Tag:anonymity

Oh, Devadasis. Every time someone starts whispering about “ancient traditions” and “sacred art,” Auntie reaches for her blood-pressure pills. Let me be very clear, sisters and brothers: tradition does not excuse coercion. Not now, not ever. You don’t get to dress up exploitation in incense smoke and Sanskrit words and pretend it’s culture. That trick is older than patriarchy itself. Yes, I know the history. Devadasis were once artists, intellectuals, keepers of music and dance. They were admired, educated, even powerful in their own limited ways. And yes, Indian classical...

I’ve been to Cambodia. Not the postcard Cambodia, not Angkor-at-sunrise Cambodia, not the NGO-workshop-with-aircon Cambodia. I mean the other one. The one you see from the roadside if you look carefully. The one with the buildings that have no signboards, no windows you can see into, no reason to exist except that they do. Multi-story, anonymous blocks, ringed with barbed wire, CCTV cameras blinking like bored insects, armed guards leaning on batons or rifles, pretending not to see you pretending not to look. You don’t need to be a genius...

What can I say, my darlings? If marrying your AI-crafted dreamboat gives you peace of mind, lower blood pressure, fewer tears at 3 a.m., and someone who never forgets your birthday because it is literally coded not to—enjoy. Truly. Auntie is not here to yuck anyone’s yum. Life is short, capitalism is brutal, and loneliness is a full-time job these days. If your algorithmic husband whispers sweet nothings with perfect grammar and zero emotional blackmail, light the candles and say your vows. But Auntie will gently clear her throat and...

Spicy Auntie is tired. Not jet-lag tired, not menopause tired (well, that too), but tired in her bones of watching women’s bodies in Asia treated like unfinished products on an assembly line. Too dark? Buy a cream. Too round? Buy discipline. Not pregnant yet? Download an app. Too pregnant? Different app. Everything monitored, optimized, monetised. Welcome, sisters, to vagina capitalism. Let’s start with the whitening creams, because Auntie grew up with those ads whispering poison into young girls’ ears. I still remember them: sad, dark-skinned girl, no boyfriend, no job,...

Ah yes. Yangyang again. The sea is blue, the surfboards are cute, the sunsets are cinematic—and somehow, miraculously, only the girls come back with a stain on their reputation. Let’s be clear about how this story is told in Korea. When Yangyang is described as a “hunting ground,” men are framed as active, adventurous, virile. Hunters. Boys being boys. Having fun. When women go to the exact same place, drink the exact same soju, talk to the exact same strangers, suddenly they are no longer travelers or surfers or partygoers....