I’d never pooed in public. I didn’t want to somehow ever be compared to our former PM Scott Morrison, who shidded himself at Endagine Maccas, allegedly.
I came to discover my family is from a place that is the butt of a nationwide joke: Molise, Italy.
One Month Before Departure
I know I can’t be the first queer person in my family. But as far as I’m aware, I’m the first one who’s out and open.
As of writing, my dad doesn’t know I’m trans. He probably has his suspicions though: leaving breadcrumbs is one of my more satisfying hobbies. Normally…
It was my sister’s 14th birthday party when I first realised my parents' naivety.
Henna ran upstairs wiping mascara-coloured tears with the back of her palm. I turned to see my mum standing with crossed arms, swaying side to side with an uneven smile. When my sister came back downstairs a few minutes later, Mum…
THERES A SHOO TING. WE R HIDING IN BACK OF A STORE
Then I heard dad somewhere, in the open silence.
“Ari! Where is my daughter?”
When I left for Sichuan, China, the last thing I expected was to end up in an obscure hotel, splayed out on a cold marble floor outside a stranger’s room, trying to become Jesus.
I am plagued by dirty knickers. Not those lingering in the washing basket for weeks because you’ve had “no time” to do the laundry, nor the pair you’re wearing to spare the Uber driver a flash of your still-engorged clitoris after a one-nighter. I’m haunted by these underwear because they’ve been smothering my crotch…
Traditionally, being a cat lady means living in a house that always smells of Fancy Feast tinned food and not owning a single piece of clothing devoid of faux fur. Deeper than that, it’s an insult reserved for unpartnered older women – whatever older means these days – to dismiss them for not fitting the…
“The one you are waiting for: will not come.” I read the fortune over and over. I am not superstitious. I am not waiting for anyone. And still, I’m crying on the shinkansen, clutching a ceramic fox in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other. Kitsune – a fox. Omikuji – a fortune.
…
A sweat-slicked, overworked deli woman stands before me, arm extended with the weight of poverty and its favourite mystery meat – Devon. With sunken eyes and a tired smile, I get the sense we are both well acquainted with it. My last five dollars is spent and so am I, grocery bags digging into the…
Tasting blood and covered in the sweat of those surrounding me, I delicately extracted myself from being stuck between the legs of my favourite singer. The crowd was pulling him in as the hands of security tried to pull him out. All I was endeavouring to do was ensure that I placed my hands in…
We wake in a pile of butter-yellow blankets beside a dying fire: me and three dark heads of hair. The world outside is a snowglobe – a beautiful rarity in 逗子 / Zushi / the half-mile beach where the sun was born. In the morning light, there’s a smudge of blue on the inside glass…