Kalei Issue 04 by ntukaleidoscope

A publication by NTU Kaleidoscope

Issue 04 / Mar 2022

from the editors Queer existence has always been, to me, inherently radical. When we’re still discussing the relevance of 377A in 2022, and single housing has become even more inaccessible, it’s hard not to wonder what queer liberation would look like for us. What needs to change before we can exist outside the narrative that queer existence is suffering? I’m a fan of letting go of old energy, of releasing those negative behavioural patterns your therapist pointed out to you. We discuss this in IV with 'Understanding the Stars', how astrology might just be our way into the liberated age, and what our lives actually look like without a filter over it in 'Society? As the Antagonist for a Queer Film? Groundbreaking'. But this kind of work can be harder than it seems as Sylfr shares in 'From David to Sisyphus'. Across four issues with a behind-the-scenes handover— hello!—our goal here at Kalei has stayed the same: to bring queer youths a safe space to share the thoughts that haunt their brains all while we fight to recreate that same safety in real life. This zine is an expression of love and of rebellion from us here at Kaleidoscope, whether we’re in the main comm, a writer or even just someone who pops in for our weekly gay dinners every now and then. Existing is a revolutionary act and by extension, so is reading IV. Love, Hui Ying (she/they)

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Kaleidoscope "Giving voice and visibility to the LGBTQ+ community by championing inclusivity, education and discussion ️ "

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EDITORS Hui Ying, Sin Ka Lam, Suhaani CONTRIBUTING WRITERS Hui Ying, Le En, Daemon, Srishti, Khairul, Sylfr DESIGNERS Wesley, Saki, Mun, Al

Article

Understandin1:1 Our Stars: AstrolOf:IY as a Tool I by Le En It's the same old story—you open your Tumblr page and come across another horoscope post. "The Signs When Falling in Love" tells you that you, as a Cancer, will fall in love in a pool of tears and melodrama. Because you were born between the ending whispers of June, and the loud, oppressive, sweltering July heat, you are forced to cry over everything; that, or they tell you that you're sensitive, a crab with innards too soft to function. Of course it's bullshit. You scroll without thinking. For the common person, astrology is a party trick without any substance or scientific basis backing it up. "I don't believe in horoscopes" is a thing that plenty of people have said to me time and time again. "It's just not real:' But astrology is more than just meaningless fluff and stereotypes, it provides insight into the individual's psyche. Understanding astrology as a tool rather than a simple craft can be quite empowering, especially in a time where people are looking to understand themselves. Astrology's current reputation does not offer much benefit to the individual person. More often than not, astrology tends to pit people against each other, depending on the signs' perceived faults (or lack thereof). Cancers are crybabies. Leos are divas. Geminis are two-faced. Capricorns are stick-in-the-muds. You name it. In actual fact, there are neither good nor bad signs; to believe otherwise means placing a "positive" or a "negative" score against you based on where the stars were at the time you were born. But humans are not scoreboards, we are constellations—inherently neutral. Which star burns in our constellation is determined at birth, but the way we shape them into a portrait—our portrait—is up to us.

Let's talk about the signs first. Why are some signs more hated than others? Why are some signs so coveted while others feel like a label? It all boils down to what we consider as productive, or unproductive. Let's take Cancer for example, this sign is notorious for crying and needing security. But why is that such a bad thing? Is it the way we perceive softness in the world, the way we find vulnerability to be weakness? In a world where a grim face and apathy are products of a fast-paced society based around productivity and economic growth, where does a sensitive heart contribute? Why is Sagittarius, a sign notorious for its inability to stay still and stick to one thing, considered to be unreliable? Is an adventurous spirit really a negative trait to have, or is it simply an act of rebellion in a world that demands conformity? There is a lot more to astrology that its mainstream variation does not show. Your sun sign, or the sign that you most likely identify yourself as, is not the sole sign that defines you. All the planets matter when it comes to the birth chart: the Moon, quiet and understanding, governs the inner self, the emotional self. Mercury, fast-paced and intellectual, governs the way you communicate and process information. Sweet Venus, filled with beauty, governs love and your relationships. In general, every planet identifies with something in your life. Understanding how your unique chart works helps to understand the psyche, the inner workings of the Self, and to understand how we might relate and respond to others. Someone with Venus in a water sign might present differently than someone with Venus in a fire, or earth sign.

Of course, what mainstream Astrology tends to overlook is the way the planets in our chart interact with each other as well. Aspects, such as Conjunctions, Oppositions, and Squares, may seem difficult to understand, especially to the trigonometrically-challenged like me. These aspects basically tell you how the energies of your planets work together. A Moon Conjunct Mars works very differently from a Moon Square Mars—the Conjunct reveals an easy blend of energy while the Square reveals a power struggle between the energies. Newcomers to Astrology may choose to ignore aspects, I definitely did. However, trying to read a chart without looking at its aspects is to read a story while ignoring the relationships between each and every character. Discerning where active effort is needed to balance out where you lack provides empowerment; it points the individual to where they require more self-care and nurturing in order to grow. By no means is any chart a bad one; a huge misconception that people tend to have about their own charts is that difficult aspects equate to negative, malevolent character traits. But everyone has difficult aspects, and even the 'easiest' aspects could bring difficulty to the individual. Lady Gaga, for example, had exactly eight Trines in her chart—which meant that a lot of her planets were able to work very well with each other. This aspect in particular is said to be an extremely favourable aspect. Lady Gaga's fame could be testament to her chart, but in actual fact, the singer's struggled very frequently throughout her lifetime; in fact, she has been very vocal about her difficulties with mental health.

A large misconception of astrology is that it's exclusively a predictive divination tool. Yes, some practitioners may choose to do so, and some have successfully predicted the way things may play out based on the energies in the celestial bodies on a given day or time period. However, for the everyday person, astrology has more use as a self-empowerment tool. There is more to astrology than compatibility between potential lovers, or a gauge on one's success in their life. Essentially, the sky has no boundaries, and it is our canvas to explore our egos, spirit and mind, and to tend to wounds left behind by generations and families, as well as our own life experiences. Instead of being swept up into the highly marketable notion of mainstream astrology, further reading and learning of this ancient craft can provide insight into how we function as human beings, and more often than not, we discover bits and pieces of ourselves that we may have forgotten or tried to deliberately cover up in order to survive and fit into the world. But we must remember it is incredibly easy to start identifying with patterns we find in ourselves, and in our charts. Remind yourself that the main goal of Astrology is not to fall back on these tendencies of ours, but rather, to understand our strengths and weaknesses, and transform ourselves into someone we can confidently love and embrace in entirety. No longer do we let these labels define us, the tool empowers us, and we empower ourselves. Besides, "I'm a Leo" doesn't say much, but "I'm courageous, expressive, and a dazzling star" says much more.

Article

Many familiar with they/them pronouns are likely also familiar with the argument about whether these pronouns are grammatically correct, and the history of such gender-neutral pronouns. They/them as a singular pronoun does have roots in the English language, tracing back to 1375—read more about the history of gender neutral pronouns here—but as the needs of its speakers change, so does the language. It’s not just English that is evolving to become more inclusive; we’re seeing changes in Spanish, Hebrew, and now even Chinese. There are three pronouns used in Mandarin Chinese: 他 is used in reference to men, or to a group of people; 她 is used in reference to women, or a group of women; and 它 is used in reference to animals, or inanimate objects. All three are pronounced (ha!) as tā, in a high, even tone. Before the 20th century, 他 was generally used to refer to a person regardless of their gender; the radical 人 in the character means “human”, so that’s who the pronoun was used in reference to. Other third-person pronouns were also used regardless of gender, but 他 remains the one most known to the modern Chinese speakers. By the 1920s, the pronoun 她 began to see widespread usage. Not all sources agree on why 她 entered into circulation. Western influence on Chinese culture may have encouraged the usage of gendered pronouns in order to differentiate the gender of the subject in question, or translators of English texts sought to translate the she/her pronouns into Chinese; alternately, in accordance with the Chinese women’s movement, female writers Bing Xin and Lu Yin popularised the use of the female pronoun in order to highlight female individuality. Though the pronoun faced some backlash— some believed that to differentiate the genders by using a human radical (人) and a female radical (女) in pronouns indicated that women were not humans—她 picked up quickly, and is the most recognisable female pronoun in Chinese today.

The addition of 她 into everyday vernacular introduced a new set of problems. Despite spoken Chinese being gender neutral, considering that there is no apparent differentiation between pronouns, written Chinese is ostensibly gendered, alienating subjects who wish to remain gender neutral. In response, three new pronouns have been suggested as gender neutral alternatives although each come with their own unique set of issues. One option is the romanised form of the pronoun, where TA is written instead of the specific Chinese character. Though there is no concrete evidence regarding the pronoun’s origin, it seems to be taking off in Mainland China, with both netizens and companies alike utilising it in situations where the subject’s gender remains unknown or irrelevant. Though this is likely the most well-known gender neutral pronoun—as well as the easiest to implement—it faces criticism for not actually being a Chinese pronoun. Its position as a romanised form of Chinese emphasises that gendered differentiation, and by extension the usage of gendered pronouns, is largely a Western concept, and therefore not inherent to the Chinese language. Another option is x也, where the radical is replaced with the English letter X to indicate a lack of gender, mirroring X gender markers on legal documents to emphasise one’s lack of a gender. It was coined by an intersex-focused online community called The Missing Gender 0.972 in 2015.

Finally, there’s 无也, written with the radical 无 which means “none, nothing”. This character was created by Zipeng Zhu, an art director based in New York, claiming it to be “the first non-binary they/them pronoun in Mandarin”, though this was released in June 2021. Likely due to Zhu’s international position, the post announcing the creation of the pronoun had a larger international reach than the previous two pronouns, which remain largely confined to mainland China and Hong Kong’s social discourse space. It was received fairly positively by international audiences, but faced criticism from many Chinese people (both local and international) for emphasising Western discourse surrounding gendered pronouns and therefore being disconnected from Chinese culture, and for overlooking The Missing Gender 0.972’s creation which had been released some 6 years ago. Which of these characters should be used? Apart from TA, none of the pronouns have seemed to enter mainstream usage. x也 and 无也 are not officially recognised Chinese characters and aren’t present on Chinese keyboards—if you couldn’t already tell from the mangled mashing of radicals together in this article—which means they’re inaccessible for majority of Chinese speakers. TA, at least, is composed of existing English letters, and while some users have expressed the inconvenience of having to switch between Chinese and English keyboards in order to type it, it’s the most easily-accessible pronoun of the three. But do we really need a new gender-neutral pronoun? The presence of gendered pronouns in Chinese are relatively new—about or a little under a hundred years at this point—and the language itself is not necessarily gendered. Unless specified, subjects are inherently gender neutral (for example, to indicate a waitress, one would say “the female waiter”), and pronouns, in spoken form, are not gendered. Though 她 exists as a translation of she/her, it is not uncommon or grammatically incorrect to use 他 for subjects across the board, regardless of their gender. 佢 (keoi5), a Cantonese pronoun, and 伊 (i1), a Shanghainese one, are also used across the Chinese diaspora, and are already used everyday by the Cantonese and Shanghainese in southeastern China and Hong Kong, and Shanghai respectively.

The desire to create and emphasise a gender neutral pronoun—while well-meaning—speaks to the reinforcing of the gender binary, which may be seen as a Western societal concept intruding on Chinese cultural spaces. The Western gender binary has had a great effect on cultural colonialism and there is an irony in the West introducing 她 to forcibly gender the Chinese language and then attempting to “fix” it by reintroducing gender neutral pronouns. Furthermore, introducing TA, x也, and 无也 to spaces outside of their origin (that is, outside of the Chinese-focused online spaces within which they are currently used) may then necessitate the conversation about the origin of these pronouns, creating the misconception that Chinese has always been a gendered language that requires rectification, which disregards its history and therefore its nuances. All this is not to say that TA, x也, and 无也 should not be used. When it comes down to personal pronouns, the first consideration is always how one feels about their own pronouns; whether it’s right for them, and whether it affirms their gender identity. Anyone should feel at liberty to implement TA, x也, or 无也 if they feel that it is the best pronoun for them. What is important when it comes to these pronouns is to remember that the Chinese language and culture do not adhere to the same customs as English, and that respect for its history and nuances is paramount. Chinese is not a language that needs to be “fixed” through the introduction and implementation of new gender neutral pronouns, nor is it a completely objective blank space upon which the Western gender binary can be encoded. The richness of the language and its history cannot be denied, no matter where you stand on the issue of these new pronouns.

Article

Micro Labels by Srishti The Alphabet Mafia or the Alphabet Soup. The Friends of Dorothy. The rainbow skittles and flag-obsessed community, who love glitter and frogs and cottage-core aesthetics. The LGBTQ+ community is referred to by many names. However, even people belonging to the community are not aware of all the labels hidden behind the “+” sign that is tacked on at the end. In the late 1980’s, the movement for rights became known as the LGBT community to honor different identities such as “bisexual” and “transgender”, instead of just “the gay community”. As time went on and more sexualities began to gain recognition, the acronym grew to better encompass the wide spectrum of experiences within the community. A commonly accepted form of the initialism is LGBT+, with the plus sign encompassing all other identities. But what falls under this plus sign can be confusing to those not in the know, especially as micro-labels begin to pop into the mainstream consciousness. So what are these labels? And what purpose do they serve? What is a micro label? Micro labels refer to identities that are more niche and specific, which better describe an individual’s gender expression and sexuality in the way that they understand themselves, which can be multiple, contradictory, unique to themselves and never put into words before. A micro label is an identity that falls under the umbrella of a larger identity. For example: pansexuality, omnnisexuality, polysexual, and fluid are usually categorised under the larger bisexual umbrella. These labels all have different origins, connotations and nuances. Pansexuality can mean attraction to people regardless of gender, while omnisexual means that a person’s gender is part of the attraction. The difference between these labels are subtle and may thus seem unimportant to many, but they matter to the individuals who don’t feel like they fit in the broader term of bisexuality. But how do they work? The simple and most straightforward answer is: these labels don’t have to have any quantifiable measure of success to “work”. Micro labels

are used by members of the LGBTQ+ community to validate their experiences with gender and sexuality and come to terms with the fact that they might not fit in with cisheteronormative societal ideals. As someone who has struggled with their sexual identity for years, finding a label that fit me perfectly, however niche it might be, finally made me comfortable in my own skin. And this is true for most people who identify as some form of queer or queer-adjacent identity. As said by a friend, “People expressing themselves and finding ways to identify themselves that the older generations didn’t have is the essence of any queer movement.” Micro labels allow people to express themselves in ways that they might have never thought possible when the umbrella term didn't fulfill that need for them. But having a micro label that fits you better does not invalidate the umbrella term. Micro labels: a sign of change for the better or worse? However, there are many who heavily dispute the use and continuance of micro labels within the LGBTQ

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Micro labels help understand whether o particular label suits u

community. This is because they feel that:

identities are not fully encompassed by the umbrella terms and would prefer a label that feels more natural for them. But they can also be equally harmful, because in narrowing our queerness into labels that are more and more niche, it can begin to feel like we are placing everyone into societally approved boxes yet again, even if it is not the societallymandated cisgender-heterosexual box. Knowing the pain of not fitting into the box that society has placed us into, why then should we continue to force our own people into boxes from which they have only just escaped?

(i) micro labels have become more popular over the course of the last two decades, and more people have come up with new labels that define themselves in niche ways. Neopronouns (eg. xe/xem) are one example of this. However, in recent years, when LGBTQ+ people have seen the most exposure in popular media and culture, the adoption of niche sexualities and neopronouns are seen by some to be highly problematic, as they erase the history of centuries of oppression when people come up with new identities. I feel that it is safe to say that micro labels are generally seen as The connotations of being called queer something to be encouraged, as it (a word that has been reclaimed to gives people a sense of kinship to mean “anyone who is not cisgender or realise that someone else feels the heterosexual” after being used as an same way that they do. It also allows insult for non conforming people)1 have many LGBTQ+ people to understand changed drastically, but there is a themselves and the community better, wealth of history behind the term. even if they don’t necessarily adopt a People have fought for the right to micro label. However, we should be reclaim the word as something that we mindful of how a multitude of micro now use in popular media and labels can make it even harder to literature.2 New labels now have an differentiate between the usefulness easier road to acceptance, and people of the label and whether it hinders the don’t understand the importance of point we are trying to get across— the labels they are now carrying. which is, of course, equality for all. (ii) there has also been debate over the fact that some people are now using micro labels to label themselves part of the LGBTQ+ community. In a way, it almost seems to be a fad to be queer today. In itself, this is not a bad thing. With all of these resources available to us at the click of a button, it is natural for younger generations to want to experiment with identities to find out what suits them best.

us to introspect, to or not we feel that this us or not.

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However, some worry it could become a "trend" to pick and choose a new gender or sexual identity3 every few months. Those who are young and are still exploring their sexualities can be influenced by social media and the rise of queer culture, which has prompted a surge in the use of micro labels and niche (often obscure) identities. There are multiple accounts on Tiktok that make thousands of videos on new micro labels such as sapiosexual, lithosexual, abrosexual and so on.

People find solidarity and satisfaction in identifying with labels that encompass what they feel about their gender or sexuality. Micro labels help us to introspect, to understand the way we define ourselves. They help us find community and people who feel the same way we do, and help us put into words certain feelings that we may think make us “broken” or “weird”. They help us start conversations about certain aspects of our genders and sexualities that don't get talked about as much. They help us feel more at home with, and not despite, those aspects of ourselves. A friend of mine once said, “Finding a label that fits you feels like finding the coat that fits you best.”

Sexualities and gender roles are just coats that you may outgrow over time. That does not invalidate other labels you may have once used for yourself, These are a great source of information nor does it take away the experiences for the people who feel that their of those who identify with that label. 1

Armstrong, Elizabeth A. (2002. Forging Gay Identities: Organizing Sexuality in San Francisco, 1950–1994. University of Chicago Press. ISBN 978-0-226-02694-7. Retrieved 2008-07-05. 2

Queer Nation (June 1990). "Queers Read This" 3

Article

Harry Potter and the Gatekeeping of the TERFs Content warning: This article contains mentions of transphobia and sexual assault.

by Hui Ying

And just when the literary world had at last made their peace with J.K. Rowling’s transphobic nonsense, we were dealt yet another blow, this time in the image of Margaret Atwood. In October 2021, the author of The Handmaid’s Tale, a dystopian novel in which women are forced to produce children for the ruling classes, shared a link on her Twitter to an opinion piece published on the Toronto Star: Why Can’t We Say Woman Anymore? At first glance, it already seemed to be a TERF dog whistle. A proper read through revealed the article was indeed a dog pound. TERFism, or trans-exclusionary radical feminism, is an offshoot from feminism, with the term first being coined in 2008. (TERFs also call themselves “gender-critical feminists”, as some of them like claiming that TERF is a slur.) They claim that their goal is to center women in conversations around feminism, but what is left unsaid is that their feminism does not include trans women. They do not consider trans women to be women, but rather men in disguise. Many of Atwood’s followers attempted to explain the article’s transphobic roots to her, only to be rebutted when Atwood insisted that the original author was not transphobic. And so we lost another “feminist” author to the clutches of transphobia. The rise of anti-trans rhetoric has been well-documented in the United Kingdom, with Mumsnet, a parenting website, being credited as a breeding ground for transphobia. There, “worried parents” insist that trans women are secretly violent men, looking to transition to gain access into women’s spaces—such as prison, domestic violence shelters or even the bathroom–so as to hurt women. In the words of British writer Edie Miler, Mumsnet was to transphobia as 4Chan was to facism. In a weird way, it almost seemed to make sense that a writer as prolific as Rowling could descend into such heresy. After all, her wizarding world was rife with antisemitic sentiments, racism and cultural appropriation

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And so we lost another "feminist" author to the clutches of transphobia.

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that on a careful read-through reveals the kind of biases imbedded in her perspective. Margaret Atwood, on the other hand, did hurt. She had previously been a proponent of trans rights, signing an open letter offering support to marginalised communities, and many considered The Handmaid’s Tale as proof that this was a woman with a brain. So how was it that she seemingly reversed her stance and was now aligning herself with the likes of Rowling? There’s room, of course, for discussion about Atwood’s previous unfeminist actions; in 2016, she had called for an independent investigation into the firing of a professor from the University of British Columbia, who had been accused of sexually assaulting and harassing a student. When others tried to explain to her about how her actions—which she insisted was borne of the belief that everyone was entitled to a fair and transparent trial —could potentially backfire upon the victim, she doubled down on her stance. And here is where we see the pattern of behaviour: Atwood insisting that she could not be wrong, but instead her critics were too short-sighted and biased to even listen to an opposing view. If Rowling is to be believed—and I do believe in her own misguided and hateful way, she genuinely thinks she’s helping—there’s a need to gatekeep the female experience, especially when it comes to trauma borne from being perceived as a woman. Dealing with misogyny, being sexually assaulted and/or harassed, pregnancy: to terfs, these are unique experiences that only “normal women” will have. Of course, what these people haven’t realised is how allowing trans women into female-only spaces doesn’t take away from these experiences at all. Atwood and

Rowling’s identities as cis women play an important role in their stances on trans rights. As people who have never experienced any facet of the trans—or even the LGBT+— experience, their opinion holds no water. But as popular writers boasting a combined audience of 16 million, their transphobic views are given much airtime. Airtime that transgender authors are not guaranteed.

issues, it’s important to have a wide reading list, one that you’re engaging with critically. Perhaps The Handmaid’s Tale expanded your view on feminism and bodily autonomy, but it shouldn’t be the only book you have read on the topic. At the very least, if another big feminist author loses their ability to think critically, your own ability is not impacted.

There are few, if any, transgender or nonbinary authors who can boast the same audience as Atwood, or even Rowling. This is not a fault of the authors themselves, but rather the literary world at large; Lee and Low Books found that only three percent of books published in 2019 were by non-cisgender authors. And of course, we haven’t even touched upon how many of these authors are not white.

But during this time where anti-trans rhetoric, especially against trans women, is consistently regurgitated, there needs to be an active stance to uplift marginalised authors, to support them by buying their work (but not through Amazon) or by following them on your preferred social media platform.

So what’s next for the readers who adored Harry Potter and The Handmaid’s Tale? What’s next for those who had held a beacon up to these feminist authors, only for the rose-tinted glasses to have been ripped off? The more idealistic of us might begin a search for the next big feminist author. But I think, years of being let down by different authors might lead to an era where we stop idolising them in general. (And yes, this wouldn’t just apply to the literary world, but also to just about any medium.) Rather than relying on one author as the be-all-and-endall on certain

Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters—the first transgender woman to be nominated for the Women’s Prize for Fiction —centers around a trio of cis and trans women, who navigate co-parenting and motherhood together, after Ames detransitions and gets his lover, Katrina, pregnant, all while wanting to rekindle his relationship with his ex, Reese. What makes somebody a woman? What makes somebody a parent? What makes a family? Terfs may claim to know their own answer to this question, but Detransition, Baby blatantly suggests they’ve been barking up the wrong tree. It’s a book that Rowling and Atwood need to read but they’ll have to close their Mumsnet tab first.

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What's next for those who had held a beacon up to those feminist authors, only for the rose-tinted glasses to have been ripped off?

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Books to Add Into Your 2022 TBR Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters Reese almost had it all: a loving relationship with Amy, an apartment in New York City, a job she didn't hate. She had scraped together what previous generations of trans women could only dream of: a life of mundane, bourgeois comforts. The only thing missing was a child.

(Source: Goodreads)

But then her girlfriend, Amy, detransitioned and became Ames, and everything fell apart. Now Reese is caught in a self-destructive pattern: avoiding her loneliness by sleeping with married men.

Ames isn't happy either. He thought detransitioning to live as a man would make life easier, but that decision cost him his relationship with Reese—and losing her meant losing his only family. Even though their romance is over, he longs to find a way back to her. When Ames's boss and lover, Katrina, reveals that she's pregnant with his baby—and that she's not sure whether she wants to keep it—Ames wonders if this is the chance he's been waiting for. Could the three of them form some kind of unconventional family—and raise the baby together?

Sorrowland by Rivers Solomon

(Source: Goodreads)

Vern—seven months pregnant and desperate to escape the strict religious compound where she was raised—flees for the shelter of the woods.

brutality far beyond what a person should be capable of, her body wracked by inexplicable and uncanny changes.

There, she gives birth to twins, and plans to raise them far from the influence of the outside world. But even in the forest, Vern is a hunted woman. Forced to fight back against the community that refuses to let her go, she unleashes incredible

To understand her metamorphosis and to protect her small family, Vern has to face the past, and more troublingly, the future—outside the woods. Finding the truth will mean uncovering the secrets of the compound she fled but also the violent history in America that produced it.

And They Lived by Steven Salvatore Chase Arthur is a budding animator and hopeless romantic obsessed with Disney films and finding his true love, but he's plagued with the belief that he's not enough for anyone: he's recovering from an eating disorder and suffers from body dysmorphia fueled by his father, and can't quite figure out his gender identity. (Source: Goodreads)

When Chase starts his freshman year of college, he has to navigate being away from home and missing his sister, finding his squad, and contending with his ex-best friend Leila who is gunning for the same exclusive mentorship. If only he can pull together a short for the freshman

animation showcase at the end of the semester. Then Chase meets Jack Reid, a pragmatic poet who worships words and longs to experience life outside of his sheltered world. But Chase throws everything into question for Jack, who is still discovering his sexual identity, having grown up in close-knit conservative family. Jack internalised a lot of homophobia from his parents and childhood best friend, who unexpectedly visits campus, which threatens to destroy their relationship. Chase will have to learn to love—and be enough for—himself, while discovering what it means to truly live.

The Lesbiana’s Guide to Catholic School by Sonora Reyes Seventeen-year-old Yamilet Flores prefers drawing attention for her killer eyeliner, not for being the new kid at a mostly white, very rich, Catholic school. But at least here no one knows she's gay, and Yami intends to keep it that way. After being outed by her crush and ex-best friend, she could use the fresh start. (Source: Goodreads)

At Slayton Catholic, Yami has new priorities: make her mom proud, keep her brother out of trouble, and most importantly, don't fall in love.

Granted, she's never been great at any of those things, but that’s a problem for Future Yami. The thing is, it’s hard to fake being straight when Bo, the only openly queer girl at school, is so annoyingly perfect. And talented. And confident. And cute. So cute. Yami isn't sure if she likes Bo or if she's just jealous of her unapologetic nature. Either way, she isn't ready to make the same mistake again. If word got to her mom, she could face a lot worse than rejection.

Article

Society? As the Antagonist for a Queer Film? Groundbreaking. by Khairul Ameer I love films. As a film undergraduate in the School of Art, Design & Media, I have to. Every trip I’ve made to the cinema has not been just for entertainment, but also educational in nature. I get to leave my issues by the door and zone out for a couple of hours, completely immersed into the narrative of whatever it is I was watching at the time, while mentally taking notes on any excellent cinematography, gaffer works or production design. The latest film I witnessed prior to writing this piece was Dune, directed by Denis Villeneuve. Worldbuilding films have always been a hit or miss for me. There’s so much going on, not only in the narrative but additionally in the unfamiliar objects, technology or practices executed by these characters, which is supposed to be their norm. Family-friendly films with a brighter tone are normally more palatable to me, unlike Dune which starts off serious and sombre. It was as if I was watching a Star Warsthemed Met Gala: amazing production design, wardrobe, makeup, cinematography, even the sound design was fantastic. However, subjectively, I felt that it fell short in the more important aspect of any film: the story itself. The acting was great, but the stakes were not as high as I envisioned it to be. That factor overthrows the dynamics, in my opinion. The stakes for a queer film set on Earth, on the other hand, is notably much more relatable to me than a film set on Arrakis, where blue-eyed Zendaya snorts sparkly, orange cocaine called spice. I’m sure I’m not the only queer person who goes through this or thinks this way.

In mainstream media, we either see ourselves either appearing subtly onscreen as a small character, or we are represented in a negative light to appease the law. Oh, the little chuckle I let out at a Shaw cinema in 2018 when the “rainbow sheep of the family” made a fabulous debut in Crazy Rich Asians (2018), directed by Jon M. Chu. It was a minor role, but seeing them appearing unapologetically on mainstream media was enough for me to believe “Okay, we are going somewhere.” There was also the Mediacorp Channel 8 Series in 2020 titled My Guardian Angel. Local actor Chase Tan portrayed a gay man with an STD who later spreads it to another, much younger character. Not only were gays represented, but paedophiles were too. Don’t you just love it when the concept of a consensual relationship between adults is placed under the same umbrella as barbarians? But what other media portrayals do we have for us? On the occasions we aren’t being demonised, it seems as though every run-of-the-mill queer film centres around the same premise: the characters who are love interests or best friends endure a perilous journey together where they attempt to splice through the heteronormative jungle. As valiant as that may sound, it is a story that involves homophobes being that external force going against our beloved characters. The fact that most successful queer films need to include “them” for the film to so-called “make it” simply does not, in the wise words of Nicki Minaj at an interview with Variety in February 2020 “sit right in my spirit.”

Quite recently, there have been several praises for Disney/Pixar animation film Luca (2021), directed by Enrico Cosarosa. Animation films, to me, have been given such a bad rep due to how they’re categorised as a cartoon. It does not seem as serious or real as a liveaction film but when we strip the film down to the characters and their internal struggles, I find that animated films are the best conduit to educate both children and adults on real matters. Two mermaid boys, going on land for the first time and mingling with humans, a.k.a their enemies. A simple plot, yet if we were to look at it from another lens: we have a same-sex couple concealing their identities as they try to act normal in a society that despises them. Sounds familiar? That’s relatively similar to the theme of Call Me By Your Name (2017), directed by Luca Guadagnino. While Luca is about two young boys discovering the world together and learning about themselves along the way, Call Me By Your Name addresses Elio discovering his sexuality over a fleeting summer romance with Oliver, his father’s temporary assistant. The film highlights subtle and sneaky connections between the two men as they manoeuvre their summer around heterosexual folks while the ending cemented what’s to be of Elio’s future: a long process of either living his truth in hiding or succumbing to society’s expectations and marry a woman in the future, just like Oliver.

Luca - Alberto (left) and Luca (right) discovering themselves in each other’s company

Call Me by Your Name - Oliver (Archie Hammer) and Elio (Timothée Chalamet) in the streets of Crema, Italy

As a brown skin Asian queer man, the closest I can get to relating to LGBT films is when one is made within the south-east Asian region. In 2020, a film titled Your Name Engraved Herein directed by Kuang-Hui Liu, premiered and was made accessible to us via Netflix. It’s a classic tale of young love between questioning men and how they manoeuvred and persevered through societal pressures in a form of the strict school system, traditional parents and the heteronormative culture of 1987 Taiwan. This film received a whopping 88% rating on Rotten Tomatoes and a 7.9/10 rating on IMDb. Alas, this film introduces society as the antagonist that these two men have to either overcome or succumb to. Spoiler alert, their romance was fleeting. Although there was a glimmer of hope at the end hinting at a possible reconciliation, noting that the ending of the film does not necessarily mean the ending of the story.

Birdy (Tseng Ching-hua) and Jia-Han (Edward Chen) in a dream sequence in Your Name Engraved Herein

“What’s a faggot?” 21 year old me was just as astounded as Mahershala Ali’s character, Juan, when little Chiron, played by Alex Hibbert, casually popped that question. Despite being shown in Singaporean theatres a year later, Moonlight (2016), directed by Barry Jenkins, is just as relevant in April 2017 just as it was during its theatrical release a year ago. I didn’t know the exact definition of what that term meant too. Yes, it was a prevalent derogatory word that’s being thrown around as a weapon against the gays in western countries but on this little red dot, we hear words like “ah kua”, “bapok”, “pondan”... I am sure there are others. Just after that line, I heard a faint chuckling coming from behind where I was seated.

I didn’t understand what was funny at the time when I too needed to learn what the definition was. Juan explained to Chiron that the definition of the f-word was: “a word used to make gay people feel bad." “Am I a faggot?” Chiron asked again. I hear another set of chuckles, I’m assuming from the same group of people. I think now, I am able to discern the root of that chuckling. It was evident that they find the struggles of a young queer man comical. Comical because they never have to endure being the victim of that, but rather hold the power to be the proprietors of that form of name-calling.

Little Chiron (Alex R. Hibbert) bathing alone while contemplating his life in Moonlight Love, Simon (2018), directed by Greg Berlanti, was a great queer film, that “enduring a heteronormative society” fantasy fiction film, in my opinion. I would love for my life to storyline is expected to have been stitched into whatever be as simple as Simon’s: A white, privileged male kid in a well- plot I’m about to scrutinise. Sometimes I wonder if that is the to-do family that loves him unconditionally, whose only grounds for an award-winning queer film. struggle is internal... And whether a guy they fancy I can’t imagine all the people that decide what film wins what reciprocates his affections. How quaint. award to collectively have had a queer experience so genuine Growing up from my prepubescent to adult life while that they can relate to our stories. Hence, featuring them as balancing the struggle to understand myself and the the very idea that we struggle with acts as a circle jerk, patconflicting societal norms I’m presented with daily, it would on-the-back moment. Maybe it’s a constant reminder to be nice if the people who raised me weren’t part of the latter’s straight folks that they really are the antagonists in our equation. Simon’s only struggle was understanding himself narrative, most times. Maybe this is their way of ensuring while everyone supported his process. The film was a they still get a starring role within our own narratives, that constant back-to-back reassurance of “you’re okay” and for our stories are still about them. once, it was a queer film that didn’t have straight folks as the convenient antagonists. I hated it because it was unrealistic to me, but at the same time, I loved it because it was refreshing. Oftentimes, I think about that crushing scene when Jennifer Garner as Simon’s mother Emily assured him that he is still the same person now just as he was before and that he can exhale now after holding his breath for so long. My eyes were leaking like a faulty faucet because not all of us get to be so lucky. I myself have yet to exhale fully. Do straight people believe that our struggle as LGBT+ people starts and ends at whether society at large is able to accept us? I’ve reached an epiphany where every time I go to watch a

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Do straight people believe that our struggle as LGBT+ people starts and ends at whether society at large is able to accept us?

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The glimmer of queerness that I’ve appreciated in films are ones where the sexuality of these characters are merely a facet of their being and is portrayed as a normal thing. It doesn’t at all divert from its main plotline where the antagonists are ideas much bigger than people going against who they want to sleep with. The list of films I’m providing are not technically recognised under the queer film umbrella, but it’s nice to know that the characters’ queerness is not a challenging factor.

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (2020) directedbyGeorge C. Wolfe

Some time ago, prior to Halloween, I was researching possible outfits I would’ve worn if Covid restrictions weren’t a thing. I dived into Disney inspired outfits and of course, photos of Doja Cat as Princess Kida and Cole Sprouse as Milo Thatch, both characters from Atlantis, popped up. Diving deeper into the internet abyss, I stumbled upon gender-swapping Disney character fan artworks where I saw a male version of Esmerelda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame or a female version of Hades from Hercules. It ignited a new form of joy within me where I instantly felt heaps more relatable to the female characters, as I’m sure lesbians are somewhat able to see Hades in another light. That got me thinking. What if we remake a queer version of The Notebook? Instead of Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams, we have Kristen Stewart and Miley Cyrus. I’d like to watch a queer film that portrays us as normal human beings who live an average, mundane, carefree life without the need for an ambiguous, external force going against our existence. A creative work that doesn’t portray us only when the topic of sexual health arises. A simple story about love. That would be nice.

Frida (2002) directed by Julie Taymor

Black Swan (2010) directed by Darren Aronofsky

Marvel’s The New Mutants (2020) directed by Josh Boone

Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald (2018) directed by David Yates

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From David to Sisyphus by Sylfr Tan

‘We. Are. Ready’. The words, in bright pink, shine out from Hong Lim Park as Pink Dot, in 2018, marked its 10th straight year of their protest. That was my first experience in the space of queer advocacy, and was the first time I truly felt like I was safe to be myself, even if the label I identified with back then isn’t the label I identify with right now. I remember how much my mother judged me when I returned home wearing pink, having left the house in a blue shirt, but I didn’t care. I felt seen, I felt proud, and I felt no remorse at being who I was. That thought slowly vanished across the next week. With The Straits Times picking up the event, social media was abound with bigots and homophobes, many of which made their way onto my own Twitter feed, and I was crushed. Thankfully, life moved on, and eventually, I understood how much more work needed to be done to bring acceptance of queer issues to the minds of the average Singaporean. Across the years, Pink Dot has remained the single most visible queer event in Singapore. If you asked anyone what they think of when you say the words ‘LGBTQ+’, chances are, you’d get ‘Pink Dot?’ as a response. Pink Dot is extremely visible, and genuinely, kudos to the organisers for keeping it visible, and making it the focal point of all things queer in Singapore.

I am immensely happy to see all of these groups provide all of these individual microcosmic support structures, and I am grateful that there are so many people working to ensure a better community of care, acceptance, and support for LGBTQ+ individuals. But it’s not enough. It never is. So how do we move forward? There is an issue that plagues the current state of queer advocacy. It’s the issue of David and Goliath. If you’re not familiar with the tale, it’s the story of how Goliath, a warrior of immense size, was defeated by the smaller but more cunning David through the use of an unorthodox method of fighting, slinging a rock to incapacitate the giant. Don’t get me wrong, the assessment that we are David in the Biblical story is absolutely valid. But, I hold the belief that it forces us into a certain way of thinking. In this situation, we are forever forced to be the underdog party, the one that’s made to find unorthodox ways to defeat the lumbering giant that is cisheteronormativity, a monster that we oftentimes fail to defeat. Whenever community groups find themselves in a position to enact authoritative change, the most common challenge to the acceptance of queer rights seems to always be the phrase ‘society is not ready’, and the follow up question we in the queer community always seem to ask back is ‘when will society be ready?’

But is that all? Is Pink Dot the Be-All-And-End-All of queer advocacy? Well, the obvious answer here is no.

I dislike that question. The question implies that we should just simply wait for society to become ready all on its own. A common sentiment that I’ve heard is the ‘just wait for the old If we zoom out a little, we start to see what constitutes people to die out’ argument, which I believe to be problematic Singapore’s queer advocacy space. Namely, Oogachaga, and on two fronts. Sayoni. For the uninitiated, Oogachaga describes itself as ‘a community-based, non-profit, professional organisation working with LGBTQ+ individuals, couples and families in Singapore’, and Sayoni describes itself as ‘Singapore-based feminist, volunteer-run organisation that works to uphold human rights protections for queer women, including lesbian, bisexual and transgender women.’ These groups, alongside Pink Dot, form what I would claim to be the bulk of visible queer advocacy. More often than not, these groups are what people would see when they begin to dig past Pink Dot. If we go further along this axis and start to go into smaller, individual groups, a whole bunch start to appear. Examples of these include Transgender SG, The T Project, YouYou, etc., and all of them deal with one particular issue within the queer community, be it providing resources, shelter, acceptance, counselling, you name it, there’s probably a group for it, and all of it is very nicely wrapped up and displayed in Olivia Paramour’s Maps of Queer Groups in Singapore.

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…we are forever forced to be the underdog party, the one that’s made to find unorthodox ways to defeat the lumbering giant that is cisheteronormativity…

”

In an almost perfect mirror of the queer advocacy space, the racial harmony/interfaith (RRHI) advocacy space has an incredible wealth of groups that target specific, individual issues within the realm. From larger groups like Roses of Peace (RoP) or the Inter-religious Organisation of Singapore (IRO SG), to lesser known groups like the Center for Interfaith Understanding (CIFU), hash.peace, Being Community, and a whole slew of various organisations under the space. ‘Okay, but so what?’, you might ask. The key point I want to note here is that within the community, these groups very regularly coordinate and interact with one another in very visible ways. In July, hash.peace worked with OPSG as well as the Ministry of Culture, Communication and Youth, to produce their inaugural hash.peace Conversation Series (HPCS) lasting the entirety of July and the first week of August. I will be the first to admit that queer groups working with the government is… difficult to say the least, but in terms of intracommunity and inter-group partnerships, I find myself wondering if this level of coordination has happened within the queer advocacy space. Firstly, as we have seen in many instances in the past, the older generation does not have a monopoly on queerphobia. The incident revolving City Revival, more commonly referred to as the Joanna Teng incident, involved someone that is very much within the Millennial/Gen Z generation. In the social media space, the incident in June regarding a 15 year-old teenager who tore down a pride flag at a HDB block not once, but twice. These prime examples of genuine hatred and bigotry from members of ‘our generation’ render the ‘wait for the oldies to phase out’ sentiment invalid, because there’s ultimately no guarantee that once our generation becomes the working adult class, we will become that accepting society that we’ve been waiting the majority of our lives for... Secondly, and perhaps more acutely, the argument as a whole ignores a lot of suffering that happens presently. On the daily, there are individuals being discriminated against on the basis of their sexual orientation, gender identity, and gender expression, most of it never making their way to viral status. Yes, support groups in Singapore do a lot to try and mitigate this problem, and again, I am immensely grateful for their presence. But again, I ask, is there no better way forward? Are we really content with simply providing background support as we wait for acceptance to slowly creep forward? Certainly the answer must be no. I turn to other spaces for the answer. Specifically, and perhaps surprisingly, I turn to the space of interfaith advocacy and advocacy surrounding racial and religious harmony. Having personally been in the space for four odd years, I’ve learnt a thing or two about how the space operates. One of my earliest interactions with the space was with OnePeople.sg (OPSG). Launched by Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong in 2007, OPSG remains as one of the central pillars of the racial harmony advocacy space. The position it occupies is the single most visible point of contact within the space, and more often than not, OPSG acts as a springboard for individuals to move further into the space of advocacy.

Beyond this, however, there is another observation that I would like to bring in as a comparison between queer advocacy and RRHI advocacy. Queer spaces tend to have a clannish mindset to them. What I mean by this is that more often than not, at least from personal observations, queer people like to see cisgendered heterosexual (cishet) individuals as ‘outsiders’, or worse, ‘the enemy’. Note that all of my observations here are ultimately anecdotal. I understand the need to create safe spaces for queer groups. Ultimately, the issues that we face from being queer are issues that can threaten not only our individual livelihoods, but our safety and right to life. I fully understand this need, but at the same time, if there isn’t a management of views and expectations, these spaces can quickly turn from being safe to being insular. If we apply the same notions to race relations, of minority groups turning insular, we very quickly approach some very unpleasant territories.

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Are we really content with simply providing background support as we wait for acceptance to slowly creep forward?

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In RRHI advocacy, advocates very quickly learn how to manage these spaces. Facilitation is a very common method used to bring discourse to a set of participants who have very differing viewpoints, and it is an expected part of RRHI advocacy to manage these views and to find ways to bridge the gaps in understanding with the end goal of building greater empathy between races and religions. The term ‘meet them where they are’ is the bread and butter of facilitation, and the core of how RRHI advocacy operates. Contrast this to queer advocacy. Anecdotally, I hear the sentiment of ‘only queer people should speak about queer issues’ quite commonly amongst members of the community. Again, I fully understand why some of us might say that. It’s difficult to listen to a cishet person talk about queer issues when they’ve not lived through the issues and experiences that queer people do, and it’s the same with racism. It is difficult to find it easy to listen to a member of any majority identity talk about minority identity issues. But that absolutely does not mean that we should exclude non-queer people from queer spaces or from queer conversations, because ultimately, a path to acceptance regarding queer issues in the mainstream must involve cishet people because they are the mainstream. In RRHI advocacy, because the government works so closely with community groups, the messaging and the narrative of the space as a whole is extremely clear, to both individuals within the space, and individuals on the outside observing the space. That message is ‘build tolerance, and then build acceptance.’. But there is a lack of a similar social narrative for the queer advocacy space. In queer advocacy, because we are forced to operate in the background of society, it becomes difficult to establish this narrative, because there isn’t (and there absolutely should not be) a single authoritative voice or body within the community. But it is not impossible, and I don’t think that we should resign ourselves to this fate. We need better ways to start bringing individuals towards the idea of social acceptance for queer people, and I think the answer lies in how we can better prepare cishet allies to enter the space of queer advocacy. This does not mean to center them in the fight for liberation, but rather to consider what kind of roles allies can play in reaching out to those outside of the moment, those who might identify similarly to said allies.

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…ultimately, a path to acceptance regarding queer issues in the mainstream must involve cishet people because they are the mainstream…

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Picture this. You are cishet. The first thing you hear of queer issues is of Pink Dot in the headlines, and you are piqued, curiosity gets the better of you and you sign yourself up to volunteer at the event even though you know, well and truly, that you are cisgender and heterosexual. You then begin exposure to all of the difficult issues that queer people face and eventually, you come to understand that more work needs to be done. But that’s where everything stops. No one is there to guide you through the vocabulary and nomenclature behind queer activities, and eventually, it gets overwhelming and you stop paying attention to the space as time goes by. There exists a rather high content knowledge basis that is required before most people are comfortable joining queer advocacy initiatives, and there are spaces where if you are not educated on these topics, you are not allowed in, which prevents people from entering and learning more about said space. On the flip side, thinking from the individual’s standpoint, it feels like anything they say just isn’t valid, and that they are ‘on thin ice’ because they’re cishet. What is advocacy? I don’t think there’s any strict definition of advocacy, and I don’t think there should be one. Advocacy comes in all shapes and sizes. I think that what we should subscribe to is what I call individual advocacy. Efforts on a grand scale are important, but we cannot chase that without doing work on the daily to bring about that milestone. Individual advocacy seeks to change the minds of the people outside of the cause, or at least to become well versed enough in the topic so that they can lend their voices to those who might not be listened to. What this looks like, is the cishet ally that will tell all their other cishet friends to listen to the queer person when they speak about queer issues, and to support and echo that queer person whenever they’re not around to speak about queer issues. What it looks like is the cishet ally that is present in queer subreddits or discords that feels like they’re queer themselves, when they’re not. What it looks like is the cishet ally who has an empathetic understanding of what queer people go through, and tells their friends why its important to accept queer people for who they are.

How do we achieve that? First, we build that cohesive narrative. What is it that we want out of our groups? Are we content with repealing 377A? Do we want to push for full constitutional protections? Or do we want to go all the way and end cisheteronormativity as a whole? As with any decentralised organisation or group, these are questions I cannot answer alone, and they might even be questions that don’t have one concrete answer. However, a general consensus would be helpful in guiding our way forward. Secondly, we need to build spaces for cishet allies. I know it sounds like pandering to cisheteronormativity once again, but again, we cannot act insular in our actions and our goals. We have to involve these people because they are the ones who make up the absolute vast majority of the population, and we shouldn’t risk segregating ourselves from them because that’s precisely what the bigots want. We need a straightforward path for anyone new to the space, whether or not they’re straight themselves, or baby gays questioning their sexual orientation or gender identity for the first time in their lives.

The Myth of Sisyphus From the Greek myth, Sisyphus supposedly cheated death twice, thinking himself cleverer than Zeus. Hades punished him for his hubris, sentencing him to push a boulder to the top of a steep hill, after which he was allowed to leave. However, Hades had enchanted the boulder to roll away before reaching the top, dooming Sisyphus to an eternity of useless efforts In modern use, Sisyphean is often used to describe a thankless, unending task.

Finally, we must move past the mindset that queer advocacy is a battle of David and Goliath. Everything that has been done has been operating on that basis, and, while I know I’ve said it twice in this article already, the truth really is that I am immensely thankful and grateful for all the work that has been put in by everyone involved in the community. But we cannot just be content fighting this war one large grand battle at a time. Instead, we have to start reaching out, and remind ourselves that every conversation a queer person or ally has with a cishet person is a case in individual advocacy waiting to happen. I fully admit, it sounds like a hugely Sisyphean task, but I think that in this case, better Sisyphus than David. Queer advocacy must move, from David to Sisyphus.

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS Hui Ying (she/they)

daemon I. (they/them)

Hui Ying is a nonbinary bisexual writer with an unhealthy obsession with the occult. She’s also working on their debut novel.

A writer and reader buried in horror fiction and piles of stuffies to seek refuge from the world, which is entirely too big. Aspiring Spotify concept playlist creator.

Sylfr (she/they)

Khairul (he/him)

Sylfr spends too much of her time sitting in front of her laptop and/or desktop, likely deep into researching some obscure video game lore or reading government statutes for fun.

Khairul is a film student who specialises in writing stories about the shit people do behind closed doors and film production design, particularly period and cultural pieces. Hobbies include pop culture, genderbending fashion and piping hot tea, both the drink and gossip.

Srishti (she/her)

Le En (she/her)

Reader, writer, olive connoisseur. Full of holes just like her namesake, swiss cheese. Swiss can be found watching obscure series on Netflix, while simultaneously reading slash fic.

Starry-eyed fool. Le En likes to talk about stuff that kind of matters, to her at least.

CONTRIBUTING ARTISTS

Wesley (he/him)

Saki (she/her)

When not completely exhausted, Wesley likes spending his time binge watching youtube. Occasionally produces a design or two, if the stars align.

An exhausted Taurus who always girlbosses too close to the sun. Enjoys telling people she’s deeply attracted to pans, specifically the stainless steel, non-stick ones.

Mun (she/her)

Al (she/her)

If lying down was a sport, Mun would be the world champion. She also designs, when no longer horizontal.

Part-time mass of algae and full-time engineering student, she spends too much time doing anything but studying. The planner is a crutch, not a tool for organisation

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