Tag:sex work prostitution

Let me tell you something about family WhatsApp groups, darlings. They are not innocent. They are not “just for updates.” They are mini-parliaments, surveillance hubs, emotional labor factories, and occasionally — digital crime scenes. I belong to several. Of course I do. Big Asian family, remember? Aunties, uncles, cousins, nieces, the whole orchestra. Every morning: flowers, blessings, good-morning GIFs that sparkle like they were designed in 2003. And who sends them? The women. Always the women. Because apparently even in cyberspace, it’s our job to keep the peace, keep the...

I have walked through Patpong more times than I can count — in heels, in flats, in righteous feminist anger, and occasionally just in anthropological curiosity. And let me tell you something: if you think a “Patpong girl” is a fantasy character invented for lonely men on holiday, you have understood absolutely nothing. She is a migrant worker. She is a remittance machine. She is an informal economist with better negotiation skills than half the men in Bangkok’s financial district. When people say “bar girl,” I always want to ask:...

I have a soft spot for women who own the night. Over the years — from Manila’s humid backstreets to Bangkok’s neon arteries and Jakarta’s stubbornly defiant dance floors — I’ve met many of them. Some became sources. Some became drinking buddies after closing time. A few became lifetime friends. And let me tell you something: these women are among the toughest people I know. You don’t survive decades in clubs and discos by being delicate. You survive because you can read a room in three seconds flat. Because you...

I have attended enough Asian weddings to know one thing: the bride may be glowing, but the economy is blazing. Let me confess something. When I got married — yes, your favorite irreverent, middle-aged bi Asian woman was once a blushing bride — the real drama wasn’t about love. It was about gold weight, guest count, makeup packages, and whether my contour would survive the tropical humidity. Aunties inspected my jewelry like they were auditing the Reserve Bank. Someone actually whispered, “Is that 22 karat?” as if I were personally...

I have no patience for euphemisms. Let’s call it what it is: son preference–driven sex selection. Not “family planning.” Not “balancing.” Not “just one boy.” When a fetus is aborted because it is female, that is discrimination before a girl even takes her first breath. I actually welcomed the Supreme Court’s blunt words. When judges describe sex-selective abortion as a “crude manifestation” of discrimination, they are not being dramatic. They are being accurate. This isn’t about technology. Ultrasound machines don’t hate girls. Patriarchy does. I’ve lived across Asia long enough...