I think about the movies and TV shows that have had Princess Nokia's music playing in the background of its scenes; the iconography of girlhood, doused in glitter and neon lights and loud outfits, of parties in middle-class American homes and power-walks through middle-class American schools. I think about the girls of Euphoria, the girls from The Craft: Legacy, the girls of Dare Me, the girls of Booksmart and the girls from Moxie. I think about the overwhelming blistering rage these scenes contain - the way we contain it inside of us - while we trudge into classes where people tell us what to think, what to wear, what to read, and what to say. I think about the protagonist in Moxie, a white girl with token POC friends, a white girl whose eyes we must learn about the patriarchy through. The irony is not lost on me.
But I think about the opening scene of the movie nonetheless, where she dreams of screaming in the middle of the woods and nothing comes out. I think, now this is universal. The prophetic nightmare. I understand this. I've had these dreams my whole life. I've had it while running from something in the dark, I've had it while screaming at my family, I've had it while hands grabbed at me from unseen corners. I understand what it means, spiritually; blocked throat chakra. You feel silenced, you haven't yet found the inner power to speak your truth. You are fighting the entire world, and every time you speak up, the world punches you in the face. Tells you you're making shit up. Mongers the fear of the overemotional woman in people. Or worse, takes your body away from yourself. How does one take away something that is literally stuck to your soul?
But I know this, too. Hormones and nervous systems and the brain checking out at its highest state of stress for survival. I know how bodies turn into shells and bury us so deep inside of it. Or does it eject us so far that it propels us to the other side of whatever astral plane it operates in now? And I know that it does it so naturally, so easily, because the DNA has been building and reforming and slinking into its own seatbelt, its own helmet, its own kneepads, and hazmat suit in the bodies of the women that came before us. Generations of them, running for cover behind their own bones. I think about the scene at the end of the movie, when a girl comes forward and tells everyone how she's survived abuse, survived someone taking her own body, and how she's survived the silencing of it for a whole year. What happens after the survival?
The girls, crowding the entrance of the school, all begin to scream - one by one in a canon. A song of visceral release. A returning of the rage unto the world that has given it to them. I think of Midsommar, of that scene that people call horrifying. Unsettling. When all the women crowd around each other at that cult retreat and wail and cry and spit and snot in each others' faces. I think of how natural that seems to me. How logical. Of course they're screaming and crying their throats raw. That's what every interaction with another woman has been like to me. That deep understanding and a space to scream and cry and scream and cry and scream so that we can make enough room for the joy and care the world expects us to bring unto it.
I think of the scene afterwards, when the girl returns to the same dream and she's screaming again, but this time, her voice finally comes out. Loud and clear. High-pitched and bothersome and filled with all this emotion everyone tries so hard to strangle out of us. I cry instantly. I know the dream. I've had this one, too. After talking to other women, after bringing up the things I care about in classrooms and online, after standing up for myself at the dinner table when a male relative tells me they don't think rape culture exists, after doing years of self-healing through the internet because my colonised culture doesn't allow us to talk about how its failed us, after leaving people out of my life because they choose not to understand that We are hurting. I know this dream. And I know that it'll come to you, too.
What is more magical, peculiar, whimsical and curious than being a teenage gxrl? It’s an experience that is fleeting and so quick it almost feels like it never happened in retrospect, yet feels like a lifetime when you’re in the midst of it. I talked to two teenage gxrls whilst in Hong Kong, Elsa and Guenevere, who are both turning fourteen this year and have gone to school together for two years now. We spent the day in Central, the city area of Hong Kong, where people wear tailored suits and branded bags. Being a teenage gxrl is a ‘if you know, you know’ type of thing that allowed me to start a conversation with the gxrls the second we met at the fast food restaurant. I think the sheer experience of it gives fellow teenage gxrls a very specific language that’s only for us, and it’s probably the reason why we started talking about boys and astrology (Elsa is a Sagittarius and Guen is a Leo) the minute we sat to eat our food.
I’ve always been passionate about what teenage gxrls have to say. Guen and Elsa prove that they’re welcoming by nature, and are almost always willing to open up, if someone would just ask the right questions. The gxrls talk about drama at school, and both mention how they seem to get dragged into drama that isn’t theirs. “It makes life harder, makes going to school harder,” Guen shrugs. We even talk about crying at night, “I cry about my insecurities and people I’ve lost in the past,” says Elsa. “I tend to keep it bottled up, too, since I don’t want to bother anyone,” Guen admits.
We talked about rebellion, honesty, and passion. Earnestly, Elsa tells me that the most rebellious thing she has done is shoplift. I instantly asked her if she was scared, and she was, “but I did get away with it,” she laughs after. Guen, on the other hand, is occupied by societal issues, “I grew up with activism around me, so I’m passionate about gender equality and feminism,” and she notes that standing up for the queer community is kind of like rebelling against her parents. They both wish people understood them better. “I wish people knew that I’m not mean, and that teenage gxrls are just trying to figure out life. We really don’t care about what you look like, we just care about what we look like,” Elsa explains. “I wish people knew that I’m tough, that I work hard and I’m passionate, even though things don’t come easy to me,” Guen says. “I wish people knew teenage gxrls are all going through something, too. Just because we’re young, doesn’t mean it’s dramatic.”
They are multificated people, and I know they have worlds within them, but being a teenage gxrl almost always seems to depend on the way you look. I asked them what they would wear if there were no restrictions, and Elsa admits that she’d wear something out of her comfort zone that makes her feel good, “my insecurities stop me from wearing what I want to wear, and I’m trying to get over that,” she says. Guen shares a similar sentiment, saying that she wishes she could wear clothes like cropped tops and shorts whenever she wants. “It makes me feel the most me, it’s my style.” Finally, I asked them for a song that makes them feel alive. They both chose Drake; Elsa’s is Trust Issues, the remix with Justin Bieber, and Guen’s is One Dance.
Watch the short film here:
Look, I can sugarcoat my experience at my predominantly white university all I want. Yes, I was both a student and an employee (so they were paying me whilst studying). And yes, I am definitely afraid of getting into legal drama if I were to be fully honest of my experience. Gaslight all you want, but the last time I spoke up, the experience was explosive and they literally dragged me into this weird, toxic cycle of questioning whether I was losing my sanity or they were actually being racist, which is a form of racial aggression. So yes, them profusely denying my opinions to the point of making me feel threatened is in itself a form of abusive behaviour, especially since they are authorities in power and I was a student coming forth with mere complaints gathered from students.
Long story short, my experience with my university has been one long exposé that occurred pre the height of the Black Lives Matter movement, which has now (thankfully) empowered students of colour to fully call out their institutions; BS-free; if it feels gross, it is gross type of thing. With the information I know now, I would come forward, look into the eyes of the Whites in power and say "if you so much as make me uncomfortable, that is your responsibility to unpack, detangle, and dispose of." In fact, a Western higher-education institution is by default a form of institutionalised racism, just through the ways in which these institutions gain funding, gatekeep education, and (only) teach eurocentric ideals, so...how is this even a debate?
But you don't need me telling you any of this. That was just the disclaimer for any of the energy-sucking cockroaches who might want to invalidate anything I have to say. No, if you're here, chances are you need to be given positive energy instead of given another lecture. So before ado is in anyway furthered, let's get into some helpful guidance.
I write for this magazine called NUKS at the university and every year, we publish the novella equivalent of our usual work for the introduction week. It's a nice ice breaker for the new incoming students to get to know our studies, our study association and the culture at our university/town. These pieces are usually fluffy, filled with favourites, city tours, and advice for scoring high grades in difficult first year courses. Not to say those aren't fun, but I felt a little dishonest trying to think of a Fun n' Fresh piece for the newbies. I felt a little lied to when I first came to the Netherlands, with the assuring promises of open-mindedness and tolerance (which I've come to find is a false self-narrative) and I didn't want to perpetuate the silencing "sure, I guess the Netherlands can be progressive." Thus, I bring you tips on how to create a safe space as a student of colour in a predominantly white institution instead!
1. The culture shock is real
Let's get this out of the way: your cultural identity will be challenged, questioned, awarded, tokenised, and who knows what else when you’re a part of a marginalised group in a space with non-marginalised people running the show. You will run into people who have views that you’ve never even heard of. This can be terrifying, but it can also be exciting. While university is a great time for you to experience new things, it can also be a great time to deconstruct your values, morals and what being you means to you. Although talking about identity in unknown environments can get harmful very quickly if people do not respect your basic existence and human rights, talking to your fellow intellectuals who are open and respectful can be a great and fun way to practice debating opinions, worldviews, and perspectives.
Just remember, no one else gets to define what your race, culture, or identity means to you. If someone tries to invalidate you or speak over your experiences, draw a boundary and get the hell out of there.
2. Find your space
All the good, meaty debate stuff is only good when you're completely safe. Establish this space for yourself. Find likeminded people, find the people you can consider your home away from your home. Go to on-campus events, go to open lectures and seminars, go to seasonal celebrations, watch local film screenings, attend the international student association get-togethers, strike conversations with random people in class or at the gym, and see what the campus has to offer. It can be a little awkward at first, but there is no better time to practice social skills than at a place dedicated to learning.
3. Speak up!
One of the best ways I’ve found my own circle is by speaking up in class or during audience commentaries. Being outspoken can be terrifying, especially in the face of professors and peers who may make you feel judged, but this is how you make yourself and your views known to your fellow peers without actually coming up to them. Don't let the ignorant and small-minded silence you, especially not in a space you've literally payed to be educated in. Bloom, regardless of the hatred, confusion or negativity.
4. Correct others, if need be
Opening yourself up to more casual and academic political conversations means you will have to discern those trying to get a rise out of you, playing "the devil's advocate" out of sheer disrespect, are plan racist and those who want to educate themselves but may be too privileged to understand the systemic oppression others experience. Once you can figure out who's who, you'll be able to decide if you want to give your energy to these people by explaining or if you want to leave the conversation/the people. Both are completely okay.
I hope it doesn’t happen to others, but I myself have run into peers and professors that say things that are ignorant or disrespectful in the classroom setting. This goes for every intersectionality of identity. If someone uses a word that is outdated, calls you by the wrong pronouns, or makes you feel silenced, correct the people around you. There’s nothing wrong with making a mistake and you can always help your peers understand certain topics they might not have as much experience with. If kindness doesn't work, I suggest walking away. You do not have to carry out the emotional labour of educating those around you.
5. Don't stick to the status quo
Look, I went to a Catholic, mostly white university, where I studied the Western canon extensively. Suffice to say, it was not a diverse study. But that doesn't mean it can't be. Challenge the system if you believe something is problematic. Initiate conversations about course materials with your professors, seek course coordinators if you believe there is a structural issue, bring suggestions to the student councils and communities so that they can bring real change to your study if need be. The best things in life always evolve and you shouldn’t be afraid to create change in your own community.
Hip-Hop was born in the Bronx, out of the art of scratching, mixing and sampling (Swanson). Princess Nokia, a Bronx local, was born out of the very culture that laid foundation for the genre. A Native-American Afrolatina, she represents and explores her identity in her song Brujas. Openly queer and a firm supporter of intersectional feminism, Princess Nokia has been vocal with her stance on numerous sociopolitical issues, especially on social media. Princess Nokia represents the new generation of American artists who come from viral fame on platforms, such as SoundCloud, and use their resulting platforms to discuss current issues. With her identity that literally embodies the American idea of the ‘melting pot’, Nokia’s music is influenced by numerous communities that amount to the American culture. Nokia is currently signed to Rough Trade Records, an independent London-based record label established in 1978. Nokia’s contribution to American music is incredibly vital due to her alternative outlook, brave lyrics, and outspoken presence. Brujas is a song on Nokia’s debut studio album titled 1992. Meaning “witches” in Spanish, Nokia explores how the word witch has been associated with black culture, Latinx culture and women. Thus, the question arises, “how does Princess Nokia use her song Brujas to explore the American identity through hip-hop?”
II. Theories and Methodology
In this essay, Princess Nokia’s Brujas and its music video will be analysed sonically, lyrically, and visually while keeping its cultural dimensions in the foreground. To culturally explore Princess Nokia’s Brujas in more depth, this essay will make use of a few theoretical approaches. Firstly, to analyse Nokia’s own feminist intent, I will use her interview with Alexis Petridis for The Guardian titled “Princess Nokia: ‘At my shows, girls can take up space the way men do’”. Secondly, to analyse the portrayal of POC women in hip-hop and mainstream music, I will use works such as I Got Something To Say by Matthew Oware, in his section titled “Bad Bitches?”, where he explores feminist approaches in hip-hop. Thirdly, to analyse lower-class, black identity, I will use “My City, My ‘Hood, My Street: Ghetto Spaces in American Hip-Hop Music” by Lidia Kniaź.
Nokia and her song largely relate to current developments in American music, especially with the uproar of female and black empowerment-based music that is becoming more mainstream. Radios often play and YouTube’s trending artists often include female rappers and hip-hop/R&B artists such as Beyoncé, Cardi B, Nicki Minaj, Missy Elliot, Kehlani, and SZA. Female hip-hop is becoming a part of the mainstream musical canon as of 2019, thus making it incredibly relevant to analyse.
Brujas currently has 6,337,486 views on YouTube and 6,499,656 streams on Spotify as of June 2019. Similar to many mainstream rap songs, such as DNA by Kendrick Lamar and APES**T by The Carters, Nokia uses a riff (consisting of four notes) and a syncopated beat that is repeated throughout the entire song. She creates distinctions between the verses by playing this riff in different octaves, but it is accompanied by a steady sampled beat that is also repeated. To make her voice occupy space in different ways throughout the song, Nokia uses filters and distortions to make it sound deeper, creating a masculine effect when she raps “I’m the supreme” and an other-worldly feel when she raps about “Orisha” (meaning Gods and Goddesses in the Yoruba language). Nokia makes a further reference to her African roots by featuring the African oral tradition in the brief Yoruba song that plays in the beginning of the music video.
Lyrically, Nokia uses a blend of classic rap diction and feminist language while featuring symbols from the various cultures she explores. For instance, Nokia begins the song with the lyrics “I’m the supreme” repeated three times. As many rappers do, Nokia establishes her dominance and power at the very beginning of the song. She goes on to rap lyrics such as “bad bitches,” “long weaves,” “long nails,” “cornrows,” and “baby fathers still in jail”. By listing stereotypical black female iconography while taking the position of the powerful masculine rapper, Nokia subverts the derogatory portrayal of women in rap music. Nokia’s choices are important and radical due to how women artists are treated in the hip-hop world and music industry in general. Fore example, in the interview with Alexis Petridis, Nokia talks of how she is featured in hip-hop blogs. She says “the commentary is really negative [...] because [she speaks] highly of [herself], people think [she’s] really pompous, or that [she’s] really narcissistic. But [she’s only speaking on [herself and her accomplishments], and [she] only speaks like that because no one else is doing it.” This is a huge double-standard when considering how most male rappers approach their lyrics from self-confident or even cocky perspective. By supporting herself and uplifting other black women who identify with her descriptive lyrics, she “[deploys] black male hegemonic rape tropes—violence and bragging—but simultaneously carve out space for their needs, wants, and desires as women.” (Oware 116).
Nokia’s exploration of the black identity also features famed diction. She repeats the same verse four times as she raps “we is them ghetto bitches.” The use of the words “ghetto” is easily recognizable due to how iconic it is amongst rap and hip-hop listeners throughout generations. “Being focused on the ghetto life with all its dangers seems to be an inherent part of the state of mind of all black New Yorkers.” (Kniaz 121) Furthermore, she uses colloquial language and grammar typical of rap music such as “we is them” to position herself within the genre. Through her lyrics, Nokia uplifts herself and other women whilst still staying true to her roots and her upbringing in the Bronx, amongst other Latinx and black people who used the same language in lower-class areas.
In addition, in her lyrics “North, East, West South shit,” she demonstrates her comfort in identifying with various ethnic groups and communities. Nokia mixes the West Coast “smoother, more laid-back style of rapping” (Starr 501) with the “old school” and “edgy” delivery of New York hip-hop (Starr 501). However, the addition of her Yoruban tradition and ancestry mixed with the calling out of her different ethnic backgrounds in lyrics such as “Black a-Rican,” Africa diaspora,” “Cuba,” “Arawak, that original people,” “Black Native American,” “from an island and it’s called Puerto Rico” shows the dimensions of American identities. Therefore, Nokia shows how complex she is and how she can not be pegged to one identity, category or stereotype. Finding fame in a worldwide audience through the internet, Nokia represents a new generation of rappers that goes beyond the East and West coast of rivalry and styles.
Moreover, Nokia’s exploration of witchcraft, as alluded by the title of the song, is dominant in lyrics such as “sage on the door”, “speaking in tongue,” “shapeshiftin’ bitch,” and “witchcraft.” However, Nokia highlights how she only associates herself with white magic, contrary to the streoetype created by postcolonial and sexist stories surrounding black witch figures such as Tituba that villainize black magic and voodoo. Instead, Nokia uses words such as “good witches,” “light magic,” “cast a circle in white,” “vanquish your spite,” “conjure the light,” “I ain’t no queen of the night” and “Imma’ dress in all white.” This is also evident in the beginning of the music video, which features a visual of Yemoja (Figure 1), a water deity associated with the moon who is “the patroness of motherhood, childbirth, the womb, giver of life and all things relating to femininity.” (Bennett) Nokia references to deity to show that her power is pure and Godly, and that it is entirely connected to her identity as a woman.
The visuals continue to represent many dimensions of femininity as Nokia shows different black women praying, playing, and loving each other (Figure 3). Nokia also highlights how the women embrace not only the nature around them, but also their own natural attributes as they wear their hair in their natural texture - something quite revolutionary as many female rappers and black female artists often wear their hair in Westernized styles. Natural beauty is further shown in shots of an elderly black woman dancing with a snake and a young girl laughing. Therefore, Nokia uses themes that surround purity, anti-hate, and kindness to uplift women, girlhood, sisterhood, female energy and witches while representing women of various ages and in their natural form.
Nokia ends the song with the repetition of the lyrics “I’m the supreme” and a sample from American Horror Story: Coven (2011), an American television show created by Ryan Murphy that is famous for its feminist iconography. The show centers around the descendants “from the survivors of the witch trials in Salem, Massachusetts in 1962” (Lonergan) as they compete for the title of Supreme Witch. One of the characters in particular, Queenie, is a descendant of Tituba and the end of the song ends with a sample about the witch.
“Tituba! Voodoo slave girl who graced us with her black magic/ You made her a slave/
Before that she came from a great tribe, the Arawak/ She gave it to your girls of
Salem/ A gift repaid with betrayal/ Maybe you ain't heard the news about civilization
starting in Africa/ We more than just pins in dolls and seeing the future in chicken
parts/ Been reading too many tourist guides, hm/ Everything you got, you got from us”
The sampled excerpt intersects the witch identity with the black, postcolonial identity. The excerpt references Africans as the original people and rewrites Tituba from a passive slave to a powerful witch with agency who indulged in vengeance - a trait that is rarely attributed as lady-like or feminine. Furthermore, Nokia seems to make a reference to the gang of four women from American Horror Story through the group of four women she is a part of. Together, they lean against a wall with bored, empty stares as they mouth “don’t you fuck with my energy” while Nokia takes center stage and raps the lyrics. Later in the music video, they all join to point the middle finger at the camera, and subsequently, the audience. Their behaviour is actually very typical for “the transgressive, rebellious sensibility of the genre” (Starr 495). Therefore, Nokia combines the rebellion of hip-hop with the rebellion of feminists who defy the standards and roles set upon them by society.
Princess Nokia uses her song Brujas to redefine the American identity by giving power to underrepresented and non-”mainstream” voices. The fame of Brujas and Princess Nokia herself is largely attributed to a relatively new development in popular music. Popular music no longer lays only in the hands of large record companies, television and radio stations, or DJs. Through the internet’s democracy of influence and reach, artists such as Princess Nokia are able to achieve an audience that goes beyond the mainstream, or even American, sphere. Yet, the American identity in itself is very much complex as it is rooted in the genocide of Native Americans and built upon the backs of African slaves. Americans, especially Americans of colour, seldom have a distinct, homogenous identity as many people are descendants of different ethnicities and cultures. Nokia embodies this in her song Brujas as she almagalmates and represents her various views and beliefs as a black, Native American, Latinx woman.
Bennett, Humphrey. “Moon Goddess Yemoja.” Liberty Voice, 13 April 2014.
Criminal Justice Fact Sheet. NAACP.
Kniaź, Lidia. “My City, My ‘Hood, My Street: Ghetto Spaces in American Hip-Hop Music.”
UMCS UP, February 2017.
Lamar, Kendrick. “DNA.” Youtube, directed by NABIL and The Little Homies, 18 April
Lonergan, Meg. “Witches, Bitches and White Feminism: A Critical Analysis of American
Horror Story: Coven.” Carleton UP, 2017.
Nokia, Princess. “Brujas.” Youtube, directed by Asli Baykal, 7 November 2016
Oware, Matthew. I Got Something To Say. “Bad Bitches?” DePauw UP, 2018.
Petridis, Alexis. “Princess Nokia: ‘At my shows, girls can take up space the way men do’.”
The Guardian, 8 September 2018.
Starr, Larry and Christopher Waterman. American Popular Music. 3rd ed, Oxford UP, 2010.
Swanson, Abbie Fentress. “The South Bronx: Where Hip-Hop Was Born.” New York Public Radio, 2 August 2010.
The Carters. “APESH**T.” YouTube, directed by Ricky Saiz, 18 June 2018.
This episode was filmed over a year ago.
Illustration by Ethan Rilly from Slate
Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between The World and Me is a bleak and earnest rewriting of the black literary narrative. It is somewhere between a novella and a novel that takes form in a three part letter to his fifteen year old son. In this letter, Coates reflects on his experiences as an African American man in the United States of America. In this relatively short journey, Coates explores what being black means to him, what it has meant to elder generations, and what it might mean for his son. Monumental events in black history, including slavery, Gettysburg, the projects, black universities, twenty-first century representation of black beauty and police brutality are told from the perspective of a worried father. According to Michelle Alexander in “Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between The World and Me”, Coates was inspired by James Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time, thus Between The World and Me is a modern rewriting of Baldwin’s work. In bold red letters, Toni Morrison’s words are printed on the cover of the book; “This is required reading.” I second Morrison, and in this essay I will argue why it should be required literature, especially in academic curricula.
Political bodies of works are often criticized for bias or brainwashing. Politically speaking (or, well, writing), Between The World and Me is supercharged. Yet, there is something about Coates’s voice as a father that is so heartbreakingly enlightening, readers will universally connect to the heart of the story - if not the black experience. For example, Coates breaks the Angry Black Man/Woman trope by speaking from a position of honesty and humane fear. This is evident in parts of the book such as in page 137, when Coates admits that “[he has] never asked how [his] son became personally aware of the distance [between black people and white people in America …]. [He] doesn’t think [he wants] to know.”
According to Brent Staples in “The Racist Trope That Won’t Die”, black people were associated with apes to justify slavery. However, the racist trope lives on through black characters, especially men, who are often depicted as a “savage”, “brute” or “beast” (Staples) to justify current racial issues in the USA such as mass incarceration. There is, of course, importance in telling all stories, including the abusive but traumatized Macon Deads of Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon. On the other hand, Coates’s gentleness as a black father is still rarely represented in the media. Coates writes that “[he has] no desire to make [his son] “tough” or “street”, perhaps because any “toughness” [he] garnered came reluctantly.” (Coates 24). Through reading a character with such motivations, readers are be invited to reflect on their own generational trauma and question their methods of raising the next generation. Therefore, Coates’s reflectivity encourages his readers to prevent the cycle from continuing.
Furthermore, instead of pointing fingers, Coates uses the telling of specific personal experiences as a jumping-off point. Coates does not attack the reader, no matter their sociopolitical standpoint. Instead, Coates allows the reader to measure their own experiences against his with no judgement. If anything, Between The World and Me is an indoctrinating guide for those trying to understand the black experience. “It is important that I tell you their names, that you know that I have never achieved anything.” (50) Coates writes after listing his favorite black artists. Coates uses this device numerous times throughout the book as a way of curating his own black canon. Moreover, he numerously repeats the names of the victims of police brutality, including Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner and Sean Bell. The reclamation of black names and thinkers are an effort to reclaim the erasure of black lives and art.
In conclusion, Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between The World and Me is less propaganda and more a handbook to African American suffering. Coates retells black history, spoken and unspoken, with a passion. With anger and hatred? Yes, only to a well-deserved capacity instead of the radical Angry Black trope. Coates writes with a compassion, a sense of hope and openness that is seldom associated with black stories. Coates’s novel is not a call to war, it is merely a father’s heartbreaking love letter to his son. This is why Between The World and Me should be required reading, as Morrison stated; Coates comes from a point of gentle fear and a feeling of urgency to teach his son about the dangerous horrors that await him as a black man. Coates taps into black power with a sense of understanding that invites everyone to empathize with how it feels to live with the constant threat that your body is not yours, and that your country has failed you as a citizen with basic rights. Perhaps this is the new-age indoctrination of systematic racism; sharing the humanity of pain rather than the accusatory micro-aggressions.
Alexander, Michelle. “Ta-Nehisi Coates’s Between The World and Me”. The New York Times.
17 August 2015.
Coates, Ta-Nehisi. Between The World and Me. Spiegel & Grau, 2015, New York.
Staples, Brent. “The Racist Trope That Won’t Die.” The New York Times. 17 June 2018.
I am here to share my wisdom with all of you, namely my ability to like everything so much that I have to get it out on a platform before it drives me to madness. I am honestly too excited to write much so let's just get started, shall we?
Street Food - Since watching the trailer, I knew I wanted to have a look at this new Netflix series, especially since they had an episode dedicated to Yogyakarta. To be real, I was procrastinating while doing an essay so instead of watching from the very beginning, I opted to just go ahead and watch the Jogja episode. As it turns out, none of them are connected. Man, let's start off with; she's a beaut. My father's a big fan of watching street food shows on TV and we used to always make fun of the Westerners who come to Asia and try to describe our food with their odd and seemingly unfitting Western descriptions. Also, watching them eat sambel is a darkly funny thing.
Street Food, however, does not follow that format. Instead, we learn about the food through the eyes of the local. The Jogja episode follows Mbah Sentinem, a 100 year old grandmother who makes jajanan pasar (market snacks). But more than that, this episode is a love story between Mbah Sentinem, her mother, the family she provides for, and her food. After watching it, it left a gnawing feeling of adoration for my culture at the depth of my stomach and it definitely made me cry. The food, the process, and all the actors in what makes food in Jogja delicious were wonderfully shot without that Orientalist, othering view that many "street food" shows have on TV.
On top of that, there is a huge stigma around being an active elderly in the Javanese culture, I've noticed. Once you reach a certain age, society tends to fuss over you and tell you to stay home, watch over the kids and take it easy. To watch Mbah Sentinem and all her vigor, all her love for life and hilarious humor made me so happy. It made me want to go back home and revisit all the places I went to as a child. I highly recommend.
Always Be My Maybe - What does it take to be featured on Sel's Menjelang Favorites? A tear-jerker, of course! Here's another one for the representation books that just gets it right: Ali Wong and Randall Park's new Netflix original film; Always Be My Maybe. Firstly, this movie is just downright funny. I love American humor but when they're a bit more on the mainstream, slapstick side, I tend to find it a bit too aggressive. I'm here for the subtle, more sarcastic and ironic humor of TV shows like Parks and Rec, Modern Family, etc. and this film really did it.
First of all, the soundtrack is great. I love me some 90s Hip Hop/R&B. Second of all, Ali Wong's acting style is just so good. There's something extra hilarious about watching her small frame waddle in all her gigantic heeled boots.
Second of all, this has got serious feminist undertones, y'all!!! And not in the roll-your-eyes-we-get-it kind of way. Wong's character, Sasha, is a female power house who is supportive of and supported by her queer best friend. There are so many "woke" jokes that made me actually laugh instead of nod as though I'm listening to a preacher. Sometimes it's just so fun to laugh and completely get it without having to get into it, you know?
On top of that, a lot of mainstream rom-coms that try to feature strong female leads often get it wrong. They always have to sacrifice something, always have to dim their ambition. I always have a lot of hope riding on that final decision (usually it's the Work vs. Boyfriend/Fame vs. Boyfriend trope). And for a second those whack films had me guessing. I was like: wow, what is Sasha going to choose? Maybe she is selfish and a workaholic! Plot twist: she ain't. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her ambition all along! And loved ones who don't support what you want to do (and they, of course, must be good for you) are weak! End of story.
Oh, also, can we mention but not talk about Keanu Reeves? I read in an interview that Keanu Reeves basically helped develop the Keanu Reeves character. What a wild time that was. As a person who watched John Wick 3, I advise Keanu Reeves to quit martial arts and do comedy full time. Man.
Tuca and Bertie - Alright, since I wrote mini heartfelt essays for the other ones, I'll keep this one short and sweet. Tuca and Bertie stars two comedic geniuses: Ali Wong (she is killing it this month!) and Tiffany Haddish - with the addition of the beautiful Steven Yeun, Awkwafina, and Nicole Byer (also Tessa Thompson, Laverne Cox, and many more amazing people in Hollywood). The show is such a gorgeous thing conceptually (they live in an animal version of New York) and visually, it's a cross between Adventure Time and BoJack Horseman. It has 100% on Rotten Tomatoes for good reason.
The show explores sexual harassment, female friendships, addiction, confidence, anxiety, family, female ambition, female anatomy, and other general adulting things in the most absurdist way possible. I love it. It's hilarious. Also that scene where Bertie has a mental breakdown in the grocery store is exactly what I experience every single time I go grocery shopping.
Booksmart - This film is It. It's Olivia Wilde's directorial debut and the cast is filled with beautiful people who wanted a chick flick about a female friendship that smashed the patriarchy. It is so incredibly funny, and still in that typical american way. At the same time, there's so much Gen Z humor that make it feel super fresh and like something we've never seen on screen before. It's honestly just hilarious and so well done. I felt like I was watching some of the people I, myself, know - but on a screen. The cast are also so sweet, I've been obsessed with watching their interviews. Also Oliva Wilde is kind of a directing genius? Ok cool.
YouTube - Bon Appétit has got it made, baby! Last summer, I was obsessed with watching their It's Alive show that stars who's-better-than-us-vinny Brad Leone and anything that Claire Saffitz does because of her super Virgo precision. I've opened my eyes since then, and have dabbled in the world of Chris, Carla, Andy, and Molly. Priya is growing on me. It's just such a great cooking channel that makes me want to cook and also doesn't make me fear cooking (which is a hard thing to do when you've got someone like me as an audience member). I still truly love It's Alive and would recommend it to those who are new to the BA Test Kitchen.
Aute Cuture by Rosalía - Thank God for Rosalía, huh? If you haven't listened to her El Mal Querer album, I recommend you start there. But Aute Cuture is such a summer bop and has big early Beyoncé vibes that I can't explain. It makes me want to smile fiercely as though I'm in a music video and go for a run at the same time. Also, she makes me genuinely want to learn Spanish just so I can sing along. I love that pop artists are moving back towards the deep, more meaningful lyrical tunes and I have to say Rosalía is at the front lines.
Heroine by Col3trane - Col3trane released an albuuuum. How blessed are we this summer, y'all? So blessed. Too blessed. He just has such a distinct voice and all of his beats are always so good - yet so different. His entire Tsarina album was genius and I have to say Heroine is a great follow up. My favorite track from the record right now is The Fruits (I mean, a collab with RAYE? Come on.)
Sucker Punch by Sigrid - Now that we've established that Rosalía is the Spanish pop princess, let's establish that Sigrid is the Norwegian pop bad ass. I love girl power and Sigrid packs a massive punch (aha! Get it?) She is so talented and after watching a live video of her performing Strangers, I realized just how powerful her voice is - which you wouldn't otherwise guess considering how soft and melodic (and almost yodel-y her voice is on her tracks). Her music makes me feel like I'm Robyn in a neo-neon-horror film about a teen pop star. My favorites from the record are Don't Kill My Vibe, Strangers, and Sucker Punch.
I've been reading a lot. Like, a lot a lot. But that's just because I'm taking an American Literature class so I thought I'd share my top 3 favs with you:
My new Extra necklace - This thing does so much. So so so much. It is so Leo and so Extra and I paid 6 whoopin' Euros for it due to a bargaining done right while I was on my Madrid trip!
Golden Gal - Another one from the Madrid-ian books. Wearing light tank tops during backpacking trips is such a breeze and I've been in love with that golden ribbon scrunchy whenever the sun's out.
Allen kleuren van de regenboog - Yes to a K3 reference and yes to showing some queer love! #HappyPride, to you all!
I didn't buy this (but I should have) - I found this faux fur coat in Madrid and I can't believe I let it stay there. It is everything I've ever wanted; it's Aunt Selena in a coat.
Lestari, Arnhem - One of my Oma's friends owns the restaurant and it is amazing. There are some good Indonesian restaurants but this one actually tastes like Indonesian food made by an Indonesian person. Every time I eat there, I always try something new and each dish is so good! I highly recommend the Mpek-Mpek, Soto Ayam, Soto Betawi, Kare Ikan.
Amazing Oriental, Dukenburg, Nijmegen - Okay, so let's take a moment of silence for the fact that most Asian stores in the Netherlands are called Tokos (Indonesian for "store") and Oriental. Heavy stuff. Anyway, I do recommend their Pisang Goreng and their bubble tea actually tastes like what bubble tea should taste like. It tastes like Chatime, y'all.
On the importance of representation in stories about humans.
Warning: I cried while writing this. Oh, and spoilers ahead.
In a little town in Eastern Netherlands, I sat in a cinema next to my cousin on a particularly stuffy afternoon. The country’s hottest heat wave yet was coming to its end but I felt as though I had just began living. I don’t believe I’m being dramatic. As a person who lives and breathes pop culture and mainstream media, Crazy Rich Asians meant a lot to me. Reading the book a few months before the film’s release was enough to get me giggling on my parents’ couch. As an Indonesian who grew up visiting Malay family friends in Singapore, went to a Chinese-oriented school throughout junior and half of senior high, and has a family who now lives in Hong Kong, I understood the book. I felt like the book understood me. The large family feuds, the secret societies of rich and beautiful people, the unbelievable food.
Needless to say, I was bouncing in my seat with an excited grin, waiting impatiently for the opening credits to end so I could finally sink my teeth in what was going to be the film I’d been waiting for my whole life. I have a lot of things to say about beautiful directing, characters, and representation. Unfortunately, in this day and age, no one truly has the energy to read through all of my thoughts. So, I shall share my favourite parts from the film that touched me the most in the hopes that it will show how Crazy Rich Asians is more than just a film about Asians.
Towards the beginning of the film, Rachel’s mother says to her in Mandarin that although Rachel looks Chinese, in her head and in her heart, she is American. It made me sink in my chair as I recall the countless talks my parents have given me about being a fourth culture kid—about taking the best parts of the cultures I come from and amalgamate them to create the best version of myself. I was never just Indonesian nor Dutch nor American. I am all of it and yet none of it at all. As the movie progresses, it becomes clear (much to Eleanor’s dismay) that Rachel is neither American nor Chinese. She’s simply Rachel. Her passions and ambitions are what define her, not the blend of cultures that raised her to be the ‘ABC’ (American Born Chinese) she is. Furthermore, Eleanor blatantly tells Rachel that she will never be enough for her son. I felt it. When you’re multiracial, you never feel like you’re enough. When I was with my family, I was too Westernized. When I’m with my European classmates, I feel too Indonesian or American. It’s a constant battle of feeling like you’re jumping from one identity to the next. Yet, Rachel never lets Eleanor’s comment gets to her. She doesn’t question her race or the way her mother raised her as an Immigrant in the US. Rachel unapologetically calls herself both, without worrying whether she’s enough of each side. Her identity is unfaltering and she is self-assured. Had I an exemplary character such as Rachel to look up to whilst growing up, the inner strUggle would have been much easier for me.
The next thing that tUgged at my multiracial heart strings was Araminta’s appearance at the airport. When I was younger, I used to envy those who looked more Eurocentric than me, which, naturally, considering the beauty standards in society (Western or not). I remember looking at the girls who wore leggings and sweatpants and Ugg boots and tank tops with their blonde messy buns. Indonesia was always too hot for sweatpants and Ugg boots (they were all I wanted when I visited Australia at the age of thirteen). My parents were always too Indonesian for me to be able to just wear a tank top in public. My hair is too thick to be piled on the top of my head without causing headaches in the long term. It was clear that even if I did conform to the way they dressed, I would never see myself as I saw the white girls who swarmed the airport. Because no matter how much I tried, the clothes and the hairstyles were meant for them. Made by them, modelled by them, and worn by them. Seeing Araminta, who has the same Eurasian wide nose, tan skin, and jet black hair as I do—wearing glasses at that, made my heart swell. It was such a small scene and barely dwelled on in the film, but I didn’t just see a pyjama-clad Araminta greeting Nick and Rachel with her balloons on that screen. For the first time, I saw myself on a silver screen.
One thing that struck me, and one thing that I always pay attention to when it comes to movies, is the soundtrack. When Rachel arrives in Singapore, there is a vibrant montage of her taking in her new surroundings as classic Chinese tracks from the mid-twentieth century plays in the background. It’s reminiscent of the romanticism frequently featured in American film about Europe; the almost nostalgic blend of history, wonder, and romance. It’s what I felt when watching everything from Lizzie McGuire: The Movie to Call Me By Your Name. It made me realise that I had never viewed my own surroundings with the same awe while I was growing up. Crazy Rich Asians shows us that we should be in awe of cities, countries, and continent That our homes have just as much history. That we should be proud of it and the love it has to offer. The best part? the film does it beautifully without orientalising Singapore (or Asia) for one second.
The scene that really brought me to tears, however, was Araminta’s wedding. I had never been one to cry during a wedding scene. I always felt detached from the white churches, walks down aisles, and the iconic “I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss the bride”. As a Moslem-raised Javanese, I grew up watching my aunts, uncles, and cousins kneeling next to their partners in a mosque. The wedding pictures embedded in my earliest memory was of my mother in a kebaya, with traditional Javanese makeup across her forehead, covered in heavy golden jewellery and fresh flowers. As a young child surrounded by images of the Western White Wedding, I refused to imagine myself having the traditional wedding the women who came before me had. Now that I’m older, I realise how horribly brainwashed I had been. And that’s not to say that Indonesian culture doesn’t have its own horrible brainwashing mechanics—particularly regarding women and marriages. However, seeing Araminta with her bare golden feet, walking down an aisle that looks like something straight out of my fondest memories of staying at my grandma’s home in Bali, with Kina Grannis’s acoustic rendition of one of my grandfather’s favourite love songs, simply took my breath away. When the guitar stops playing to welcome total silence as Araminta’s foot hits the water, I bit back a choked sob. I was more than surprised at my own emotional reaction. Wedding scenes never got to me, but I realised that it’s because they never truly connected with me.
There are many other heart-wrenching scenes that stuck with me. Nick speaking in Bahasa Indonesia to order saté from a street vendor. The view of the Marina Bay Sands hotel I used to walk around, admiring from afar. Seeing Mateo from Superstore play Oliver, a gay Asian who is not cast away or disowned by his very traditional family. The lines in Mandarin I can pick up from years of classes I received in school. Nick and his family fondly reminiscing as they made dumplings together. Astrid, who instead of begging her unhappy husband to stay with her as she did in the book, firmly states that it is not her “responsibility to make (him) feel like a man”. Fiona, who sassily rejects Eddie’s horrible attitude instead of receding to a timid demeanour as she did in the books. Rachel’s mother, who is a successful immigrant and single-mother after fleeing from her abusive husband. Her unwavering bond with Rachel.
As a conclusion, I’ll discuss the million dollar question: is the film better than the book? Well, it’s different. The book, I think, is as accurate as a representation of the Chinese diaspora can be. There are crude details left out of the film, most likely for rating reasons, that perfectly encapsulate both the drama and the vocabulary I’ve heard and encountered while growing up. The film, however, is what Love, Simon (which I highly recommend) is for gay people. It’s the ideal outcome. Rachel and Nick healthily communicates before the whole ordeal blows up, Rachel doesn’t attack her mother after she finds out about her father, the female characters are all strong and refuse to have their lives dictated by their husbands.
Either way, both stories consist of dramatic tales from a family so rich, logic says it should be an unreachable dream the middle class can fantasise about and buy into. Yet, I have never felt more connected to a story in my entire life. That’s because Crazy Rich Asians isn’t (just) an Asian Great Gatsby with unrealistic frivolity. It’s about family, identity, and love. That’s why I believe that despite it being an Asian story, Crazy Rich Asians will connect with everyone. Asian or not. Representation is very hard to explain to people who have been represented their whole lives (to the people who got to wear their blonde hair in top knots and stuff their pale feet into Ugg boots). When you have seen your identity defined time and time again through multidimensional, multifaceted characters, your identity would be just as unwavering as Rachel’s. Like every other story out there that features white leads, Crazy Rich Asians is a story about humans. But when you grow up watching human stories with humans that don’t look like you, you question your worth. Are you thin enough, tall enough, light-skinned enough, slender-nosed enough, big-eyed enough? Are you white enough to find the love and happiness the characters you grew up watching did? As an adult, I know now that I don’t have to be any of those things to find love and happiness, even though many of my insecurities still stem from that. But as a child, how I wish I had something like Crazy Rich Asians to show me that I was enough.
A few months ago, I woke up in the Netherlands to news that there was a bombing in Surabaya. During the rest of the day, I constantly checked online to see if there were any updates. I found out that it was a family of suicide bombers, and that they were indeed terrorists. It was the first time I wasn't home during a monumental event. No one else seemed to know what was happening, and I felt very frustrated. I spent that afternoon sitting alone on campus, soaking up the sun and writing this poem. I hope you find solace in my words.
Surabaya, 1743 (2018)
It's everywhere and no where at the same time
If we can’t see it, how are we supposed to fight?
My grandfather was born in Surabaya,
but he lives in a small town twenty minutes away.
My best friend from home went to Church of Santa Maria,
but she’s in school waiting for her diploma.
Went online because my news is filtered media;
they say the terrorists had been to Syria -
as if that could explain the hysteria.
A little girl at the young age of nine.
Hair as dark as mine.
Eyes as hopeful as mine.
The same potential as mine.
But tell me why
she has to die
with a bomb strapped to her torso,
while i sit in a class listening to my professors?
We talk about terrorism in class
as if its not here,
something Other to fear.
But terrorism is not here or there,
it is not anywhere but within ourselves.
How can we blame someone else
when we are the ones murdering our kids;
the one’s we raised, bathed, and kissed?
We taught them how to think.
So how can we blame them
When they are willing to kill without so much as a blink?
Fear is easy when you can blame it on terror.
But what’s it gonna take for us to look in the mirror?
Life is a lottery
I have undeservingly won.
Kamu tidak sendiri
(You are not alone)
Kami tidak takut
(we are not scared)
Teror di Surabaya
(Terror in Surabaya)
Teror di rumah kita
(Terror in our homes)
Teror di dalam jiwa
(Terror in our souls)
Crying is not an easy thing to put out there. A socially traditional feminine trait, we have been shamed into suppressing emotions that aren't positive or 'happy'. Well, I say screw it. Here's a gigantic screenshot of my splotchy, bloated, crying face. Why am I crying you may ask? Well, my new vlog pretty much explains it all.
Speaking up on the privilege to grow in our society.
Rupi Kaur has been a writer that I've constantly looked to during troubling times. Many of her poems that discuss growth as a result of pain truly resonate with me, "to the reader" in particular (read below). As an able bodied, heterosexual, cisgendered, and fortunate person in society, I must constantly check my privilege. Even when it comes to growth. How ridiculous is it that our society and its leaders turn growth, a human process of evolution, into a privilege?
A guide to loving your natural fuzz—or bush—or forest—or jungle. You get the picture.
I’m mostly Indonesian and Dutch, but I am part Arab from my maternal grandfather. In case you didn’t know what state Arab’s body hair is in: it’s “a lot”. I’ve got hair on my knuckles, my arms, the back of my neck, my back, my arm pit, my legs, my face (cheeks, moustache, between the brows, below the brows, temples, forehead, above the brows, chin, jaw), i’ve even got extended sideburns. Yeah, I get thick brows, hair, and long eyelashes, but I’ve got hair in every place society says I shouldn’t.