozen pairs, including the ones my grandmother left her. Gold studs, pearl studs, rubies, jade tear drops and a pair of diamonds set in white gold’all beautifully designed ladylike’pierced’ear lobes. I don’t have pierced ears. I don’t wear ladylike jewelry; I thought after forty-five years my mum would have noticed that. That’s why I was surprised I got the earrings. I wasn’t the only one.

Ms Millennia

Written by (Guest Writers) on . Posted in Writer's Space

This is a poem written by Alan Ardy, for the Millenium issue of AWARE, who has kindly allowed us to republish this. Alan has a upcoming poetry book, Champagne & Handcuffs.

 

How will she feel at the end of the year?
Rejoicing and free or shedding a tear?

At the slowness of change and imposed tradition
That’s holding her back from her rightful position

As an equal member of so-called ‘mankind’
Revered for her body but also her mind

A social restriction which that restricts her and binds
Caused by male ego and the narrowest minds

A human rights abuse but does anyone care?
Or even consider that fact it’s so unfair

But she’s come a long way and it’s really quite far
Since the memorable time she first burnt her bra

And though it is true that most servants are maids
And breast cancer research is half that of AIDS

We should rightly applaud the females of our species
Who against every constraint and all of the leashes

Has clearly refused to keep her mind in a fetter
And demolished the myth that males are better

A malicious falsehood since the earliest of times
And she is also responsible for fewer sex crimes

So how will she feel at the end of the era?
And will her rightful place be anywhere nearer?

Because while many females are better than equal
There are numerous others who fear just a sequel

Another millenium of male domination
With more sexist prejudice and discrimination

And what about God with his presumptuous title of ‘He’?
Given the nature of karam, couldn’t he be a she?

Or would that offend male values to their very core?
A trans-sexual deity that could be either/or?

So remember her sisters as she attains success
Or while she’s aiming with confidence for nothing else

Than achieving the highest levels of human endeavour
And realising her dreams which for many girls may never

Ever be possible unless love for her mystery
Allows a destiny where more women make history

Unseen Smithereens

Written by (Guest Writers) on . Posted in Writer's Space

Family…
A place of warmth and love,
A place of acceptance,
Bestowed upon by birth.

One day, to one’s consternation,
What i never knew…
Acceptance is only acceptance,
When their mould i fit into.

What’s wrong with this?
I don’t understand.
Why’s love not a crime,
only between woman and man?

“She’s beautiful, Mum.
Personality, character and all.
You will like her
As you get to know her more.”

“Abnormal! My child,
You have grieved me so.
Same-sex love is spurious…
Please redeem your soul!

“… For God on high is full of wrath
for people of such kind.
Leave this lifestyle, please my child.
Don’t, by lust, be blind.

“… Your Daddy has cancer…
he’s weaker by the day.
Don’t you care for your father?
Can’t you stop your play?

“… Our relatives will mock us.
My friends, what will they say?
That i’ve failed at parenting,
thus my child is gay!”

A foot into the mould i put…
An awkward shape it is.
Cramped toes, sprained back…
In pain, I clenched my fists.

Family… supposedly…
A place of warmth and love,
A place of acceptance,
Bestowed upon by birth.

Alas, acceptance is acceptance,
When their mould i cramp into.
Would they care my heart smithereens
as long the facade fools?

*Author has chosen to remain anonymous.

Waterlights

Written by Teng Qian Xi on . Posted in Writer's Space

According to the legend of the White Snake, Bai Suzhen (a white snake that turned into an immortal woman) bought a green snake which she turned into a young girl. She named her Xiao Qing, and she remained her companion even after her marriage. When an evil monk trapped Bai Suzhen in a pagoda, it was Xiao Qing who, after years of martial arts training, was the one to free her. Together they fought the monk, and after winning they went back to her family home and lived happily ever after.

I appeared in the story only because you
wanted me to. It was your pale hands
that lifted me, a whip of emerald,
from the marketplace basket, and it was your words
that writhed out a soul from my shine-crusted body.
So there I was, to the world something between
your friend and a maid. He tended
towards the former; he was nice, that husband
of yours. I remember the rain when we
first saw him- it lanced silver across your cheek
while I cried out in spite of myself, isn't he the one?
You just smiled, holding his hand as you
stepped lightly onto the boat.
That, I tell people, is how it began...
love at first sight, silver flashing down your face
while I (everyone laughs here) vomited into
the spangles on the water.

It was never explained to him why I moved
into his new home. I was just the giveaway
that had to be accepted with the amazing deal.
We got along in the end, and there was always
three of us at important events:
your child's birth, the shop's opening
and the inconvenient business you try not to remember.
But there was only me through the years
of perfecting my dance of death for you.
It was a rain of silver blades that I lived ten years in,
that quivered your pagoda-prison
into a thousand glittering shards. We won, of course. Now
it's difficult at New Year visits; I ignore
your rhapsodies on family life
and the bachelors you invite to dinner. Now
your child thinks I'm his aunt; he pesters me
for stories of your life, but only my eyes
(when the tears melt him into your image)
tell him what you have forgotten:

Your face darted among the swords
like a river's shifting light and we danced
in a rain of silver for the last time
together. Darling, I would have died for you
but I never had the luck.

“inspired” by the deluge of weight-loss resolutions

Written by immoralfear on . Posted in Writer's Space

super models
cover girls
porn stars and strippers
sex appeal, superficial beauty
little girl wake up and see
you’re nothing if you don’t grow up to look like Barbie
the modern symbol of femininity
ladies: starve your body
feed your anxiety
we recieve those messages
too loud and clear
liposuction and boob jobs
suck it in, stick ‘em out
give in to envy and self doubt
spend your life savings on cosmetic surgery
paint yourself unrecognizable
make sure you glow
from head to toe
your health is always compromisable
nail polish, lipstick
try this beauty trick
make up, miracle creams
try to be the woman of men’s dreams
make sure your teeth are perfect
or you’ll never be able to forget
that you aren’t good enough
and you aren’t made of the right stuff
keep trying to look like her
see how much abuse your body can endure
for the sake of superficial beauty
desire isn’t blind
so you can’t have peace of mind
you’re repulsive compared to the woman over there
so lose weight, put make up on, dye your hair
so says the mirror on my wall
so many products, I’ve tried them all
and still there’s no getting away
from the pressure of looking attractive today
this is how women are made to feel
society has a wound that will never heal

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