Tag:Kelantan

I have a complicated relationship with tradition. I respect it when it holds stories, skills, beauty, memory. I have far less patience when it is used as a velvet rope to keep women quietly outside, smiling politely while men perform rituals about strength, purity, and power. So when Japan’s prime minister calmly announced that she would not step onto the dohyō (sumo ring) and would not challenge the rule excluding women, my first reaction was not shock. It was a tired sigh. Ah yes. That tradition. Let’s be honest: this...

I am not going to Kelantan. Not for a conference, not for a festival, not even for “cultural curiosity.” Life is short, my passport has stamps to earn, and I have zero interest in spending my money in a place where my body, my clothes, my laughter, and my proximity to other human beings are treated as public risks to be managed. Let’s be clear: this is not about faith. I have worked with Muslim feminists, queer Muslims, and religious scholars across Asia who fight—often bravely—for dignity, consent, and justice...

If you ask me who I would vote for in this election, I’ll disappoint you by saying this first: I don’t vote for logos, slogans, or smiling men in white shirts. I vote for signals. For tone. For courage. For who dares to say certain words out loud without flinching. I would vote for the people who stopped whispering. For decades, Thai politics treated women, gender-diverse people and sex workers like embarrassing relatives at a family wedding—present, useful, but never acknowledged in public. Suddenly, during this campaign, some candidates have...

Spicy Auntie has read the survey, nodded grimly, sighed loudly, and poured herself another cup of coffee. Because honestly, none of this is shocking — and that’s exactly the problem. Every time India releases a “women’s safety” ranking, people argue about methodology, defend their favourite city, or complain that it makes the country “look bad.” What nobody wants to admit is that women already know these rankings by heart. We carry them in our bodies. In our routes. In the way we stop answering messages after dark so nobody knows...

I read about these age-restricted restaurants and bars and my first reaction, honestly, was not outrage. It was recognition. Because this is Japan doing what it always does best: taking a social tension everyone feels but pretends not to notice, and turning it into a laminated sign at the door. Let’s be clear. This is not really about noise. This is about space. Who gets to occupy it, who feels entitled to it, and who is politely — or not so politely — asked to step aside. Japan is aging...