Tag:match-making

The deepfake attack on Azma Bukhari wasn’t about sex or scandal. It was about reminding a woman in power that her authority is conditional, fragile, and always one fake video away from public punishment. AI just made that message easier to deliver. Let’s not pretend otherwise. This was never about curiosity or gossip. It was a calculated act of humiliation, designed to shove a woman back into her “proper place”. Patriarchy has always relied on sexual shame as its favourite disciplinary tool. What’s new is the speed, scale, and deniability...

Ah yes, divorce. That terrifying word that makes Filipino lawmakers clutch their rosaries, bishops issue pastoral letters, and respectable gentlemen sigh theatrically about the “death of the family.” Meanwhile, women are quietly counting bruises, panic attacks, unpaid bills, and years lost to marriages that stopped being marriages long ago. Let Auntie be very clear: there is no such thing as a sacred cage. I’ve heard this line too many times: “But we already have annulment.” Darling, please. Annulment in the Philippines is not a remedy; it’s a VIP exit lounge....

Oh, sweetheart. Let Auntie say this slowly, clearly, and with a raised eyebrow and a martini in hand: kink is not the problem. Silence is. Hypocrisy is. Bad sex is. “Kink” has been turned into a dirty word by people who are perfectly comfortable with joyless marriages, entitlement masquerading as desire, and generations of women taught to adjust instead of ask. Funny, isn’t it? Tie someone up consensually and you’re “deviant”; emotionally neglect your partner for twenty years and society gives you a medal. Here’s what kink really is, stripped...

Let me tell you something, darlings. When I read Taiwanese BL comics, my first reaction isn’t “oh, how daring” or “how subversive.” It’s much simpler: finally, love that’s allowed to breathe. No hysteria, no punishment, no endless suffering as proof of legitimacy. Just two men falling into routines, habits, petty arguments, shared meals, shared beds, shared lives. And honestly? That’s revolutionary. For decades, queer love in Asian storytelling had to earn its existence through tragedy. Someone had to die, disappear, go mad, or marry a woman out of filial duty....

Again. Women reduced to parts. To vessels. To raw material. To blood providers. Read this story carefully and strip away the tech jargon, the biotech euphemisms, the soothing words like “innovation” and “data.” What remains is painfully familiar. Women’s bodies treated as tools. As infrastructure. As something to be tapped, extracted, shipped, monetised — preferably without too many questions, and ideally without consent. Pregnant women, of all people. Women already navigating fear, hope, vulnerability, social pressure. And what does the system see? Not mothers, not citizens, not humans — but...