nurihuda-portfolio

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You Wouldn't Have Known About Me by Calvin Gimpelevich

Lisette wears a pentagram-covered quartz necklace. She has eyeliner and is current on all of the terms. Annie isn’t. Lisette can’t resist. She says, “You wouldn’t have known about me,” but Annie swears that she would. “It’s the Adam’s apple,” she says and taps on her own. “Can’t hide that or the hands.”

Read the full story here

You Wouldn't Have Known About Me by Calvin Gimpelevich follows quite a unique kind of structure. It tells a story of a trans man's experience being in a hospital care with other trans patients who are having surgeries, just like him. The usual short stories have an order of intro>rising action>climax>falling action>denouement, and I think this one does too, but with a little twist, and that's what makes this story so interesting.

The story opens with an introduction of the patients. Each of them is given detailed description. For example, in this part:

"Annie is wind burnt, bottle blonde, and wearing pink slippers. She was a pilot. Like me, testosterone has squared her face out, which makes her insist she can’t pass. Lisette, disagrees, says she’s just middle-aged. Lisette, herself, is narrow and golden, hair pulled in a loose bun. Her mother, darker, petite, worries her hands. She wants my thoughts on the surgeon, but one of the nurses cuts in to announce dinner and help me get off the couch."

There are even more other characters with their own descriptions, but from this part, we get an idea of how diverse the environment is. Then in the next part, the main character goes to Lisette's room before going to his, and they make out. I would say this is the rising action part. And while most sex scenes in fictions are unnecessary, this one is not. Instead, the intimacy between the main character and Lisette emphasizes the theme of a transexual's journey itself. With this part, for example:

"Nobody’s going to climax. I could masturbate, but it’s honestly not worth the pain."

I've heard people questioning how do transexuals have sex, and how are they different from cis sex. This part of the story answers those questions. With the author describing the experience just like anything usual at first, it's sort of saying "trans are no different than cis".

The next part gets more interesting. The main character is back with the other characters while each one goes for their surgery. However, this part gives a sense of introduction all over again with everything going back just like before.

"Lisette and her mother are in the lobby. Her mother has takeout coffee and a memoir. She has the book open, but isn’t reading. She’s watching Lisette apply makeup, and asking if that’s really necessary for a medical procedure."

Even if this is the continuation of the rising action, it seems almost like an introduction. There's almost nothing different in term of the setting and environment than the first part. After that, everything goes too smoothly without anything that rises the tension happening until there's a problem with Lisette's surgery.

"Lisette says, “Oh my god,” and I think it’s her response, but then she moans and puts both hands on her vulva. “Ow,” she says. “Jesus fucking Christ.”"

I believe this is the start of the climax after the very long introduction and the rising action. It goes really fast, taking around 8 very short paragraphs out of the whole story. Then the best part of all is the denouement, taking only the two last sentences of the story:

"Lisette screws up her face. Her mother says, “It looks just like you gave birth.”"

The story ends like that. This part is so interesting because it highlights the change of attitude Lisette's mother goes through. She compares Lisette's predicament to a woman giving birth while just before that, she expressed her hard time accepting changes in her daughter. She said:

“It isn’t easy to wake up one day and find out that everything you did as parent — even though you did your best — that it was all wrong and your ideas have been wrecked.”

This means that her subcnsciousness already accepts Lisette as a woman. While giving birth is such a personal and life changing moment for Lisette's mother, this is Lisette's own version of giving birth as it is also a life-changing moment for her.

[nurihuda-portfolio]

I Invite My Parents to a Dinner Party by Chen Chen

In the invitation, I tell them for the seventeenth time

(the fourth in writing), that I am gay.

In the invitation, I include a picture of my boyfriend

& write, You’ve met him two times. But this time,

you will ask him things other than can you pass the

whatever. You will ask him

about him. You will enjoy dinner. You will be

enjoyable. Please RSVP.

They RSVP. They come.

They sit at the table & ask my boyfriend

the first of the conversation starters I slip them

upon arrival: How is work going?

I’m like the kid in Home Alone, orchestrating

every movement of a proper family, as if a pair

Read the full poem here

Being gay and Asian is one of the worst combinations out there. The strong heteronormativity in Asian society that has been rooted as long as history goes and can be found in almost every cultural aspect just doesn't go well with the Western's recent welcomeness toward LGBTQ+. This poem combines queer and racial themes altogether and brings a slice of life of a gay Chinese inviting his parents to dinner with his boyfriend. The author explains:

This poem doesn’t depict an ideal situation where the relationship is completely healed; it examines the often slow and frustrating reality, while leaving things open for some surprise.

I found the similes that are present in this poem quite interesting. For several times, the speaker compares himself to "the little Kid in Home Alone". And out of the three times he mentions "Home Alone", two of them portray him controlling his family to not act a certain way while being under pressure:

1.

I’m like the kid in Home Alone, orchestrating

every movement of a proper family, as if a pair

of scary yet deeply incompetent burglars

is watching from the outside.

2.

I’m like the kid in Home Alone, pulling

on the string that makes my cardboard mother

more motherly,

The truth is that, no matter how hard he tries to control his parents, he is the one who has always been controlled, and he cannot escape it. "The little Kid in Home Alone" itself is an interesting analogy as the speaker, a fully-grown adult, compares himself to a kid. It points out his position in front of his parents: a little kid who should meet their parents' expectations. In the third time he's repeating the simile, he says:

I’m like the kid

in Home Alone, except the home

is my apartment, & I’m much older, & not alone,

& not the one who needs

to learn, has to

These lines assert the irony of his helplessness as an adult who has to teach his parents instead of them teaching him. "Strict Asian parents" might be a stereotypical description for them, but stereotypes won't exist without real-life situations. Sadly, this is the truth. Asian parents might have a hard time accepting their children's sexuality due to the inherent heteronormativity in Asian culture.

I haven't even mentioned the horror that the speaker faces which surely can be felt by those who relate:

Remind me

what’s in that recipe again, my boyfriend says

to my mother, as though they have always, easily

talked. As though no one has told him

many times, what a nonlinear slapstick meets

slasher flick meets psychological

pit he is now co-starring in.

Remind me, he says

to our family.

Due to cultural differences, the words "remind me" might sound rude to non-English speakers as it has a commanding tone. This might even reduce the possibility of them accepting the speaker's boyfriend as respecting parents is such a huge deal in Asia, more than the Westerners might realize.

Overall, this poem presents a candid reality of what it is like being a gay Asian and how our culture affects it. However, just like the author states, this is just a process, and everything can finally be healed in the end.

[nurihuda-portfolio]

Sundays by Emma Copley Eissenberg: Choices and Contradictions

"There are places you can go where contradiction doesn’t matter, where logic isn’t anything, where the sum is always more than zero, but we hardly ever live there. Why? This is a useless line of thinking. That much I can report back."

Read the full story here

This short story that you can read in one sitting is a refreshing literature work presenting a somewhat taboo perspective on polyamory. Only a minority of people in the world would religiously believe that a person should freely engage in several sexual/romantic relationships. The reason for this is quite unclear, but Vasallo, in her essay titled Monogamous Mind, Polyamorous Terror, argues that monogamy is a part of the social construct that starts with the Eurocentric community gaining superiority over Islam, a religion that adheres to polygamy. This story is told from a perspective of a woman who sleeps with three people at the same time and makes a schedule of it. Sunday is the only day she is free, which means that it is also the only day where she does not face contradiction nor have to choose.

This story is full of ironies. In the beginning, she describes how she's always been faced with choices ever since her childhood, but she prefers to have both things at once instead. This also applies to her sexuality.

I want both ice cream and pie, to live by the ocean and in an ocean of strangers. One day I stick a jumbo yellow barrette in my hair, pair it with a white cotton sundress; the next I’ll pull out Carhart work pants and a loose tank top. I do not mix and match, I do not mashup. I separate, alternate, switch, repeat. Girls and boys and everyone else.

The woman's first partner is a man, her own neighbor. She introduces him as someone who doesn't meet her expectation. Ironically, this indicates that after all, she can have only one: the man that this person is, and not her expectation of the man.

Her next partner is Lamya, a Muslim woman. If, according to Vasallo, Islamophobia is the root of monogamous dominance in Western society, then the main character here is facing a big irony, although the good thing is that the islamophobic part is removed in this story. But it's still an astonishing fact that her partner is a part of a religion that was once oppressed for its view of polygamy.

Her third and last partner is also a woman. There's no really exceptional description of her, but if we look back, the fact that the main character has to decide which day she can be with whom is already an irony. She's in multiple relationships to avoid "having to choose", but her own set schedule proves that she really cannot have everything at once. She says:

There are places you can go where contradiction doesn’t matter, where logic isn’t anything, where the sum is always more than zero, but we hardly ever live there. 

And it emphasizes how she cannot escape from those contradictions.

This story gives a message to the readers that the satisfaction of gaining everything at once is impossible to achieve, especially in relationships. Even having multiple partners from diverse groups cannot guarantee that.

[nurihuda-portfolio]

The 17-Year-Old & the Gay Bar by Danez Smith: Religion and Homosexuality

this gin-heavy heaven, blessed ground to think gay & mean we.

bless the fake id & the bouncer who knew

this need to be needed, to belong, to know how

a man taste full on vodka & free of sin. i know not which god to pray to.

i look to christ, i look to every mouth on the dance floor, i order

a whiskey coke, name it the blood of my new savior. he is just.

he begs me to dance, to marvel men with the

                                                                                   dash

of hips i brought, he deems my mouth in some stranger’s mouth necessary.

bless that man’s mouth, the song we sway sloppy to, the beat, the bridge, the length

of his hand on my thigh & back & i know not which country i am of.

i want to live on his tongue, build a home of gospel & gayety

i want to raise a city behind his teeth for all boys of choirs & closets to refuge in.

i want my new god to look at the mecca i built him & call it damn good

or maybe i’m just tipsy & free for the first time, willing to worship anything i can taste.

This poem tells the story of a young man's first experience in a gay bar as he discovers his true identity. These lines:

bless the fake id & the bouncer who knew

this need to be needed, to belong, to know how

imply that he's not of legal age to enter such place. The bouncer being a person in power who decides whether he can enter or not ignores this fact because he believes that there is a more important agenda: keeping the place inclusive. Otherwise, it would contradict the point of a gay bar itself. He doesn't have a choice but to do it.

I find it interesting that the writer inserts some religious references in this poem, especially in these lines:

a man taste full on vodka & free of sin. i know not which god to pray to.

i look to christ, i look to every mouth on the dance floor, i order

a whiskey coke, name it the blood of my new savior. he is just.

Religion and queerness are not usually something that can be easily fused together. That fact is something that the speaker also realizes and experiences. These lines reflect his dilemma about choosing between god or his sexuality. The phrase "I look to christ, I look to every mouth on the dance floor" that depicts his duality of being pious but defying also gives a sense of contradiction.

But the most interesting part of all is the last line:

or maybe i’m just tipsy & free for the first time, willing to worship anything i can taste.

It breaks every imagination and fantasy about combining his sexuality and religion has been having. It also asserts that he's too attached to his own religion and that is his first time trying to break free from it. Even then, the only thing that he can think about is worshipping.

This poem has an interesting theme that presents homosexuality and religion at the same time in a successful way.

[nurihuda-portfolio]

My Lover is a Woman by Pat Parker: Stigmatization and Irony

I.

my lover is a woman & when i hold her feel her warmth      i feel good      feel safe

then—i never think of my family’s voices never hear my sisters say bulldaggers, queers, funny      come see us, but don’t      bring your friends           it’s ok with us,           but don’t tell mama           it’d break her heart never feel my father turn in his grave never hear my mother cry Lord, what kind of child is this?

II.

my lover’s hair is blonde & when it rubs across my face it feels soft      feels like a thousand fingers      touch my skin & hold me           and i feel good

then—i never think of the little boy who spat & called me nigger never think of the policemen who kicked my body & said crawl never think of Black bodies hanging in trees or filled with bullet holes never hear my sisters say white folks hair stinks don’t trust any of them never feel my father turn in his grave never hear my mother talk of her backache after scrubbing floors never hear her cry Lord, what kind of child is this?

These are two of the four poems in Pat Parker's series of poems titled My Lover is a Woman. I have yet to find the exact year this poem was first published, but from its cultural context, it might have been written in the 1960s. The depiction of violence and discrimination toward African Americans is pretty apparent in these poems. Here, the speaker tells her experience of having a female lover that can make her escape from the harsh reality of being a black woman in a homophobic and racist society. The irony lies in the fact her lover is a white woman, as described in the line "my lover's hair is blonde".

The subject of sexuality is often missing in any racial discourse. This makes people of color, especially Black in this context, prone to the stigmatization of their sexualities. It was only 19 years ago when Roderick Ferguson presented a new method of discourse called "queer of color analysis" in his book titled Aberrations in Black. In the introduction of the book, he also gives an anecdote of how drag queens are seen as the standard of Black queer, and this is one of the examples of the said stigmatization.

The irony I pointed out earlier can exemplify a way to defy this kind of stigma. In the era where the idea of a black and white lesbian couple might not have been imagined by anyone, it's easy for them to receive even more negative reactions from society than two black same-sex lovers. This also proves that racial difference in a relationship is more concerning than the queerness of the relationships themselves according to people at that time. Nevertheless, nobody can stop a black woman from loving a person whose race is the same as people who called her "n*gger", kicked her, and hang people of her race. Again, the only thing that makes this a problem is society's stigma.

Overall, I really love the diversity in queer literature. Sexuality must not be excluded from racial discourse, and this kind of literary piece is what keeps asserting that.

[nurihuda-portfolio]

Loveless by Alice Oseman: "Theater Kid" Trope and Queer

Loveless is quite recent work written by Alice Oseman that was first published in 2020. It is a "classic" young adult novel with a pretty straightforward kind of storytelling. There's nothing really extravagant about it, yet it's easy to fall in love with this novel as it tells a heartwarming story of an asexual, a part of a group that lacks representation in media. It tells a story of a university girl and her diverse friends exploring romance, sexuality, feelings, and themselves. Other than each of their internal conflict, the plot is driven by a conflict that happens within their small theater club called Shakespeare Society. Some people might roll their eyes on the mention of "theater club" in a young adult literature. It's been used so many times that it gets boring at this point. As typical as it is, I call the usage of "theater kid" trope in this novel as successful, and it might even be genius, thanks to its dominant theme of queer.

Theater itself is an industry that targets specific audience rather than general public. Furthermore, if there's any part of entertainment industry that values freedom of speech the most, it's going to be theater. Ever since the beginning of its history, theater has been promoting groundbeaking ideologies that have not always been easy to be accepted by the society. Take Lysistrata, Spring Awakening, and Angels in America for examples. Angels in America used to be controversial for bringing up LGBT, but now, it's as if the whole Broadway is holding a competition to find which play/musical represents minorities, including LGBT, the most. Mind you that I take this as a positive progress.

It won't be surprise if queer kids, teenagers, or even adults, idolize the theater industry as they might feel like it is the only kind of entertainment that understands them the most. In the case of Loveless, inserting a "theater kid" trope among a group of diverse queer characters reflects the reality as it is because they are in fact, one of the theater industry's "best friends". It is done with a reason. Especially, with asexuals being quite left behind among other queer groups in terms of representation, "theater kid" trope emphasizes it to the readers that theater can be an actual platform where asexuals are really welcomed.

With that being said, the use of the "theater kid" trope in the novel Loveless by Alice Oseman is something that has a specific meaning, and that is to emphasize how relatable the theater industry is to the queer community.

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Little Boy by Marina Perezagua

I don’t remember exactly when I began to understand what H. was not telling me. I suppose it was something that happened over time, something that I picked up imperceptibly until it came to me naturally. I do remember that I understood everything in an instant and, despite the fact that she had never mentioned it, I felt as if we had never stopped talking about it. H.’s restraint on that front meant that she had spoken with her most eloquent organ: her silence. I will retrace my steps and correct myself. If H.’s loss was to be found anywhere, it was not in the impossible embrace of the Greek Venus, but rather in the lost penis of the Apollo Belvedere. Except for one detail: what would have been a source of grief for another man was a great relief for H. The day that H. was finally able to tell me, I already knew. There were no surprises or drama on my part, only a stream of questions that had built up in my head, to which she would respond by confirming a few details. That was when she let me into her most intimate world, and I entered into it without any of the reserve I had shown when first asking about her sexual relations.

H. was always very conscious of being a girl, but she had been brought up as a boy because she was born with a penis that, in accordance with her consciousness rather than her surroundings, never actually developed. H. was born with a sex differentiation disorder. She belonged to what would later be named a third sex. When she was born, the doctors and her parents decided that she was a boy, ignoring a few ambiguous features and a female organ that could not be seen from the outside: a half-formed uterus. They sent her to a school for boys, and as she grew up they hid from her the fact that her sex was the subject of confusion during those first few weeks. Until she was twelve, H.’s difficult situation was disguised by her haircut, her uniform, her teachers’ predictions for her future as a young man. But as she developed, her conflicts progressed from her clothing and the style of her hair to other, more internal, changes. Although her testosterone levels were weak, they were still strong enough to allow her to start sprouting a beard during puberty like the rest of her schoolmates, and she went through other visible changes that ran parallel to the production of semen in her testicles. What had until then been mere dress-up started to become ingrained in her, inherent, and one morning she woke up in a uniform she could not remove. H. used to say that the most traumatic thing was not being able to take off the costume other people forced her to wear. External impositions, like a spider’s abdomen spilling its thread, had trapped her like prey. And, inside this web, a little space for movement: her small penis responding to the touch of her left hand. The little masturbating bug exploring the advantages of its new machine. But as soon as the thick milk turned her fingers into the webbed feet of a water bird, H. asked herself if such a climax would be enough to compensate her.

H. started to think more and more frequently of self-mutilation. During our conversations, she acknowledged that those thoughts could have remained a comforting fantasy toying with her mind, an escape. For that very reason, she was happy that the bomb had touched her, making her thoughts a reality. But to look at her own scar was not easy, and she spent weeks mourning the penis that she had always hated, that she still hated. For a long time, she slept on her back because she missed the friction between her little appendage and the futon. She thought of it like a lizard’s tail that, separated from its body, spends its last movements trying to reattach itself. It would have been less painful to imagine her penis burnt, dead, pulverized; but instead she imagined it thrashing around, looking for her amongst the ruins of Hiroshima like a lizard without eyes.

For ten years, H. felt the helplessness of a reptile pining for the movement of the tail it rejects. Her spirit wavered between the relief of that loss and the pain of castration, in the uncertain space between mutilation and the desire to see her tail regenerate as another organ. And, on the outside, she had the genitalia of a doll. Neither a penis nor a vagina. The explosion had also affected her testicles, reduced in their scrotum to half their original size.

Read the full story here

Phew, this is quite long for a short story. One sitting was not enough for me to read this. Nevertheless, every word, every sentence, every paragraph was so engaging that I wouldn't want to stop reading. The premise of this literary work is a story told within a story. The author uses a first-person perspective that retells someone's narrative in a third-person perspective. H, the person who generates the main story, is someone who survived the Hiroshima bombing.

As someone who was born an intersex and raised as a boy, H always had an internal gender identity conflict. After the bombing affected her genitalia, something she had always repulsed, she decided to transform her genitalia completely. H's story is so personal that I don't know how to analyze it as a whole without straying from its true message.

H's identity crisis journey is just one thing that she gained from the Hiroshima bombing. In this prose, we also get other several characters' own experience of the bombing, and they're equally grotesque. One thing is stuck in my mind the most is the phrase 'a lump with a head so swollen it had tripled in size'. The phrase is widely used to describe the bombing's victims that it doesn't even have any other synonym.

I really recommend this to everyone. If you have time, please read this. I'm a picky reader, but this one definitely didn't disappoint me.

[nurihuda-portfolio]

When talking about Queer Nation Manifesto, which was made by Americans, I couldn't help but compare it with the queer environment in Asia, so I got reminded of this documentary. It makes me realize that despite every country having its own queers' struggles, there's some kind of a pattern to it. Almost every problem faced by queers in Western countries that I learned exists in Asia, too. It also made me realize that no matter how lenient is the law in a country to accommodate the queer community, there will still be problems created by stereotypes. The movie presents interviews with many kinds of people from the LGBT community in Japan, so it is really interesting to see their different perspectives and how they challenge the term "queer" itself to fit them.

[nurihuda-portfolio]

The Queer Nation Manifesto by Anonymous

Feel some rage. If rage doesn't empower you, try fear. If that doesn't work try panic.

An Excerpt:

[Untitled] Why in the world do we let heteros into queer clubs? Who gives a f--- if they like us because we "really know how to party?" We have to in order to blow off the steam they make us feel all the time! They make out wherever they please, and take up too much room on the dance floor doing ostentatious couples dances. They wear their heterosexuality like a "Keep Out" sign, or like a deed of ownership. Why the f--- do we tolerate them when they invade our space like it's their right? Why do we let them shove heterosexuality - a weapon their world wields against us - right in our faces in the few public spots where we can be sexy with each other and not fear attack? It's time to stop letting the straight people make all the rules. Let's start by posting this sign outside every queer club and bar:

- Rules of Conduct for Straight People 1.  Keep your displays of affection (kissing, handholding, embracing) to a minimum. Your sexuality is unwanted and offensive to many here. 2. If you must slow dance, be as inconspicuous as possible. 3. Do not gawk or stare at lesbians or gay men, especially bull dykes or drag queens. We are not your entertainment. 4. If you cannot comfortably deal with someone of the same sex making a pass at you, get out. 5. Do not flaunt your heterosexuality. Be discreet. Risk being mistaken for a lezzie or a homo. 6. If you feel these rules are unfair, go fight homophobia in straight clubs, or 7. Go f--- Yourself.

Read the full text here

Quoting from https://www.historyisaweapon.com/, This text is "originally passed out by people marching with the ACT UP contingent in the New York Gay Pride Day parade, 1990." The Queer Nation itself is an organization that fights violence against the queer community. The manifesto might have given this community a way to be perceived as radical or overreactive. However, if you have read the whole text, you would fully understand why they react that way.

1990 was a period where non-queers had the freedom to use HIV/AIDS as an excuse to oppress the LGBT community. It is, without question, not a forgivable act. Just like the previous drama I have posted titled Angels in America, this manifesto highlights how difficult it is to be a queer at that time. That's why the queers raged and put all their frustrations, anger, and demands toward non-queers in this manifesto. They have every right to do that as the treatment they get from civilians is not something they deserve.

This section of the text is my favorite part of the manifesto. The sarcastic approach to express the queer's frustration with the way they always get treated by non-queers truly creates an effect. It might not turn a homophobic into an ally, but hopefully, it can move someone to reflect and act.

[nurihuda-portfolio]

happy birthday all asexuals

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You can see how freedom of gender and sexuality expression in Indonesia gets more limited over time from its cinematic industry. This video tells us how equality in gender and sexuality progresses backward. LGBT representation in Indonesian movies is almost nonexistent. The recent “controversial” one that managed to be released was Memories of My Body (2018).  Even then, it got massive backlash from the government and the religious communities. Many of the movies mentioned in this video touch more on the subject of gender rather than sexuality. The first few seconds of the video already portray a big problem; anything that does not conform to your gender is seen as merely a joke. Then from the movie I mentioned, it is highlighted that LGBT is actually inherent in our traditional culture. Then comes the question: “is this an empowerment or an appreciation?” Because most Indonesian queer films are made by non queers. However, I don’t think it matters as long as people still get whipped for being gay.

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Angels in America by Tony Kushner

An Excerpt from Act I Scene 4

Joe exits. Hannah sits. Prior enters, wearing dark glasses and a hat.)

PRIOR: That man who was just here.

HANNAH (Not looking at him): We're closed. Go away.

PRIOR: He's your son.

(Hannah looks at Prior. Little pause. Prior turns to leave.)

HANNAH: DO you know him. That man?

(Little pause)

How do you know that...

PRIOR: My ex-boyfriend, he knows him, now—I wanted to warn your son about later, when his hair goes and there's hips and jowls and all that... human stuff, that poor slob there's just gonna wind up miserable, fat, frightened and alone because Louis, he can't handle bodies.

HANNAH (A beat, then): Are you a ... a homosexual?

PRIOR: Oh is it that obvious? Yes. I am. What's it to you?

HANNAH: Would you say you are a typical... homosexual?

PRIOR: Me? Oh I'm stereotypical. What, you mean like am I a hairdresser or ...

HANNAH: Are you a hairdresser?

PRIOR: Well it would be your lucky day if I was because frankly... I'm sick. I'm sick. It's expensive.

(He starts to cry)

Oh shit now I won't be able to stop, now it's started. I feel really terrible, do I have a fever? (Offering his forehead, impatiently)

Do I have a fever?

An Excerpt from Act I Scene 6

HANNAH: You had a vision.

PRIOR: A vision. Thank you, Maria Ouspenskaya. I'm not so far gone I can be assuaged by pity and lies.

HANNAH: I don't have pity. It's just not something I have.

(Little pause)

One hundred and seventy years ago, which is recent, an angel of God appeared to Joseph Smith in upstate New York, not far from here. People have visions.

PRIOR: But that's preposterous, that's...

HANNAH: It's not polite to call other people's beliefs preposterous. He had great need of understanding. Our Prophet. His desire made prayer. His prayer made an angel. The angel was real. I believe that.

PRIOR: I don't. And I'm sorry but it's repellent to me. So much of what you believe.

HANNAH: What do I believe?

PRIOR: I'm a homosexual. With AIDS. I can just imagine what you...

HANNAH: No you can't. Imagine. The things in my head. You don't make assumptions about me, mister; I won't make them about you.

PRIOR (A beat; he looks at her, then): Fair enough.

HANNAH: My son is ... well, like you.

PRIOR: Homosexual.

HANNAH (A nod, then): I flew into a rage when he told me, mad as hornets. At first I assumed it was about his . . . (She shrugs)

PRIOR: Homosexuality.

HANNAH: But that wasn't it. Homosexuality. It just seems ... ungainly. Two men together. It isn't an appetizing notion

but then, for me, men in any configuration ... well they're so lumpish and stupid. And stupidity gets me cross.

PRIOR: I wish you would be more true to your demographic profile. Life is confusing enough.

(Little pause. They look at each other.)

PRIOR: You know the Bible, you know ...

HANNAH: Reasonably well, I...

PRIOR: The prophets in the Bible, do they... ever refuse their vision?

HANNAH: There's scriptural precedent, yes.

PRIOR: And what does God do to them? When they do that?

HANNAH: He____ Well, he feeds them to whales.

(They both laugh. Priors laugh brings on breathing trouble.)

HANNAH: Just lie still. You'll be all right.

PRIOR: NO. I won't be. My lungs are getting tighter. The fever mounts and you get delirious. And then days of delirium and awful pain and drugs; you start slipping and then. I really ... fucked up. I'm scared. I can't do it again.

HANNAH: You shouldn't talk that way. You ought to make a better show of yourself.

PRIOR: Look at this ... horror.

(He lifts his shirt; his torso is spotted with three or four lesions)

See? That's not human. That's why I run. Wouldn't you? Wouldn't anybody.

HANNAH: It's a cancer. Nothing more. Nothing more human than that.

PRIOR: Oh God, I want to be done.

HANNAH: An angel is just a belief, with wings and arms that can carry you. It's naught to be afraid of. If it lets you down, reject it. Seek for something new.

PRIOR: I...

I might have read the first act of Angels in America a hundred times, but the funny thing is, I've never read the second act even once. I'm undeniably curious about what would happen after Act I, but the single act itself is already quite overwhelming. There are so many things happening. So many ideologies, beliefs, issues, and troubles, are put together. The most prominent subject that is presented might be homosexual oppression during the AIDS pandemic. However, personally, I found the matter of the clash between homosexuality and religion to be the most interesting in this drama, particularly, this act.

As for this excerpt, I found it especially heartwarming that a mother who lives in a religious homophobic society, probably all of her life, finally accepts her homosexual son for who he is. Although still sets a stereotypical perspective toward homosexuals, what's most important is that she validates homosexuality itself. She even talks to Prior, another gay character in this drama, in a supportive manner. What makes an impression on me the most is when she says, "No you can't. Imagine. The things in my head. You don't make assumptions about me, mister; I won't make them about you," to Prior. This shows her character development from being a homophobic who generalizes queerness to an accepting and open-minded person.

I can't say Angels in America is a light reading. However, if you're up for something not really serious but can really make you think about the issues related to queer discrimination, this is a perfect reading for you.

[nurihuda-portfolio]

Sylvia Rivera calling out gays and lesbians for their trans exclusion in 1973 at the Christopher Street Liberation Day rally (x)

[nurihuda-portfolio]

Perfect World

Yona sits with her back facing the vanity mirror, staring emptily at the wall in front of her. In that crowded bride’s room, everyone is busy except for her. She is ready in her wedding dress, her makeup is full, her hair is done, and all that’s left to do is wait until the ceremony starts. Nobody in the room seems to pay attention to her face right now. Because if they do, they will surely point out the fear that it explicitly shows.

In half an hour, she will be married to a man she barely knows. The marriage was planned so suddenly by her mother after she found out that Yona was dating a woman. Yona was helpless. Up until now, every important decision of her life was made by her mother. Yona does not have any control of her life as long as her mother is alive.

Yona is not sure whether it’s time yet. All she knows is she needs to throw up right now as anxiety is eating her up. She excuses herself to go to the bathroom. She almost forgets to bring her phone with her. If she had gone without it, she would regret that forever. Because just after doing her business in the bathroom, four messages pop out on her phone.

Helen : “I’m at the back of the church”

Helen : “Where are you? I’ve brought everything”

Helen : “Do you know any safe place where we can meet?”

Helen : “Are you already in your wedding dress? If that’s so, you have to make yourself inconspicuous first”

Yona nearly tears up when she reads them. The backup plan that Helen talked about a long time ago is going to be executed at this very moment. Helen knew that Yona’s mother would find out about their relationship sooner or later, and Helen also knew that she wouldn’t let it slide.

Yona : “I’m in the toilet”

Yona : “Helen I’m scared”

Yona : “Are you sure about this? Please be careful”

The messages appear to be read by Helen. Yona waits for about a minute, but Helen still doesn’t say anything. Her feet stomp on the bathroom floor at a rapid speed as she’s waiting for Helen’s reply and hoping that nobody is looking for her. Another minute passes until she finally decides to call her. Just when she’s about to do it, the door to the bathroom opens slowly, and someone calls her name.

“Yona?”

It’s Helen’s voice. Yona knows it for sure. She runs out of the stall in an instant and hugged Helen.

“Did anyone see you?” Yona asked.

“No, they didn’t notice me,” Helen looks behind Yona to make sure that there is no one in the bathroom besides of them. She then pulls out a set of outfits from her bag. “Change to this. I’ll watch out for anyone coming.”

Yona obeys. She takes off her wedding dress and throws it inside one of the bathroom stalls. As soon as she finishes changing, both of them sneak out to the parking lot. Helen starts her car and finally, they run away. All of this happens so quick and precisely as if they have drilled it so many times. The car runs at full speed. They don’t want to take any risks. They stay silent until Yona looks behind her back.

“Don’t do that,” Helen says. “Don’t look back. We promised that we’ll forget everything about this life.”

“I know,” Yona replies. “I just can’t believe this is gonna be the last day we live as Yona and Helen.”

They don’t say anything again for a while. Then the light turns red. The car stops, and they look at each other.

“What happens if they find us?” Yona asks.

“Like I’ve always said, we run away, change our identities, and start our new life. Basically, we do this all over again. All I know is I’ll never leave you.”

“Thank you, Helen. I mean, Rachel.”

Helen smiles as she gets called by her new name.

“I love you, Naomi.”

From this moment, Yona and Helen have never existed. There are only Naomi and Rachel. They’re now riding the car that will bring them to the perfect world they will create.

Note: This is an original short story written by me that I submitted for Creative Writing class. The theme itself is lesbian love. I'd like to present the obstacles that homosexual lovers often face when fighting to stay together.

[nurihuda-portfolio]

On Trans by Miller Oberman

The process of through is ongoing.

The earth doesn’t seem to move, but sometimes we fall

down against it and seem to briefly alight on its turning.

We were just going. I was just leaving,

which is to say, coming

elsewhere. Transient. I was going as I came, the words

move through my limbs, lungs,                mouth, as I appear to sit

peacefully at your hearth           transubstantiating some wine.

It was a rough red,              it was one of those nights we were not

forced by circumstances                       to drink wine out of mugs.

Circumstances being,      in those cases, no one had been

transfixed at the kitchen sink long enough       to wash dishes.

I brought armfuls of wood           from the splitting stump.

Many of them, because it was cold,      went right on top

of their recent ancestors.              It was an ice night.

They transpired visibly,            resin to spark,

bark to smoke, wood to ash.        I was

transgendering and drinking     the rough red at roughly

the same rate           and everyone who looked, saw.

The translucence of flames       beat against the air

against our skins.                          This can be done with

or without clothes on.               This can be done with

or without wine or whiskey        but never without water:

evaporation is also ongoing.       Most visibly in this case

in the form of wisps of steam     rising from the just washed hair

of a form at the fire whose beauty was                  in the earth’s

turning, that night and many nights,      transcendent.

I felt heat changing me.                    The word for this is

transdesire, but in extreme cases                 we call it transdire

or when this heat becomes your maker we say

transire, or when it happens             in front of a hearth:

transfire.

My personal comment:

This is a one long poem full of metaphors and complex literary devices. I particularly love how the author plays with the prefix "trans-" throughout the poem. It emphasizes the main issue really well. "Trans-" itself can mean "beyond" or "across", and the words used in here depict both meanings. In "transgendering" for example, the word portrays a process of moving both across and beyond gender. Meanwhile, some of the words here cannot be found in the dictionary, yet they still deliver impactful meanings. The word "transdesire", although is not really a word, it would mean "beyond desire" if we apply the meaning "beyond" to it.

Transitioning for transexuals is a tough process that takes a long time. It's an endless process of "becoming". I'm truly amazed by their ability to overcome whatever obstacle that comes in their way, and I know it's not easy at all. The wordplay of "trans" is a genius way highlight that process.

[nurihuda-portfolio]

Live Oak, With Moss by Walt Whitman

Reading by me

This is one of the poems Whitman wrote in his book titled "Live Oak, With Moss" that had never been published during his lifetime. It might have been his first literary work collection that revealed his identity as a homosexual. I specifically choose poem no. IX to read as I think it's beautiful and sentimental enough despite not being lovey-dovey kind of romantic. It presents his innocent dream of the world where men can love other men, whether it is romantically or platonically, and everyone is normal about it. Of course, that is just a utopia in this heteronormative society.

The other poems in this collection, although still as beautiful as this piece, are not really my cup of tea. However, they do spark some questions, such as how hard it was to be queer in the 19th century? How would society feel when they read a love poem from a man to another man? Is it possible that Whitman never published it because he feared their reaction? The existence of this collection itself is still a mystery until now.

[nurihuda-portfolio]

[Image ID: an photograph showing an unidentified marcher carrying a sign which reads: "We don't want your cis kids to be trans, we want your trans kids to survive". The coloring of the letters reflects the trans flag. End ID.]