Tag:wife

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...

Violence is violence. A crime is a crime. And a crime should be called exactly that — not wrapped in rituals, not softened by tradition, not excused by marriage certificates, sindoor, mangalsutra, or the sacred fiction that a woman’s body becomes communal property the moment she says “I do.” Let me be very clear, because clarity makes some people uncomfortable: forced sex is rape. Inside marriage. Outside marriage. On a honeymoon. After twenty years together. With flowers on the bed or tears on the pillow. If there is no consent...