Tag:ultrasound

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...

I used to be “the tomboy.” Short hair, oversized shirts, permanently scuffed sneakers, and an attitude that said, “Don’t even try.” Aunties clucked. Teachers sighed. Boys were confused. Girls were curious. Back then, in our corner of Asia, “tomboy” was the label that made everyone feel safer. It explained me without really explaining me. It suggested a phase. A rebellion. A detour before the proper road of husband, children, respectability. Well. Plot twist. I am now a thoroughly middle-aged, unapologetically bisexual Asian woman with excellent skincare, better politics, and zero...

Oh boys. Come sit next to Auntie for a minute. Let’s talk about that little orange flame lighting up half of East Asia after midnight. Every time someone writes about Grindr in Seoul, Tokyo, Shanghai, or Taipei, the tone swings wildly between panic and romance. It’s either “moral decline!” or “digital liberation!” As usual, the truth is much messier—and far more human. What fascinates me is not the hookups. Asia has had cruising parks, bathhouses, back alleys, karaoke rooms, and discreet “business trips” long before smartphones. Desire did not arrive...

Let me tell you something nobody says out loud at the family reunion: inheritance in South Asia is not about love. It’s about land, power, and who is considered permanent. I have sat in living rooms from Kathmandu to Kolkata, from Lahore to Colombo, where daughters were praised as “the pride of the family” — until property came up. Suddenly the language changes. Suddenly there is talk of kul (lineage), of “keeping land within the bloodline,” as if daughters are somehow temporary visitors in their own childhood homes. We love...