TABLE OF CONTENTS: BUT I DO [WANT TO] - MAGGIE K DEAR TINY ME - CHASE B THE RISE AND FALL OF THE BLACK GIRL - JAE N UNTITLED - SHERRILL H YOU SOUND WHITE - SAMAH A DO NOT CONSUME US - WORKSHOP PARTICIPANT DEAR CHEST - FOSTER N NO MORE WHITE FEMINISM - TERYN Y CONGRATULATIONS - BRIAR MISANDRY - WORKSHOP PARTICIPANT CAUGHT - PRAVEENA F MY FIRSTS - IVANKA R MY GRANDFATHER'S DRINKING GAME - JAE N
Dear Chest, I wish our union was less tense. I wish your curves were as loved as my angles, our protrusions exalted in unison. I wish that emulating me was covered by our insurance, that descending from my structured ridges meant flat, hard plains. I know you wish for those things too. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that puberty fucked you up. I’m sorry that your future could be bleak for free or fixed for seven grand. I’m sorry that the thighs are scared of needles, I’m sorry that you’re afraid. I wish that falling in love with you was easier, but I’m here for the long haul. I will embrace my static beauty and love you and my thighs and my voice and my hips as part of a geography that can change. Change is beautiful and important and natural, even when needles and hormones and scalpels are the ones writing love letters across this body we share. I wish you luck on this journey. In Solidarity, Collarbone
My Firsts ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The second we are born we begin to feel, to learn, to understand, to experience. From birth we begin to breathe in what the world has to offer; love, friendship, heartbreak, and pain. Our entrance into this world is both a first and last experience, but our life is full of firsts that shape us into who we become. The first memory I have is of my Aunt’s wedding in Oahu. I remember the cool night in August, on which my aunt wore ivory white, entering the church a young woman who fell in love, leaving as a woman who was bound by marriage. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// My first memory of freedom is running in my grandmother’s yard in Indonesia. I felt the scorching sun beating down on my face and black bob but the feeling of light independence kept me going. I was care free and wild. Little did I know that I went to Indonesia because my mother went to confront my father because he had been having an affair for four years with a woman in Jakarta. Little did I know that my mother thought that my life would be better with a father figure who already considered me a burden from the day I was born. Little did I know that when he looked at me, he saw what kept him from being with his mistress. Regret. Betrayal. Heartbreak. What I saw as my first memory of freedom was probably my father’s memory of imprisonment due to the band around his finger. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// I was three when I first felt trapped. Often, I would be locked in the bathroom if I did not do what my father told me to do. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The first time I fell in love with soccer was when I was six. I was good at it and I was confident. I was six when I first was bullied. Girls who were black told me I couldn’t play with them because I was not like them. //////////////////// I was 8 years old when I decided to quit martial arts because I did not like sparring against boys. It was also the year I learned how babies were made. I was 9 years old when I first experienced racism. I was asked if I lived in a Chinese restaurant and if my family ate dog. /////////////////////////////////// I was 10 years old when a girl told me that I looked like Mulan. When I 10 was also the first time I had my first panic attack. My father was yelling at me at a soccer game and I felt hopeless and I couldn’t breathe.///////////////////////////////////// My first experience with lasting friendship was when I was 11. My friend Dominique was different from most girls, but we liked similar music and we both loved to watch Lost.
My first period was when I was 13. I didn’t feel any different, I just felt burdened. When I was 13 was when I first realized my father was abusive. I did not clean my room so he chased me upstairs and as I went to stand in front of the door from stopping him from coming in, he kicked the door into my head. This was my first time I didn’t want to be alive. This was my first time I realized my mother was weak. She didn’t report him because she said the police would take my brother away from her. ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// My first experience feeling alone was when I turned 14. I started a new high school and lived far away from everyone. I was quiet, shy and was anxious all the time. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// My first week of high school was rough. I went home crying because I was so overwhelmed, but by the end of the week I made friends that I am still just as close to.////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The first time I realized my womanhood was on my second week of high school, when a man sitting next to me on the subway kept trying to slide his hand up my leg. I switch trains but that was my first time I was afraid. ////////////////////////////////// My first experience feeling like a burden was when I was 15. It was my 15th birthday and my mom was driving me to my favorite restaurant. She said how she was going to volunteer at my brother’s school to be close to him but I told her that she should go back to school. She then told me that I am the reason why she can’t go back to school. She told me that she wished she aborted me because I ruined her life. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The first time I felt stuck was when I would commute to high school every day and the man behind me would kick the seat from underneath. When I turned around he would pretend to be sleeping. I told my grandfather and he said the just ignore it; however, for two months he would follow me on my commute into Manhattan. He would sit next to the person behind me. I was scared, I was nervous, I felt like I couldn’t say anything. I kept telling my relatives but they wouldn’t listen. They finally did when he tried to follow me all the way to school. The police got involved but I would still see him occasionally on my commute; he was a reminder for me that my relatives are not perfect and have trouble understanding that we cannot sit down and let people take advantage of us. //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The first time I wanted to kill myself was when I was 16. I felt alone and my parents and grandparents thought I just wanted attention. I wanted to leave earth. I wanted to leave my overbearing, delusional mother, and my verbally abusive, narcissistic father. When I went to a psychiatrist she said that my parents were rude because they were Asian. It took a year but when I was diagnosed with depression. It was the first time I realized something was wrong with me and I was right. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The first I felt loss was when I was 17. My mom’s best friend died of breast cancer and she was fighting to watch her daughter get older and go to college. It was two days after her daughter’s birthday that she passed away. /////////////////////////////////// The first time I felt empowered was when I was 17. I was making more friends and had a positive attitude. I entered high school a quiet, awkward freshman, and left a confident, awkward senior who was ready for college. Who was ready to make new friends but keep in contact with the old ones. It was the first time I felt like I knew what I was doing with my life. //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The first time I felt heartbroken was three days after I graduated from high school. I was just in Manhattan and I was sitting on the Long Island Railroad waiting for my train to depart. I kept texting my best friend who wasn’t responding; we were supposed to go to a Jack Johnson concert on Friday. I thought her phone wasn’t working but when I received an email from my high school that my best friend had died the night before of a heart attack. I felt trapped and alone on the train. I couldn’t escape and needed to get home. She was such a positive, caring person and she worked so hard (She was supposed to go to Cornell). It was the first time I was heartbroken, it was the first time I felt my world shatter.///////////////////////////////// The first time I took initiative was when I asked everyone possible to write letters about my best friend in order to make it into a book. I asked all her friends and teachers, and then I gave it to her parents and brothers. ///////////////////////////////////// The first time I felt important was when I arrived at Tulane. The energy here made me feel like I can make a difference. I joined everything and put myself out there. I felt unstoppable. //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The summer brought new obstacles. The summer was the first time I made a plan for how I wanted to die. It was the first time I felt so alone, so confused that I thought I knew the answer to my problems.
The summer also brought hope. When I went to visit my uncle and his husband I saw what love looked like. They both want what’s best for each other and I had never seen my uncle in love. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// The semester was the first time I realized what is important to me: myself. My first time standing up to my father; I told him he cannot make me feel like I am nothing but a burden anymore, a hole in his wallet. This was the first time I realized I need to work on the things I have trouble with: school, sleep, health. This is the first time I feel that I have a purpose. ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// Such as how we begin with a first, we also end with a last. This is the last time I feel worthless. I am not a burden. I mean something This is the last time I feel alone. I will feel this way but I realize I have a purpose and a goal to achieve. I have a life path that I must follow. This is the last time I feel afraid. As a woman, we are often trained to be afraid of world. I say “fuck you” to the patriarchy. I know that there are dangers, but I know that we have community and solidarity to keep us brace. This is the last time I feel hopeless. I know that I can do whatever I put my mind to. It’s beautiful. //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
My Grandfather’s Drinking Game take a shot every time a black man is. (two if it’s by a uniform). a sip for every blueeyed Jesus in that church you go to. 6pm, nightly, I chase down every white lie I swallowed. prison is legal slavery. GRANDFATHER... or it’s like sharecropping, which is like slavery. guilty until proven innocent, and even then. finish the glass if you’re guilty. fast, like a man, eyes watching white heaven. pour another. when the revolution comes, i’ll make your grandmother my Molly Pitcher. Molly CranberryVodkaTonic, Molly Scotch. praise real Jesus, that woman keep me alive. have you thanked a white person today? take a gulp for all the ones on that bookshelf, then ya just pick one. thank you white mark twain for allowing white tom to save that black man! ain’t that just amazing literature? ain’t it? ingenious use of grammar.