#gaysian found family

[chinchillinator]

Stupid long post about why Fire Island (2022) hit me in the solar plexus and didn’t let up

ive had time to Process. ive had time to eat. ive had time to drink quite a lot of tea. now, time to be slightly more coherent about my thoughts. though far more long-winded. because here’s the thing, Fire Island is not about just Being Gay or just Being Asian. it is about the intersection of these.

This movie is just enjoyable. Straight up. No question. It is a movie that is enjoyable to watch for anyone who has even a remote interest in the romcom genre. It’s a deeply heartfelt adaptation of a well-loved novel, it’s a respectful and grateful nod to adaptations that have come before it, it’s a fun comedy that hits its beats perfectly every time, and it’s so full of care that every character shines for themselves in a way that makes you love each and every one. And, alright, maybe I’m somewhat biased, but truly I think this is just a Good Movie and its universality comes from it just being a Good Movie that makes people laugh and cry and just have fun watching it.

But sitting down to watch this movie sparked something in me that is so much deeper than just genuine enjoyment. I experienced something I’ve never had the privilege of experiencing before: a movie that represented every facet of myself in such an authentic way, I finally understood what it means to see myself in a piece of media. Not just a part, not just a relatable line that spoke to something I recognized in my own life, but a much more layered and nuanced sum total of my lived experience. Because that’s what it’s like to have a movie about queer Asian-Americans that’s actually written by queer Asian-Americans.

I said to my friend -- also a queer Asian-American -- while watching a scene in Erin’s kitchen, “this is such an Asian house.” She screamed her agreement. (To be fair, most of the movie was just us screaming at each other, but regardless.) There’s no explicit details that I could point to and say, “that’s an Asian thing” or “this is exactly like my house,” but it feels inherently like my home. This is where I am comfortable, this is where I belong, and this is, at least in part, due to the influence of the woman who owns it: an Asian woman. A woman in my community, who could be related to me, who’s built a place that speaks directly to my soul. It’s a combination of so many little things that I couldn’t even explain, but the whole creates a place that I just know. That’s what it was to watch this movie.

It’s only touched on once in the actual narration and dialogue. On the ferry to the island, Noah and Howie talk about being Asian in the queer community and what that means in a few pithy lines to give context to the movie’s themes and who they are as characters. We move on pretty quickly. It’s not necessarily important, nor necessarily a focal point -- this movie is not about Being Asian. These characters are not Asian to advance the plot or create a heart-wrenching character arc or be the representation quota to make the movie woke. They are simply humans. Just some people who could be sitting next to you on the bus talking about finding love or finding someone to fuck. Their race is incidental.

Only it’s also not.

Like with Erin’s kitchen, there are very few single details of this movie that I could pick out and say, “that is what defines the queer Asian-American experience.” But at the same time there were dozens of instances that struck me as something I knew intimately. The subtleties of anti-Asian racism and the briefest of brief mentions of being mix-race and how these things interact and intersect within the queer community as whole. And they’re never dwelled upon as if they are important to the plot, because essentially, they are not. This movie was for queer Asian-Americans not because it was necessarily about how our experiences are defined by our race or our sexuality, but because it built our experiences into the world so organically that it’s almost unnoticed. Because, to us, it kind of is. This is just how life is for us, we don’t know or see any different, we can’t. Everything we go through is rolled up within our identities, and of course this is true for everyone everywhere. It’s just that this movie was so perfectly targeted to this specific demographic because Joel Kim Booster is, himself, a queer Asian-American. Almost like, by having someone of that demographic breathe life into this story and these characters, it creates a fully-rounded, nuanced, and entirely authentic portrayal of a particular community that speaks to them on a level much deeper than any other. Wild.

I do want to try to talk about two specific instances, though, despite all I’ve just said about how the lack of specificity actually creates such powerful representation, because they mattered to me so very much and they feel very topical at this moment. First, the creepy dude who hits on Noah and Howie because they’re Asian, and second, the fact of Will’s mixed heritage. How do these things relate to the plot? Oh, well, they don’t. At all. You can take out Cooper’s line about Will’s mother and you can replace the creepy dude with literally anyone else and nothing about the story is different. But it would lose something significant to me. Losing those would be losing parts of the world that make it so viscerally real and recognizable to me; the representation wouldn’t feel so painfully, beautifully poignant to me without them.

So, let’s talk creepy dude. The fucking anime tattoos. That’s what Noah points out. And, no, that’s not some hard and fast rule saying “oh, this person loves orientalism” but it is something we Notice. And Consider. And it’s perfectly portrayed as to why. This guy is not outright racist in the most formal sense. Not a slur in sight. No spitting or violence. Just the most deeply uncomfortable microaggression known to man that tells us, immediately and unquestioningly, this person only wants to fetishize us. It’s the predatory nature of his approach, the way he zooms in on Noah and exudes the air of trapping him without even being directly in his space. It’s the way he played “so where are you really from” like a game with himself. It’s the combination of this with his four anime tattoos. This man doesn’t give a fuck who Noah or Howie are, he only wants An Asian. And this is distressingly common amongst Asian-Americans.

The conversation about the fetishization of Asian bodies normally focuses on female-presenting bodies. And while it’s true that female-presenting Asian people are more at risk due to the overlap of them being female-presenting and Asian and the way our society is structured against female-presenting people, Joel Kim Booster is making a hell of a point with this: racism is present in queer communities, and anti-Asian racism looks awfully similar no matter where you are. Queer, male-presenting Asians are fetishized the same way female-presenting Asians are and it is just as harmful. And just as subtle. This moment made my entire self simply become the embodiment of the word yikes. But maybe to someone who isn’t Asian, this moment looked innocuous. Maybe to every other person in that scene who wasn’t Asian, nothing weird or out of place was happening at all. And, in fact, if Noah wasn’t Asian, this wouldn’t have happened at all. A very recognizable Asian-American experience distilled down to a few seconds that served only to introduce our first interaction between Noah and Will, which could have gone any other way for the sake of the plot, but also couldn’t have for the sake of real life. Because Noah is Asian, because Joel Kim Booster is Asian. Because this is just How Things Happen to us. And if we’re fighting against the fetishization of female-presenting Asians, we have to fight against the fetishization of male-presenting Asians, too.

As for Will? His mixed heritage? That just laid me flat on my back.

It’s the fact that Cooper felt the need to point it out. As if to really nail home to Noah, “he’s more like us than he is like you.” When the entire point of the story is this very Us Versus Them mentality -- whether it pertains to class, or race, or any other form of social standing -- Cooper closing Will out of some perceived “Asian club” with Noah and Howie is essentially erasing the fact that he’s Asian at all. And that could mean that Will isn’t treated as Asian by these people; there’s a level of conformity that he must ascribe to in order to be accepted by them, one that upholds the White status quo, and if he steps out of line he loses them. Another form of racism interwoven with being a part of the queer community. Because connecting with other queer people is so wonderful and fulfilling and sometimes, maybe, you’re willing to overlook Certain Things in order to be amongst a group of your peers; no one wants to be doubly ostracized, but so many people are. It’s even thrown in Will’s face from the other side, too. When Noah tells him he’s just the token Asian for his friend group, a harsh reminder that he’s not like them, not really. That there are parts of his life and his lived experience that his friends will never understand. And the implication that Noah does understand. “You’re not better than me because you’re friends see you as White,” Noah seems to say, “you’re just being hurt in a different way.”

Being “white-passing” comes with its privileges and its pitfalls. And it’s not always about being white-passing in appearance, either. Conrad Ricamora is absolutely not white-passing to my eye. But he’s passed as white by his friends. By Cooper, who thinks that having a white mother gives the Us claim to him over the Them. And being passed as white, he must act that part. The beauty of the evolution of his relationship with Noah being that he no longer has to act. He can fully embrace his identity as a queer Asian man around other queer Asian men who share his experiences even more deeply than the other queer men he became close with. It’s not a part of his character arc that’s focused on, because the story isn’t about race or ethnicity, but to me, a “white-passing” mixed-race Asian, there was release at the end. A freedom. That breath you take at finally finding your place and being welcomed for the whole of who you are.

Erin’s kitchen. The little details of who Will was as a person bearing almost no resemblance to who I am as a person, and yet viscerally familiar.

None of this could’ve existed in this form if it was not helmed by a queer Asian-American. Someone who can simply weave his lived experiences into a movie that has literally nothing to do with them in any specificity, someone who can set us down in a world where we’re finally seeing through his eyes what it’s like to live his life. And I recognize that life. I also live that life. And I don’t have to dig down to find the parts of myself beneath all the layers I can’t relate to, I don’t have to pick a detail to latch on to. I get to have it all. I get to see Myself on a screen, represented in a way that I understand on just about every level. Chest-aching, heart-rending, utterly magical; almost three decades of this life and I get to have this. Finally.

#literally no one has to read this im serious #this got so fucking long #im having so many emotions about this movie #it just really effected me #so apparently i had to write a whole ass essay about it #THIS IS SO MANY WORDS YOU CAN SKIP PAST IT I PROMISE #NO PART OF ME WILL BE OFFENDED #i just had to write it all down #for myself #gaysian found family

[klowee]

It’s been a weird year. Following Clark’s passing, I set out to find a spinster space so I could live and be entirely on my own. I needed help with the old beagle, especially in his final years. I don’t regret any decisions I’ve made for my lil guy — but I haven’t been able to be truly on my very own until now.

Must have cashed in some good karma because now I have my dream space — exposed brick, a claw foot tub, a beautiful deck. It’s been a week and I have never felt so free — and I finally feel like myself again. I found my home.

Clark was the deepest loss I’ve ever known. He was my whole world; my whole heart. But with his passing, I’ve broken and opened up in all the right places. I feel so at peace today.

Let’s be honest, I’ve always been a late bloomer. I worked hard to get everything I have — a job I love (editor of a lifestyle publication), a family I’m very connected with, friends who add value and make me laugh (relationship building and maintainenance are key) and now a home that creates a safe space for me to explore, introspect and be.

Of course, I’m in love with a straight girl again. But even being able to have a favourite person — someone who inspires and motivates and drives me in a meaningful direction is something I’m grateful for.

It’s been a long time. This is no nappy dugout — it’s my first spinster home and so bathurst 2.0. I found my way again and I am so delighted. Also, I get rainbows every morning. I am a happy gaysian with a healing heart — feeling loved and ready to love again.

#personal #the gaysian #home #rainbows #lesbian #spinster #mine

[gapimnydiaries]

Diary Entry #32: An Ocean of Healing

Dear Diary,

I recently found myself at the Asian American Writers' Workshop, a community space I adore. I'm usually there on a weekday night for a talk or film screening, but this time it was a Sunday afternoon. The elevator doors closing behind me, I walked in and noticed a new configuration of the space: in the center where there would be rows of chairs, there was a large rectangular table with chairs evenly spaced around. The lights were dim. Crayons, coloring books, little stuffed animals, and essential oils inhabited the table top. I sat down, took a deep breath. I wondered what the next two hours would be like.

I used to think that my experiences were unique to me. As a kid, I didn't understand why my parents would fight when I didn't see my friends' families fight. Could I be the only kid in school who didn't want to invite my friends over in fear that my dad would explode at my mom? I understood vaguely that there were other troubled families in this world, but where were the kids from those families? Did they exist, or could I not find them?

School, violin, video games, books, anime—those were my routine as a kid to pass time even when my soul was unsettled. I would get repeatedly hurt—the emotional kind of hurt that lasts far longer than the physical—and each time I would end up in my room, trying my best to ignore the disturbances and do my homework. It was hard to sleep sometimes.

Toward the end of my first year in college, I fell ill after a traumatic family episode. I decided to see a therapist for the first time. I was relieved to finally be able to pour out my story, and my immediate self felt better, but I knew that such relief would be temporary.

New York 2015-2016: I made new friends with other queer and trans Asians. GAPIMNY, the queer and trans Asian Pacific Islander organization that started these Gaysian Diaries, took me in at a time when I was lost.

New York 2016-2017: I would lean more into GAPIMNY's arms and into the arms of the wider QTAPI NYC community. As I became closer to GAPIMNY folks, I would hear life stories similar to mine. Each time I heard an experience that reminded me of my own, I would make a mental note, but there were so many. I saw parts of my life in many of the lived experiences of my queer and trans Asian friends, acquaintances, and people I’ve dated. They were the people who I thought as a kid were nowhere to be found.

New York 2017-2019: I've been piecing together a personal understanding of trauma, especially trauma in the Asian American community. I believe that trauma is rarely a singular event nor does it occur in a vacuum. I discovered that a lot of traumas in the Asian American community stem from common themes and shared experiences: displacement, war, being refugees, chasing the "American dream," language barriers, societal upheaval, capitalism, imperialism, colonialism, racism, loneliness. When I found out that my friend’s organization, API&, was hosting a three-part "Healing Across Generations" workshop on intergenerational trauma, I signed up. The workshops would be held at the Asian American Writers’ Workshop.

I was sitting on the couches where the speakers at the Asian American Writers' Workshop would normally sit, listening as members of my small group shared their family traumas and stories. My small group discussed how common themes around domestic violence reverberate across generations and how similar types of traumas manifest themselves across different families. Though I have shared my traumas with therapists, friends, and family members before, sharing them with this group felt more healing: I was among folks who understood the gaps of silence between my sentences and who shared my desire to heal in a community of kinship.

I would say I’m a dreamer. I dream of a world where, when each of us are ready, we can share our stories honestly with each other. I dream of a world where people don’t have to feel lonely. I dream of a world of plentitude. I hope that by sharing my story honestly, I give others space to share theirs, too.

Binh Hoang

About API&: We are a small group of queer Asian Pacific Islander (API) folk who came together in 2015 with an objective to center API identity(s) through community building and healing. Our community spaces build bridges across the different API heritages, reflect on internal conflicts and issues that have taken root in our communities, and uplift care culture as a powerful act of resistance.

About GAPIMNY: Founded in 1990, GAPIMNY is an all-volunteer, membership-based community organization with the mission to empower queer and trans Asian Pacific Islanders* to create positive change. We provide a range of political, social, educational, and cultural programming and work in coalition with other community organizations to educate and promote dialogue on issues of race, sexuality, gender, and health.

#gapimny #gaysiandiaries #aaww #gaysian #gay asian #lgbt #lgbtq #queer

[ro-mantik]

[Chapter 58] Pride and Parentage

For me, Pride month is a personal reminder to live my truth. It can be a joyous time, for this moment of affirming our collective existence is empowering and uplifting.

But the truth can come into conflict with expectations, with fear, with guilt, with shame. For years, I had hidden this part of myself, becoming an expert in concocting lies to hide secrets, masking truth through omission, and, at its core, living a double life.

I've been fortunate to find friends and multiple communities in which I discovered a space for mutual support, inspiring me to come out and live my truth among my peers and select family members. I have many people to thank. The wonderful friends who I first came out to at 19 years old. The surrogate mentors who took me under their wing as a naive young gay man on the scene in DC. This amazing group of gaysian writers et. al that I found on this platform, eventually forming @gaysianthirdspace and leading to some of my most cherished relationships. 

But a vital part of me was always left in the shadows.

Anyone who knows me will attest to how deeply I have been influenced, and continue to be influenced, by my parents. My mom and my dad, the strongest and most hardworking people I have ever known, are models of fortitude in my life. Overcoming adversity, building lives out of nothing -- they turned a love for a family into alchemy for a brighter future.

But they aren't perfect people. They harbor ideas and concepts, steeped in patriarchal norms and cultural maxims from the old country. They can be so steadfast in their ways of thinking and their perceptions of people that it suffocates the life around them, including their own. And so, I've been afraid to live my truth in front of them... fearful of losing their approval. Fearful of losing their love and having it dissipate into the stale air of possible estrangement between us. 

I hid. And I became so very good at hiding, knowing exactly what parts of my life to obscure, knowing the exact touch I needed to make a lie believable. It had become a skill of mine, to be frank, but I was so very tired. I am so very tired. Exhausted by always needing to look over my shoulder, to choose my words so carefully, so deliberately. Exhausted of lying, telling crazy stories (oh, all the stories that I could tell, dear reader) upon which I built and built a mere fiction of a relationship until it all threatened to topple over. I was losing myself. My truth. It was the right time for me. 

It is the right time for me.

So, I came out to my parents. And it is the first time I have come out to my parents, but likely not the last. It's a process, they say.

And, I say, though I don't know what the future holds and there exist no promises for an idealistic next chapter, living in the truth somehow feels better already.

#chapters #happy pride everyone #coming out #gay pride #gaysian

[huntypastellance]

In a crossover wanksplosion between the Overwatch fandom & the Voltron fandom, a Lancestan & Klanti by the name of Lynn, allegedly embezzled $1400 of the charity funds, meant to go to a charity for the LGBTQ+ in Japan (http://stonewalljapan.org/) & the homeless LGBTQ+ youth (https://truecolorsfund.org/) to buy Voltron stuff for an itabag along with personal expenses (this last one is unconfirmed & based solely on hearsay, the itabag is not). http://archive.is/ULpPY

She also kind of acted like a flake when artists asked about whether or not they could join the zine (gave them a “yes” & merch design ideas & then ghosted on them completely before turning them down).

The main details can be found on the mchanzone receipt blog. https://mchanzonereceipts.tumblr.com/ + http://archive.is/9Q2wb

Okay, so let’s go with the very first question: What does this have to do with the Voltron fandom?

> The person, Lynn, involved is a klanti in the VLD fandom & a lancestan who is AAAAAALL about treating Asian culture with “respect” & protecting the Gaysians.  ಠ_ಠ > She spent the $1400 on what appears to be many MANY different charms (for the Lance ones alone, we counted over FIFTY), mostly Voltron stuff as their McHanzo one seems to be finished.

Post is now deleted.

https://web.archive.org/web/20171117090546/http://latinxlance.tumblr.com/lanceitabag

Timeline: Blizzcon 2017 was from November 3-4.

We could not find a picture of the Lance itabag, by the way. Just the resource page of the charms she bought to make it.

Keep in mind, all of these were from different artists & at different times, so almost each charm had it’s own separate shipping fee. It’s not that hard to rack up a ton of expenses, especially if you’re trying to make something as big of a money sink as an itabag.

What the fuck is an itabag?

>Part of cringe culture (otaku if you’re in Japan, weaboo in the West), it’s a bag or purse that is absolutely plastered with badges, pins, plushes, keychains & merch of a single character. They’re usually very expensive to make & are essentially a display case that you can wear. Lynn, was making not just one, but TWO itabags.

So they stole charity money to buy VLD fanmerch? What then?

>The lovely LOVELY anti community immediately jumped to spreading rumors without a single one of them bothering to fact check. >They turned the focus away from the charity theft & raged about how Lynn was just a minor (She’s not). How Lynn was tormented by the McReyes, the “gross pedo” shippers, who infested the zine (they weren’t allowed in). And how Lynn’s mother pressured her to use the money to help out her family (what even). >And of course, they got even MORE upset that people dared to point out how wrong they were & that they were spreading misinformation! >They also acted like putting a person in charge of $800 (yes, they couldn’t even get the numbers correct), was something that would NEVER happen in real life & that it was all the other mods fault for trusting Lynn.

http://archive.is/YWQbV + http://archive.is/lRrRa

^They couldn’t even be half-assed to read the call-out posts! They’re complaining about stuff that isn’t even there. Both antis claimed that it was something that they were “told” by others, so it’s pretty alarming how quickly the anti community as a whole will twist something as awful as STEALING FROM A CHARITY for their own “shippers are gross” agenda.

Plus, you are not ALLOWED to have a paypal before you turn 18. This is basic common sense that is in the official paypal site.

https://www.paypal-community.com/t5/About-Products-Archive/Age-requirement-for-individual-accounts/td-p/615057

>Lynn has so many social media accounts, it’s not like it’s impossible to find out her age or something. (Her twitter accounts appear to be locked. General consensus is that her age is 21-22, as her listography says 21 but her Instagram, which hasn’t been updated in 2 years, says 20). >She’s been deleting her accounts, including her blog latinxlance, & even her posts, with screenshots of her paypal account to defend herself, as quickly as she can. (Compare & contrast these archived links, taken at different dates: http://archive.is/http://mchanzo.tumblr.com/) >You can still find her posts if you google her account names, though. Since they’re locked, the links won’t actually show you her accounts/tweets/posts, but you’ll still see a preview of what she said just by searching.

>Honestly, it makes her posts (https://web.archive.org/web/20171117090805/http://latinxlance.tumblr.com/search/asian) even more ironic & two-faced. (Since her deleting her defense posts is practically her admitting her guilt without actually admitting her guilt.)

Conclusion?

>It doesn’t matter if you steal from the homeless gays, it’s the OTHER people’s fault for trusting you, putting you in charge & making you UNCOMFY by letting in nonexistant shippers. Also 22 is now the new 17. You’re not an adult until you’re 25. Fact checking is for those creepy stalker shippers.

>It’s more important for antis to defend one of their own than to call them out when they’ve fucked up. The gun threats against Bex & this mess have just cemented that fact for Us.

#vld discourse #k1ance #lance (vld) #pro-shaladin #anti-shaladin #lpln #deflect deflect deflect #that's all they know how to do

[gaysianthirdspace]

Follower Friday: aye-arjayyy

Follower Fridays is a series of profiles highlighting members of Gaysian Third Space to showcase the diversity of gaysians in the Community. This week’s featured member is @aye-arjayyy.

Who are you?

Hey! My names Arjay. A 20 year old full time college student living day by day as an average Filipino-American homosexual here in the Bay Area. My experience growing up a homosexual, I felt pretty prideful of the person I am. I was fortunate to have family and friends that accept and love me. My father had denied my homosexuality but he grew to accept and love me for who I am. For my LGBT family that are shunned for being queer, do not for a second think there is anything wrong with you. We were birthed to live the lives we felt were right. There’s nothing wrong with the way we are, and the people who truly love us are the people we need to focus on. There’s no sense in trying to please everyone, you have to strive for yourself and nobody else.

Where are you from?

I was born and raised in Daly City, the foggiest city in the bay area because of all the rice cookers 🍚. I now reside in sunny Vallejo with my family pursing my education in hopes of achieving my career as a registered nurse.

What do you do?

I’m a full time student at Napa Valley College majoring in Registered Nursing. If I’m not spending time agonizing over the load of homework I have, I spend my time with my family and friends that are close to me. Though on occasion I’d prefer to be alone whether it be soul searching to suffice my wanderlust or cozying up to some Lana Del Rey.

What are you passionate about?

Growing up, i discovered the world of performing arts. I found myself joining my high schools dance class despite my introverted personality, but I’m glad I took that chance. I went on to perform in the dance show of two high schools as I had transferred in my junior year. Dance was an outlet for my emotions in my teen years and going into my twenties it still is. My movements are an extension of my emotions, to dance on the floor that is my canvas, I paint with my body my inner self.

What is your dream job (real or fantasy)?

Real job: My sister had inspired me to take up registered nursing. I want my career to directly help the people around me, healthcare is the ultimate customer service. I’d wanna be the help my father couldn’t get. Fantasy job: time traveler! (You could honestly save millions of lives and unearth the many mysteries of this earth.)

If you could change the world with one idea, what would it be?

Instead of fighting with guns and weapons, we should fight by dancing 😂. It’s a crazy and funny idea but honestly if we were all to engage dance battles instead of wars it would just be like one giant ass party we’d probably forget what we were even fighting about. Overall, dancing, like comedy, is just one of many ways we could resolve our conflicts.

#gaysianthirdspace #followerfriday #gaysian

[ackwok]

Reflections Five Years On

A few months ago, I took my first trip back to Seattle in five years. As much as it was a great opportunity to catch up with friends I made at Seattle U and see how much Seattle has changed, it was a chance for me to come face to face with what happened five years ago, and how it changed my life. For those of you that don't know, I was suspended, then dismissed from Seattle U for low academic performance. My GPA at the time was 2.17 Yes, 2.17. It was a long time coming - I reached many points during those four years where I was only passing one class, of every four classes I took. I was depressed and had low energy. At times I didn't feel like I wanted to get out of the room or out of the house, where I didn’t feel like doing anything, where what I did wouldn’t matter. To stay up late a majority of the time, try to write that essay, to put it aside at the end of the night, to fail to pull my grades up, and dread/ eventually not even want to look at my transcript. It hurt. Then to go back home during break, to experience the same shouting matches with my parents about what was going on at school, feeling like I was again being compared to others in my family, wondering whether it would be better for me to drop out, feeling almost useless... Feeling left out, because of my GPA, and at the same time, not knowing how to reverse the cycle - as much as I wanted to do better - was tough. Feeling like I had to hide part of what was going on from family and friends, was heartbreaking. But that isn't the full picture. Those of you that know me, know that my feelings for Seattle U are even more complex. As much as being dismissed was, and is still a cause of great pain for me. As much as I still live with the doubt of "Can I see this through?" "Am I really going to succeed?" "Am I really qualified?" going to Seattle U was life-changing for me.     Seattle U gave me the space to explore & find myself. I was baptized and confirmed at Seattle U, finally coming to know a community that I could put my whole self in, without having to worry about whether I prayed enough, or, dare I say it, singing with a low voice. I got to know some amazing people at SU - friends that I still talk to today and mentors that guided me in how to dream big & think about myself. Living in a community where social justice - community, simple living, service, spirituality, and solidarity - is such a big part of life. Going to a university where I found others deeply invested in social justice and wanting to do something, where all our identities meet, was inspiring, day in and day out! Being in the Student Alumni Ambassadors & on the Integrity Board helped shaped who I am today, despite how I might have left either of them. Being involved with Camp Min, finding friends there that I could surround myself with even amid the troubles that were going on academically, meant a lot to me. Taking GAP classes and going to Costa Rica, albeit on a summer immersion program, helped me to see another level of respect in the more global society that we live in nowadays. When I think back on what prepared me the most for taking the classes to transfer and complete my BA, it was Seattle U. The amount of reading and critical thinking I was pushed to do, the level of integrity and trust professors placed in us, taking advantage of office hours. All of this made completing my degree seem like a cakewalk - though it was far from it. Yet for all this, despite the pain, struggle, and tears that came with it, I feel truly blessed. Thinking back on things that I did those five years ago, one more thing stands out to me - the Agape Retreat that I went to my last year at SU. This was the retreat that encouraged me to start coming out & find a way to embrace all of who I am. Since then, I've come out to a number of friends indirectly, built community where I'm at (not as easy, given that the Gaysian community in the bay area is centered mostly around who goes clubbing every month!), and begun to explore what it means to actively live out the intersection of my various identities. So for those of you who have supported me when I was going to SU - even if you may not think we're that close - thanks for your friendship, support, & care. For those that I got to know while taking classes at Ohlone or SF State, thanks for your friendship and helping me to get through all those classes. For those of you who I met via Downelink, GNet, Grindr, Project 4Play, Chai Chats, QACon, APIENC, NQAPIA, or at some random G3S event, thanks for being there and embracing me for who I am. Thanks for supporting me and continuing to show me what love truly means. A week ago I attended my first NQAPIA - National Queer Asian Pacific Islander Alliance - Conference, here in San Francisco. For those of you who don't know, it's a conference for LGBTQ API folx that's held every three years. In short, it was more than I could have ever hoped for. Seeing people that I could identify with - not only those who are also LGBTQ API; but that also know the pain of being deeply hurt by family, religion, & racism, that are also open, caring, and self-aware that we're all sorting out things that most people in today's society would be afraid, even on the defensive, to admit was mind-blowing. The hesitation I had felt, with being in the space when many who attended actively work or volunteer with organizations NQAPIA represents, was replaced by laughter, joy, tears for those at the conference who were hurt and those who have been hurt by others, passion, a sense of empowerment, community, and pride. 

I learned a lot from having gone to NQAPIA - and it’s been an environment that has given me back as much as I have put in, that has constantly refreshed me over and over again - a fountain of grace, that overflows over and over again, at the intersection of who God has made me to be.

#reflections #life #SeattleU #lgbtq #asian american

[rcultado]

A Letter From A Boy Who Wears Makeup

The year was 2011, and I was a college freshman trapped within the dazzling Kpop rabbit hole, venerating boys with chiseled bodies and painted faces. It was a dark era of deliberately smudged eyeliner and pasty BB cream at least 2 shades lighter than my skin tone.

I have an erratic relationship with makeup. I probably clocked in a hundred of hours reading makeup product reviews and watching Youtube tutorials but I could go on for days with no makeup. In college, my peers had lucky ball pens or handkerchiefs they’d bring along to exams; I had smoky eyes and false eyelashes. It was a sort of ritual, a sort of workout to clear my mind on high-pressure days, and something I genuinely enjoy doing. As a bonus, I get the pleasure of destabilizing my already panicky classmates who would peer at me over their reviewers as I apply a fresh coat of mascara. Damn, he found the time to beat up his face despite all the readings we had to go through, I imagine them thinking. Little did they know my contoured face was a waving white flag that says if I’m going to be a mess, I might as well be a hot mess.

Overtime, I was able to fine-tune the makeup look that suit my style and products that actually matched my skin. I usually go for a bronzed, glowy base with lots of lashes and nude lips. Imagine if Kylie Jenner was a brown gangly gaysian kid, that would be me, ideally. Of course it wasn’t all glitter and good things all the way. As supportive and loving my parents were, they had a hard time at first letting me out the house with a made-up face, no matter how blended and virtually invisible it may be. It was confusing and weird for me because I was allowed to have a boyfriend but having a moist mouth and a few more eyelashes was “taking it too far”? I didn’t get it.

Being a boy in makeup in this day and age seems fun. The gender binary is constantly being challenged and everyday we find new ways of understanding the human identity. In social media, there is a multitude of boys serving inventive beauty looks, their pages peppered with “yaaass” and “slay” comments from their followers. In a feature by Marie Claire magazine last May, they zoomed in on these “Beauty Boys of Instagram” and how they were able to give beauty tips, inspire boys and girls alike to have fun with makeup, all while establishing a brand for themselves. Collaborations between these male makeup enthusiasts and cosmetics company has proved to be more than a trend as it turned out to be an amazing channel for them to get their products road-tested and swatched on real people.

Last July, American brand Anastasia Beverly Hills released an advertisement for their Moonchild Glow Kit featuring men wearing their iconic highlighters. It was met with enthusiasm and a lot of fire and glitter emojis. The message was clear: there are boys who wear makeup and they look bomb with it. It was a powerful promotion which really moved me because it not only included men, but men of color. I felt like we were moving in the right direction.

For so long I was happy inside this bubble of positivity and love, of actually feeling like I belong, that there are chemists in a lab somewhere in Wisconsin breaking their backs trying to mix a shade that went deeper and warmer than “light beige”. But the thing with bubbles is that they are very fragile. One moment you can be feeling your bronzed and baked face, confident and unapologetically self-aware, until some manong on the street jeers and point at your face (true story). Just like that the world rears its ugly head, and I realize what my parents wanted to protect me from.

The same harsh realization came when Cover Girl named James Charles as their first ever male ambassador, and the immediate backlash it received from female customers airing out their disappointment and anger, even talking about boycotting the brand altogether. It’s disheartening how these conservatives send hate under the guise of “family values”, “tradition”, and even misogyny. Having a boy’s face on a makeup ad does not taking anything away from women. On the contrary, it is an attempt to be inclusive, to tap into a whole group of people who for a long time felt ignored and put down.

In the end, whether or not I decide to pummel my face with a beauty blender is my choice and mine alone. It’s a personal decision that does not concern other people, unless I’m on top of you stabbing your homophobic face with a mascara wand which, despite our current vigilante justice system, I’m not. Not yet at least. We have transitioned into an era where more and more people are coming into themselves and taking control of their own bodies. More than liquid highlighters and dewy finish setting sprays, I live for the right kind of provocation, for raising the right kind of hell, and for wrestling to get our due, because beauty, like many other things, does not and should not belong to only one gender, race, or sexuality.

Originally published on lofficielmanila.com

#writing

[gapimnydiaries]

Diary Entry #21: White Gays are better Filmmakers: What I learned about inclusivity from being a Gaysian filmmaker

Dear Diary,

“The Less I know the Better” by Tame Impala was playing on Apple Music as a good friend consoled me. I was in a space no larger than a handicapped single-stalled restroom. There was just one tiny single bed, a small TV and what you’d call a closet (but wasn’t really). There weren’t any windows and the only source of light I had was a mood lamp I bought at Ace Hardware™ in a mall called Grand Indonesia in Jakarta. I remembered I was trying to play it cool when, in truth, I was crumbling on the inside.

Earlier in the day, I had a Skype call with television development executives from Los Angeles who initially hired us to write a “diverse and progressive” series. But after a series of drafts, we found out that, like most people in a place of privilege, they weren’t as woke as they thought they were. After whitewashing and slashing the storylines that explored the complexities of being a person of color in America, they wanted us to reduce the women characters to serve the interests of the straight, male protagonist. “It’s a post-racial Millennial world” they explained. To make matters worse, the entire call was filled with attempts to other-ize me, from asking what it’s like to live in a rural village in Singapore to pointing out that my iPhone text-tone -- “ding!” -- was some kind of Asian praying bell.

Afterwards, I really wanted to email them and write: this type of behavior is ignorant and unacceptable. But, considering that I really needed the job and I had a writing partner who told me to let it go because we didn’t want to be rude, I remained silent. The silence of course, was really painful because obviously, this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. In fact, it happens all the time. When people like me speak up about micro-aggressions or feeling left out, the people in power get angry and then I have to take care of their fragile feelings instead of validating my own. I’m always left feeling silenced, powerless and usually attacked for being “oversensitive.” The only thing I could do at the time was to call my friend and be temporarily consoled while listening to Tame Impala (Yes, I should’ve picked a better band for the occasion).

By this time, I had been alone in Indonesia (not Singapore) for 5 months. I was deep in pre-production on a short film called, Pria. During this time, I’d traveled across Java for months and interviewed countless gay Indonesians who either lived or had lived in rural areas. The film ended up being an amalgamation of their experiences told from their perspective, the perspective of the minority. So, within this context, the experience of that not-so-woke-ignorant phone call felt like such a step backwards, especially after being in Indonesia and realizing how ignorance of minority experiences can have such negative consequences. With these LA Execs, I met privileged people who wanted to promote and capitalize on the “global and diverse” world that “we live in right now,” but were so out of touch with the reality of what diversity really means that they ended up, perhaps unknowingly, becoming part of the problem.

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The author directs a scene on the set of Pria

Curious villagers watching the playback monitor during filming

The author and crew filming a scene in the morning

The author and producers stroll through the village “set”

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Out of all my intersectional identities, my “Asian-American-ness” has always been the hardest to fully embrace. I was born in Indonesia and moved to the US in elementary school. In Indonesia, I’m a minority because I don’t look Indonesian and I’m not Muslim. I’m mostly ethnically Chinese but none of my family members know any Chinese or anything about China. When I returned to Indonesia to do Pria, the locals there thought that I was from anywhere BUT Indonesia. When I came to the US for the first time, people were confused AF. They’d mock my accent and would always yell out “Ni Hau!” I’d try to correct them and tell them that I’m not Chinese, but that only confused the shit out of them. They would counter with the only two other Asian countries they’d heard of: Japan and Thailand (I mean really, if you wanna mock someone, get educated, people). There were definitely other FOB children at school, but most, if not all of them, were actually Chinese or Korean so they’d form their own communities out of their shared culture and language. Plus, the word FOB never felt like it applied to me; I came here on a plane, not a boat.

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(Far Right) The author with his siblings at a mall in 1996

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While I had such a confusing time trying to fit within the definition of Asian American, Gay was something that was always clear. That’s not to say that I didn’t have a hard time; like most queers, it was a process. But I always knew that I was gay and there was no question where I fit within that definition. So, when I started making “professional” short, queer films in 2011, I felt like I finally found a community that embraced me for me, for my work, and not the way I looked, or sounded, or how I presented myself. The LGBTQ film community has always supported me. Since I started, my shorts have been accepted to most LGBTQ film festivals domestically and internationally. But a troubling pattern began to emerge as I attended these festivals year after year. The majority of the films I saw were not diverse and mostly affirmed and celebrated the str8 white male ideal. There was always a lack of diversity, not only in the films, but also the filmmakers and organizers. I would always be one of the few (if not the only) minority filmmakers on the Q & A stage.

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The author attends a photocall at Frameline39: San Francisco LGBT Film Festival in 2015

The author at the Q&A for his short film, “Pipe Dream” at the Castro Theater, San Francisco (June 2015)

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This didn’t bother me at first, but after continually facing micro-aggressions at these LGBTQ festivals, in clubs, apps, and other Queer spaces, it started to really impact the way I saw myself and how I fit within the community. It already sucked enough having to deal with ignorant str8 people, but it’s much more hurtful when it comes from the community that you thought you were a part of. A community that promotes itself as being inclusive, a community that knows what invalidation feels like, and a community of film festivals run by, well, mostly people who identify as LGBTQ.

When I arrived at the centerpiece party for the 2017 Frameline: San Francisco LGBT Film Festival, the majority of the attendees were Gay White Men. I felt like I had just stumbled into an exclusive Mean Girls clique. It honestly felt like I was in a Gay club trying to scan for anyone with an interest in talking to an Asian. The way that everyone looked at me, just looking right through me, made me feel like I didn’t exist. When I told them about my short film from Indonesia, I was met with all sorts of assumptions. One sleazy, white producer from New York (who was trying to fuck an Australian actor all night) told me, “I’ve always wanted to go to Indonesia, it’s so exotic!” He then patted me on the back, “It must be so tough for the ladyboys there.” I guess even in a creative, inclusive, “safe” space like a Queer festival party, it’s as hierarchical as it would be in any other social Gay space, with whites taking the top spot. I wanted to think that this was an isolated incident because I’d been to this same exact party twice before and had a fantastic time. But, I slowly remembered, those other two times, I went with my white friends. There were, in fact, other incidents that occurred throughout the week including (but not limited to): being mistaken for another Asian on 3 different occasions and being grabbed in the ass by someone as I was leaving my Q & A (the latter could just be straight up sexual harassment and has nothing to do with race… but, in my experience, just looking like an “Asian Twink” in a Gay space usually gives other men the permission to violate our bodies...plus the Australians and Norwegian there didn’t get their asses grabbed).

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The author attends a photocall for the shorts program, “Worldly Affairs” at Frameline41: San Francisco LGBT Film Festival

The author during the Q&A session for “Pria” at the Castro Theater, San Francisco (June 2017)

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Of course, how can these white people understand wtf is going on with us “ethnic folk” if most of the films in these programs just affirm their str8-white privileged personhood ideal? There’s already a lack of Gaysians in the mainstream media and when we are ~lucky~ enough to make it on screen, we are only reduced to exotic stereotypical objects of desire or sexless, unattractive background players. If these are the only images shoved down everyone’s throat, it’s no wonder we’re always considered an Other…

Because these LGBTQ film festivals promote themselves as an inclusive safe space, this time, I decided to speak up. Surely, they would somehow understand. These organizers would know what it's like to grow up and not see (LGBTQ) characters like themselves on screen, or at least ones who weren’t child molesters, rapists, villains, creepy psychopathic old men or “sissies” serving as the butt of the joke that reduces their personhood to a minstrel show. They would understand what it would feel like to be erased, othered and/or misrepresented.

I sent out a mass email, Bcc-ing every LGBTQ festival that I’d been accepted to this year (and ones I was rejected from). In the email, I detailed how, when attending these Western festivals, I was always seen and treated as “other” because of my race. I told them how much their programming affects how LGBTQ POC are seen and treated within the general community. I tried to explain that by not including films like Pria, films from the other half of the world, in their LGBTQ Film Festivals, they are effectively erasing our stories and shutting us out. If there are minority films, we’re almost always grouped by race or by issue (why do white people only like us when we’re a cause to fight for? Even then, they want us to be a cause with hope). Are we not good enough to be part of the regular gay white programming? In times like these, programmers, the gatekeepers and privileged people in power have the responsibility to really examine what diversity means to them. Honest and complex representations of minorities are important (as well as minorities behind the scenes). This also means being strategic in programming these types of films. Not only do they determine how other people in the majority see and treat us, but they also shape the way we think and feel about ourselves.

The responses to the email were varied. “Seriously. Well-put,” said one LGBTQ festival. The rest refused to consider my point of view and instead resorted to belittling me and accusing me of being bitter for not having gained a spot in their program (like, honey, please. I sent the email to festivals that I DID get into too). But, to be honest, I am fucking bitter. These invalidating responses automatically reminded me of what happened in Indonesia a year before: that Skype call with the executives, and the many other times where I was either whitesplained and/or mansplained.

So yes. I’m absolutely bitter and I’m fucking angry.

How can I not be when I see these LGBTQ programmers complain about Donald Trump or say that they’re promoting diversity when their actions (or inaction) speak otherwise? Diversity isn’t just literally black and white, it’s something more complex; it occupies the gray area in the middle. Many people seem to think that just because you put a handful of Black people on screen (there are OTHER races too, you know?) and showcase minority “issue” films (on Gay refugees, Gays in the Middle-East, etc.), they can solve racism and inequality.

In truth, however, the work is far from being done. It doesn’t matter how many POCs are on screen if we are only reduced to stereotypes or, in the opposite case, neutered to the point where our complex experiences are distilled to white-people-cause-of-the-moment or worse, erased altogether. I just want to see my goddamn experiences represented accurately and truthfully.

I know that the work is hard. We have to dismantle a system of oppression that has been in place for hundreds of years that’s still an ongoing problem not just within the LGBTQ community but society at large. But, still, I expected better from our own community. How can a community that is fighting for equality perpetuate a system that promotes the invalidation of members within their own community?

It’s a system that allows for my bosses in LA to ignorantly make insensitive comments about my race via Skype.

It’s a system that enables a white, friend-of-a-friend at a Thanksgiving party to confidently assume, because of where I met the host, my appearance, and my non-English name, that it was my first Thanksgiving.

It’s a system that excuses gays when they put “No Asians” on their Grindr profiles and justify it as just “preference.”

It’s a system that allows an African American drag queen in New York to call me up on stage and mock my race and question my Americanness, while excusing such behavior as jest.

It’s a system where, when I was 17, a white, visiting professor took me to his home and raped me, assuming that I wanted it because I’m a “submissive Asian Bottom” who should’ve “relaxed more so that it would’ve felt better.”

It’s a system where, if I do speak up against the people in power who are supposedly on my side, I’d be dismissed and made to feel that I was the problem, that I was the one who was being overly sensitive and needed to check my feelings.

But, the thing is, I’ve been checking my feelings. I’ve been checking my damn feelings every day of my life. And you know what? I’m tired. I’m tired of them saying, “I can’t be racist or ignorant, I have black friends...” or “You obviously haven’t seen our program, we have an eye for colored people!” or whatever dumb-fuck excuse they use to deflect from the actual problem and validate their inaction/behavior/ignorance. It’s time for them to check their own damn feelings and realize that for real change to happen, they need to shut the hell up and listen. I’m sure they’re all well-meaning, but in the end, good intentions won’t matter much when the results are tone-deaf and continue to facilitate segregation and inequality.

I think that as we gain more acceptance within the mainstream, those who are now in a place of privilege tend to forget what it felt like to be in the minority. They forget those in the past who helped fight for our rights, they forget other members of their own communities who are still suffering, they forget what it felt like to be degraded for who they truly are, they forget what the real MO of the LGBTQ community is: Equality. There isn’t just one answer that will fix this Racism problem. The work needs to be highly personal and it starts with examining our own selves. It starts with listening to other members of the community without preconceived judgments and really examining the whys and hows of this system (of privilege) operating within our own lives. And look, I really get it. It’s hard to ask yourself why you’re not attracted to Asians, or why you’re still repulsed by femininity, or why this minority still feels left out when you went out of your way to create a safe space for them. We all want to believe that we’re fighting and living for the right things. And I think it’s now time to stop believing and start doing the real work.

As the Tame Impala song came to a close, I stared intently at my Ace Hardware™ Lamp. It was my only source of (literal and somewhat figurative) light, so after being in this dark room holding in my feelings, the warm glow of the light was oddly comforting. I started sobbing and my friend said, “Don’t worry they’re just hypocritical wannabe-liberal white execs… What else can you do?”

“But..,” I responded. “One of them is black.”

With much love, forever and always, Yudho Vanderhof Aditya

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Yudho is a recipient of the 2016 Director’s Guild of America Best Asian American Student Director Award. He’s working on a feature film about gaysian Americans, if you’d like to share your experiences with him (which he will repay via coffee or tea at most NYC cafés), contact him: 📧: [email protected] IG: youdough

#gay #gaysian #gay asian #racism #diversity #queer #gaysiandiaries #gapimny