Commentary

Auntie needs to have a stern word, again, with the self-appointed moral police who seem to think they’re the new headmasters of Asia’s playgrounds. You’d think, with everything going on in the world—economic troubles, political scandals, floods, real social issues—they’d have better things to do than policing cartoons. But no. A mermaid gives a peck on the cheek and suddenly the guardians of “public morality” come marching in like we’re on the brink of societal collapse. Please. Spare me the drama. Let’s get something straight, sweethearts: children are not fragile...

Let Auntie adjust her dupatta and sip her ginger tea before diving into this one — because yes, I am a proud, card-carrying pacifist. I would rather see armies turned into libraries, barracks transformed into community gardens, and all those defence budgets redirected to health, education, and childcare. But reality has a funny way of marching on, boots thumping, uniforms pressed, and flags flying. And if the world insists on keeping its militaries, then by all that is sacred and sensible, women must have every right to step into those...

Oh, New Zealand. Sweet, quiet, well-behaved New Zealand — land of hobbits, good manners, and public agencies that supposedly sparkle with integrity. And yet here we are. Your almost-Commissioner of Police, Jevon “I-Swear-I’m-Innocent” McSkimming, has been caught with more inappropriate material than a bored teenager with unlimited Wi-Fi. Except this was not a bored teenager. This was the man sitting one step below the most powerful policing role in the country. Using work devices. During office hours. Darling, even Southeast Asian politicians caught in karaoke bars are shaking their heads....

Darlings, gather around. Auntie needs to sip her peppermint tea before she screams. Because once again, the guardians of 1950s morality—the same ones who still believe Elvis’ hips were the beginning of humanity’s downfall—are back to save us from that terrifying, scandalous concept called reality. Yes, the abstinence crusaders, pearl-clutchers, and self-appointed guardians of public virtue are marching proudly into the 2025 debate on sex education like they’re storming Normandy, armed with nothing but outdated pamphlets and fear of their own bodies. Honestly, I almost admire the confidence. Imagine waking...

Sisters, allow Auntie to tell you something she has learned after decades of wandering through Asia’s kitchens, cramped apartments, community halls, PTA meetings, feminist circles, and yes — the occasional smoky karaoke bar where exhausted mothers sip a secret highball behind the neon. When have women in this region ever been truly free to choose their roles? When have mothers been allowed to breathe, to shape motherhood the way they want, rather than the way society scripts it? In Japan especially — and Auntie speaks as someone who has listened...