Tools of violence

Identity violence

Symbolic violence

Communication violence

Historic violence

Revisionist violence

Repetitive violence

Infantilising violence

Nostalgic violence

Communication violence

Prejudiced violence

Tiring violence

Destructive violence

Sexual violence

Gendered violence

Religious violence

Spiritual violence

Class violence

Linguistic violence

Colourist violence

Male violence

White male violence

Co-opting violence

Toxic violence

Co-opted toxic violence

Ideological violence

Paternalistic violence

Patriarchal violence

Symbolically patriarchal violence

Promotional violence

Just violence

Violence violence

Tiring violence

Too tired coz I’m broken and it’s the result of all the above and more violence

Mental violence

Inferred violence

Implicit violence

Bright-eyed violence

Broken souls violence

The once you had bright eyes but then you got co-opted and are stuck but still need peeps and I get it but don’t you get that I get it, so why you gotta erase the stuff we excavate and stop us entering and flinging open the doors-no revision check, not open the doors break all these fracking symbolic capitalistic colonial walls – so that we can all evolve together and your tired eyes can weep and rejoice in celebration with us all, bold beautiful and brave and bound to the forward March of completing our shared ancestors abolitionist principles and journeys to create a new fair fresh deprogrammed society so we keep being we and us, and you and me, happy and free together… urgh! Gah! For f***! *sigh* but you can’t and that’s violent, violence.

So instead here we stand. Ina pyramid and I keep trying to educate and create and collate and collaborate while we survive and you thrive but I don’t even cry coz I’m proud inside that at least someone who got one part of our ancestral spirit souls good side to the table where it’s all about whose there to dine, and whose outside… not about our fellow people who die and are also pushed towards pipelines to die. Whether quickly or slowly, that’s for us all to see with our eyes.

I’m too tired to speak, so I’ll leave it to that… and sleeps for the night.


NaBloPoMo #16 – Why no #12- #14

So… I was a bad unproductive person. Online that is. For the last 4 nights.

There is no excuse big enough for dropping out, because as someone says “If something is important enough you make time for it!” . Therefore, I guess, using that logic I deemed me, my online persona/career-building and my writing less important than what was happing around me. This is in-excusable really.

So this is just a post to say “SHIT!” and “I’m sorry” – which is just my Englishness coming through, because in all honesty I’m not *that* sorry. But still, convention dictates I must say these two words a million times a day, not only because I am English, but because I’m British. I’m a woman. I’m a woman of colour. I’m working class. I have a confusing, inter-linked, inter-sectional identity that is hard to find out there in the world. So if I don’t say these words, I won’t be able to get any better. I won’t be able to learn from my mistakes. I will never learn to associate this shame for letting myself and others like me down and this shame to something greater. So that should I ever stop or think I am going to fail in the tasks I set myself, I am then reminded of this frankly annoying and unproductive bit of writing that I MUST do.

The reason I say must is because I have been reading more of Bickham’s “The 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes (And how to avoid them)” . In his book or published wisdom, he has set this task of simply writing a big sorry letter to oneself explaining why you failed in writing everyday / every week whatever time limit you have set yourself. Not only so you can identify common themes that may need to be addressed in your life, but also so that you learn that simply forgetting to write, or thinking you shouldn’t write due to lack of inspiration or whatever excuse we all fling up, doesn’t mean you don’t write. If anything you keep writing. You must. Even if it is utter crap, or cathartic meandering as this post is fast becoming. So that the skill is kept honed in. I liken it to those evenings when you think – “Nah I don’t wanna cook”, but you end up doing everything around the cooking process, plating, washing-up, clearing, spending time ordering and thinking of taste combinations, flavouring, what you have in the fridge or cupboard that may go with it. If anything having a cheeky lazy “No cook dinner” evening is anything but de-stressful. Though, maybe that is simply a personal response from someone who admittedly is a bit compulsive or obsessive when it comes to planning.

That’s another thing. So I guess I don’t need to mention. It has been a melancholic weekend right. Not only that it was a bittersweet weekend for me. I had an old friend – my bestie over, I then went out with two of my bestest friends and a bunch of new friends. I attended the cool Though Bubble comic convention with a weekend pass that I will no doubt return to next year in an adjacent city. But well, I guess I haven’t really come to terms with how I am feeling personally or politically. I know there is no compulsion from anyone for me to sort that out. But I feel compelled to do so, for myself.

A crazy road lays ahead. One I know I will stalk individually but not alone. My only hope is that there is more thought, more reflection, more communication than ill-informed actions.

#Peace #Love #Contentment and #Appreciation of Humanity and your loved ones. Also #Hashtag – Coz seriously that is jokes!

( I don’t know why I ended talking like that. I’m afraid my brain is still a bit emotionally frazzled)


MA Gender Studies: – Week Six

Today I attended: 

Class: Theorising Gender; Theme: Poststructuralism, Deconstruction and Feminism | Karen Throsby

Encounters between feminism and poststructuralism have been intense and fruitful, but hotly contested. Many feminist scholars have argued that poststructuralist and deconstructionist approaches offer feminist theorising productive tools for the exploration of key issues in relation to power and knowledge, and that such approaches enable a questioning of some problematic assumptions of feminist scholarship. Other scholars, however, have denounced poststructuralism as incompatible with feminist theorising, affirming that it dangerously undermines the bases not only for feminist production of knowledge claims, but also for feminist social and political transformation. In this session, we will consider these debates and the profound effects they have had on the development of feminist theory.

Dissertation meeting one-on-one

Evening Seminar: CERS Public Lecture: The Afterlife of Black Sociology

Professor Barnor Hesse, Northwestern University, USA

Date: Monday 2nd November, 2015, 17:00 – 18:30
Location: Room 12.25, Social Sciences Building


This lecture provides a critical historical and analytical commentary on ‘racism’ as a concept rather than a self-evidential empirical phenomenon. It invites reconsideration of the 20th century genealogy of the racism concept prior to and in relation to its appropriation by American sociology. Central to this argument is that the western emergent formulation of the ‘racism concept’ was primarily concerned with attributing the epithet racism to Nazism’s mobilizations and representations of race that degraded and violated white populations in Europe during the 1930s and 1940s.

The appropriation of the ‘racism concept’ by a Black sociology in the late 1960s – early 1970 meant its supplementation and modification by analyses of colonialism and white supremacy that the initializing western foundation of the ‘racism concept’ exempted and foreclosed. This is described as the alterity of the racism concept. Finally, the lecture discusses these conceptual and political implications in terms of the analytical frontiers that established antagonisms between white and Black sociologies during the 1970s

Above are abstracts, or descriptions of what I attended today. These descriptions were given by the institution, persons of knowledge not by me.

Very briefly things that struck with me today were:

  • Poststructuralism
  • Postmodernism
  • The idea that ‘Feminism’, the ‘Female’ or ‘Woman’ is a juridicial categorisation
  • That to challenge the notions that you ‘could define or be defined as what one is not’, you have to unpick what the normative definition is. OR you could just reject that entirely
  • “The Governance of Race” or “Race Governance”
  • I must start formulating questions for my dissertation topic(s)
  • I must decide my dissertation topic.
  • The area of my idea must be constituted or re-constituted in questions or framings that could help me address what I WANT to DO. NOT what I SHOULD DO.
  • Life is complicated and hard
  • I tend to write poetry to just vomit out my thoughts, feelings and to show some form or daily writing.
  • THAT I SHOULD use this blog and my uptake of #NaBloPoMo to actually use writing in order to communicate wider ideas and my existence

I am a woman. You are bright.

There’s nothing worse than realising you were the lone creator of shared memories.

Left with a box of fucked up, rotten, festering dreams as your chosen partner turns and flees.

I am a woman. You are bright.

I am attracted to your flame,
Like a dampened moth I search
Through dark duskened daily revolving nights.
You were that intoxicating light,
That had me captured, dancing a lonely sight,
As I played to our hearts’ delight.
Thinking that when you flamed,
You mirrored an external burning,
a deep heat for me,
one I stupidly saw as a gifted,
for our entwined hearts to pursue.

Default Man – Default Me?

So I’ve been debating since midnight whether or not to post this. I mean I’m trying to be disciplined and post something up everyday. If only to prove to myself that I can. But, at the same time I know I’m going to have to run a longer, further, probably even several articles to explain this one.

Oh well, I guess I have to bite the bullet sometime, and pray my paranoid anxieties don’t lead me to dream horrible things.

Today I (re-)ran across theory of the Default Man, pushed to the fore quite recently by Grayson Perry. The idea that the White, Middle-class, Middle-aged man is the norm, the ‘guy in charge’ and prevalent across our society. Now this theory is centuries old, for sure, despite being acknowledge, affirmed and challenged throughout history it hasn’t quite gone away. Just been chipped at, until some may argue even those who own but a small sector of the Default Man’s huge silhouette are having epistemological crisis’s in their selves. Be they white, middle-class, middle-aged or even just a man, any one of these are having the same stinking journey, full of crippling doubt, never-ending ailments and spiritual disease that’s rife in all of us.

Default Man

As a Woman of Colour* , it just got me thinking, due in part to my recent run-in with my old, bad, fucked up self, where do I fit in? What does a Default Woman look like? Is there such a thing as a default Asian, African, Hispanic, Jew, Muslim, Chinese, Pinoy, ..etc. etc.? Or does this one default apply to the entire globe? Because, you know, of course only the Western anglo-guys have ever conquered and colonised all of land and sea, across the whole wide world, right?! Since time immemorial; Thanks Alexander the Great!

Alexander the Great Mosaic
Alexander the Great Mosaic

I guess I would really like to explore what a default woman looks like, behaviourally speaking, but also in appearance and expectation, and perhaps contrast this with what an Asian woman like me, is expected to aspire too. What are the consequences of fulfilling these societal aspirations pushed on us, or for coming up short?

Also, as I thought earlier, if I a WOC, aspire to be respected, independent and content, for knowledge and dare I say some power **, what then? As has been so painfully pointed out to me on my journey to better myself and strive to be acknowledged and respected for myself and my mind, I might be “getting too big for my own boots”. By working towards higher knowledge and independence, I am seen by most people, across the social and cultural divide to be a range of different things; “a coconut”, “a bounty”, “a self-hating asian”, “a curiosity”, “misunderstanding”, “slow”, “silly”, “naive”, “bird”, “unable to get it“, “stupid”.. the list is sadly endless.

So perhaps this is the greatest flaw and one that should be pointed out and yelled louder. Instead of bemoaning that the Default Man is everywhere, maybe we can all try and change the angle. Look at how we treat and respond to those who try and negotiate access to these sites that we deem can, and must, only be occupied by the privileged few. We should encourage people of all colours, all genders, sexes, sexualities to be granted the ability to move freely. To grow, change, to nurture and expect to be nurtured on our way through our journeys in this life. Perhaps then we can begin an end to our unequal past.


*(I know shady term, I will totally explain why I use this another time – stay tunes ;P)


**(Only enough to be left in peace and provide a happy existence)



Today was a dark day. An oh so weary day.

Without dwelling too much into this, today a huge amount of my past was chucked back into my face. As a sensitive person, who tries to empathise and rationalise (oxymoronic I know), I’m left at the end of this day still processing not just my present and future well-being but, again having to navigate my past (mis)takes.

I have been processing and a functioning depressive personality for the past 10 years, 6 of which were healthy years.


Like most young teenage ‘sensitive cry-babies’ I sought treatment for the mass of hormonal, social and physical illnesses I was going through. Tried to reach out. Was admonished by family and friends.Acted out in a, what even now I would say was a middle-of-the road, way. Then I resorted to unhealthy patterns. Some vices (drinking and smoking) tame 50s expressions of radicalisation, which as an Asian girl, was the equivalent of being part of a gang or working on street corners to my parents.


After being rejected, mistrusted and repeatedly fobbed off by doctors.I did manage to get two therapy sessions, but by this time I had found a safe plateau on this never ending journey. I worry now that you dear reader will think I am making up my illness. But I really urge you to read this comic by Marina Watanabe that appeared on my Facebook feed via Buzzfeed. My lack of a concrete medical diagnosis and help in containing and managing my emotional ‘out-of-wack-ness’ is an on-going issue and fight. One that I chose to take up now and again. But on the whole I am happier to get to know and manage myself healthily. I know my triggers, I know how I can sort my head out once my buttons have been pushed and I can happily re-enter and work on rebuilding my trust and love for my fellows in society.


There’s still a lot of stigma that I see, from my part I have always been an extrovert. A talker, sharer and carer. I am able to understand, to empathise, and I try (no matter how hard it gets or how much I don’t want to) to find a way forward for the collective good. But I guess I’m also one of those people judged and more likely seen when I fall, just for being perceived to be loud all the time? Medical staff and actually fellow familial suffers have by far been the worst perpetrators of ‘It’s a phase’ dialogue. Maybe perhaps because an an eloquent young women (as one doc put it) ‘I’m sensible enough to know how to get over it’. Or as someone seen to be removed from the terrible issues that have affected them, I have (questionably) been seen to enjoy a site of privilege.

BUT one thing I have realised and do want to say is; mental illness is not a conscious consequence. Mental illness cannot be picked up and worn. It doesn’t come and attach itself like the virus it is, when you may have been careless. There IS and SHOULD BE no blame for the countless individuals who feel it everyday.


At it’s worst my mental illness made me doubt my existence. There not enough words in me right now to explain how twisted and sick I got. How I could robotically engage myself, smile like I meant it, get great grades, be fun, but at the same time be an internal mess. To feel like I did not, could not exist. That I had no worth. I had no space. No .. just nothing. Complete and utter loneliness. To welcome hurt and pain. To be willing to embrace death but morally against self-inflicted murder.

It seems like a fuzzy Crimewatch reconstruction thinking back. I don’t know how I got myself out of that despair. How I renegotiated my relationships, renewed them healthily, which I did two years before leaving the site of my unhappiness for good.

Now I’m back and all those past selves are haunting. Past pains. Those clumsy instances of otherings and self-otherings I went through. The knowledge that as a young ethnic woman, my space to exist could only come from fulfilling bonds of expectation and acceptance. No matter how overt or covert those requests, demands and threats I must follow suit in negotiating their invisibility. In creating my own pains invisibility. It’s all back.


Now all that is left is to see what I’m going to do. Even I don’t know. But this was cathartic. So thank you! I do want to say, I know I am never alone. I also know I will get through this. My guiding light, my God Allah, my faith, my love and my trust will keep me true and get me through this. My hope is that I don’t cause any more perceived offence or hurt as I try and re-negotiate my existence.


Mostly, though, at times like these I wish I could pin-point what it was that made me like this. If only so that I could know where to point my future time-travelling machine. ^.^