Tag:segregation

Celibacy? Please. Let’s stop pretending it’s some kind of magical moral superpower. Spicy Auntie has lived long enough, loved enough, and watched enough institutions crumble to tell you this: celibacy rarely works, especially when it’s imposed, idealised, and wrapped in centuries of male privilege. Human beings are not monks by default, and testosterone does not dissolve just because you put on an orange robe and shave your head. Pretending otherwise isn’t spiritual purity; it’s collective denial. Now, before the usual chorus starts clutching pearls, let me be clear. This is...

Oh, Auntie knows what some of you are thinking. “Words don’t hurt anyone. This is just language. Lighten up.” Darling, if words didn’t matter, entire industries wouldn’t be built around controlling them. Propaganda ministries, PR firms, brand consultants, spin doctors—apparently language is only “harmless” when women complain about it. What really interests Auntie is not the insults themselves. Every culture has crude words. What’s special here is the system. Japanese sexist language isn’t random abuse; it’s a beautifully ordered filing cabinet. One drawer for age, one for sex, one for...

They call it rehabilitation. Auntie calls it what it is: violence in polite clothing. When a state, a mosque committee, or a “concerned” ministry decides that your identity needs fixing, that is not care. That is coercion. When someone tells a trans woman she must relearn how to walk, dress, pray, desire, and exist so she can be “returned to the right path,” that is not guidance. That is punishment with a smile. Malaysia’s so-called LGBTQI “rehabilitation” programs love soft words. Bimbingan (guidance). Kaunseling (counselling). Kesedaran (awareness). Auntie has lived...

Spicy Auntie here, adjusting her chili-pepper necklace and side-eyeing the demon problem. Because honestly, if the world were really under threat, of course it would be women—overworked, overtrained, and chronically underestimated—who’d be sent to fix it. K-Pop Demon Hunters gets this part right. The girls aren’t chosen because they’re “special” in a mystical destiny way. They’re chosen because they’re already doing the hard work: rehearsing until their feet ache, smiling through pressure, holding each other together when the industry tries to pull them apart. What I appreciate most is that...

Let this Auntie say it clearly, slowly, and with a raised eyebrow for the elders in the back: do as you please, my young Pakistani friends. Dance if you want. Dress up if you want. Throw a fake wedding, a mock shaadi, a glitter-soaked night of mehndi, music and laughter with absolutely no nikah at the end — and don’t you dare apologise for it. Joy is not a crime. Celebration is not a moral failure. And refusing pressure is not an insult to culture. For decades, weddings in Pakistan...