Writer. Opinions are my own.
Why "Define Woman" Is A Trap
It’s the new hip thing with the kids these days (if kids were middle age, fear mongers). Asking someone, typically a liberal, to “Define (a) Woman”. Many can sense the trap, knowing the person asking, usually a conservative (no matter how okay they swear they are with their gay cousin), is expecting one of two things; to trip yourself up trying to avoid describing a Cis Woman (more on the term in a second), or to say something they’ll misinterpret as being anti-trans. They did it before with gays, with women, with the disabled, with the non-White (they even did it with some White). It’s a trap; a trap so they can call out “gottem!”.
The Trees Swallow People: Part 7
We can never go out the back ever again; there’s a tree trying to get in. I don’t know if it’s the same for everyone else, but their trees started like mine; unobtrusively invasive. I let Diva out the back for her morning wee. The previous occupants did the back garden up, covering much of the once grassy plot in concrete, opting instead to construct flower beds, a glass house, a shed, and a little scummy pond. Despite this, there it was, a willow oak sapling sprouting out from a ruptured crack in the ground at the bottom of the back.
War Can’t Make Discrimination Okay
Statistically, you’re never more safe from a violent attack than you are right after a violent attack. The nuance that is often loss is this is only really true for those attacked. Survivors of a terrorist attack are safer, but hate-crimes skyrocket after these events, as though attacking someone is ever justifiable because they had the same skin colour or beliefs of the terrorists in question.
War Shouldn’t Only Count When It’s White
When something like the Ukrainian Invasion happens (or Covid, or Trump, or anything really paradigm shifting happens), I’ve learnt I go quiet. I wait, I watch. I’ve learnt I’m the type of person who is suspicious when people who are normally apolitical suddenly have vocal opinions.
The Trees Swallow People: Part 6
The fog wasn’t unusual for the time of year. A damp but clear Friday night was perfect for a foggy Saturday. Letting Diva out for a piddle, I could see the neighbouring houses behind a frosted drapery of mist; doll houses under lace. I brought my coffee to the living room and shifted the blinds to barely see further than the driveway. If I had a car, I’d imagine I would only be able to make out the steering wheel in the driver’s seat. Drinking my already cooling cup, I reminded myself to close the backdoor, when I heard Diva call me.