Tag:freedom

Spicy Auntie sighs, lights an imaginary cigarette, and says: nor criminal, nor legal… what a convenient limbo. That is how Bangladesh treats its sex workers. Not criminals—at least not officially. Not legal either—God forbid the state admits that women sell sex because poverty, patriarchy, and male demand exist. So instead, the system does what patriarchy always does best: it hovers. It pretends. It looks away while keeping a baton handy. You are not illegal, sister, as long as you stay exactly where you are told. In that alley. In that...

I have met many Javanese sisters of the diaspora. In Europe, in Japan, in Australia, in places where they arrived first as students, workers, au pairs, researchers, or simply as women needing air. And yes, they are different. Not louder. Not wilder. Just… different in the way someone is different after they have finally slept well for a long time. They saw things. Ordinary things, mostly, but transformative ones. Women walking alone at night without being interrogated by the universe. Couples holding hands without everyone turning into a morality committee....

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...