oindrojal

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the first time i saw pride written out in my language was in @abhasmisraraj’s instagram post sometime around pride month last year. in quarantine. i couldn’t tell you how it felt back then, but it came at a time when i was beginning to understand the differences between western queerness and south asian, bangladeshi queerness.

oindrojal is born out of that realisation, and the desire to dig as deep into it as possible to find whatever sliver i can about my queer history, my queer elders — often pioneers, equally as often butchered on the streets and in their homes for their love — and perhaps most ardently, my queer belonging.

it is true that many of our ideas about queerness today, in bangladesh, come from the west but it is not because it did not exist, but because our history here has been systematically erased and overwritten. it is essential to make the distinction that queerness is not inherently western — it never has been, and regardless of how much erasure our existences are subjected to, it never will be.

and so oindrojal is an attempt to read, discover, archive, muse on, preach, and practise queerness that is rooted in liberation, in love for our intersections of belonging, and in our radical anger, joy, and empathy.

my name is juno. sometimes june. welcome to oindrojal.

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mao ishikawa’s stunning photographs of her friends in 70s okinawa

The cult Japanese photographer givesher first-ever English language interview,about her new book ‘Red Flower, The Women of Okinawa.’ (x)

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Dreams of Ainu Childhood, vol. 1

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hey, take some more video essays. (part one)

how tiktok makes you feel ugly

a relaxing critique of animal crossing new horizons

the 27 club: mental illness and art

talent belongs to the beautiful - how media manipulates your tastes

lindsay lohan: the rise of a starlet ( part one, part two )

the unrealistic beauty standard is deadly

how beauty brands failed women of color

the devil wears prada style analysis

the beauty standard between men and women

what happened to all of the black children sitcoms?

a deep dive into ‘aesthetic’ youtube

dan schneider’s wife aka hungery girl exposed

why black people hate justin timberlake

janet jackson: the underrated legend

erotica: madonna’s career ending album

the cracked reality of the ACE famly

the lovely bones is scarier than we remember

lady gaga is performance art

why rappers are the new rockstars

colorism and violence: what really happened to 3lw

the real ellen - the bitter truth behind the daytime icon

pretty privilege: beauty standards, bimbo effect and free scones

from fame to shame: shane dawson’s story ( tw for racism & pedophilia )

you’re not relatable anymore

the beauty community: racism & toxicity

a goofy movie and the power of nostalgia

music that defined the 2010s

heathers, jawbreaker, & the timelessness of killer cliques

deep cuts: society & queer horror

pinterest aesthetics, fatphobia & whitewashing

tiktok vs black creators: if you hate us just say dat

the “blaccent”; nonblack creators key to fame

ghost singing: who was really singing on michael jackson’s posthumous album

judy garland: the end of the rainbow

marilyn monroe: living blonde

the downfall of the singer cassie

this teen idol manipulated everyone

how frenemies reveals a mental health misconception perpetuated by the internet

legacy, chronical, & every other reimagining of the craft

it’s not a coincidence, it’s colorism

evil queens: a gay look at disney history

the authenticity of lana del rey

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I can’t remember where I heard this but I was totally blown away by the apparent class difference in werewolves and vampires portrayal, werewolves are rarely of ever shown as wealthy or upperclass, they’re very likely poor or close to being lower class, while vampires are almost always very wealthy. I don’t know what to do with this but it’s just so facinating how class is reflected is almost everything in media including monsters

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when parasite said the rich can afford to be kind, when parasite said global warming is most catastrophic for those least responsible, when parasite said the rich are the ones with access to sunlight, when parasite said the efforts of the working class are invisible to their exploiters, when parasite said water only ever flows from the rich down to the poor and never in reverse, when parasite said the rich are the real parasites for leeching off of their workers' labour

[oindrojal]

Why technicolour academia?

To be very honest, because I’m exhausted. This year, I started my first year of university, and although it has been mostly enjoyable, the one thing I have not been able to move past (and have butted heads with my professors over) is the sheer lack of diversity in my courses.

In three trimesters, across four courses, there has been no exception to straight, white, cis male authors aside from a poem by queer poet Carol Ann Duffy and a short story by Argentine author Liliana Heker. Oh, and the only poem in my Introduction to Poetry syllabus: “I'm Nobody! Who are you?” by Emily Dickinson.

When I did confront my professors about it, I was told about the department’s predetermined syllabus parameters or, slightly more infuriatingly, that these were the writers who represented the genres or the times or the periods or the history — yes, because the sole reason the traditional literary canon consists of them is because they were exceptional writers (which many were, but come on) and not because certain voices had disproportionately been elevated while others were suppressed, concealed, and marginalised. Four introductory courses, covering everything from the development of English poetry to that of drama, and not even a nod to why the syllabus, or the history, is the way that it is.

I do not exaggerate when I say I am exhausted.

A lot of the elitism and selective elevation that already exists in academia bleeds into online spheres celebrating academic life. Dark academia, light academia, grey and this and that — admirable as their aesthetics are (and they are, indeed, admirable; it’s always lovely to see the enthusiasm surrounding the accumulation of knowledge), one tires of monotones and washed out Greco-Roman sculpture when there is nothing more versatile to punctuate it.

And hence, funk academia. A meager, wholly personal attempt to read more queer and BIPOC writers and put it out into the online world as I do; and, in the process, add a splash of colour. At its core, I want funk academia to move past this near-inescapable fatigue, and towards radical joy and celebration — of life, of literature, of colour, of art that surpasses canon.

That’s about it, really.

Strega Nona knows that joy is a radical act, and I’m inclined to agree.