Words by: Sithuli De Alwis
Art by: Evelyn Johnson
As children, we often fail to understand the wisdom behind our parents’ constant advice. They repeat the same words over and over, yet we shrug them off, only to realise later in life how valuable those lessons truly were.
… My Parents Were Right
Words by: Salma Syafathia
Art by: Jasper Kidman
When I was younger, my mom would constantly give me lectures about cleaning. From tidying up my room to taking out the trash, it felt like I could never catch a break.
As a kid, I would get annoyed at her and, ironically, procrastinate by watching people on social media complete their cleaning, rather than doing my own. It was confusing to see how it could be so relaxing for some when to me it was such a bore.
… You Know You’re an Adult When: You Reset With Cleaning
Words by: Matilda McNeil
To call this a journey of enlightenment feels a little hyperbolic. It is as if I am equating my personal relationship with my parents to the age of new ideas and philosophical movements that dominated the 18th century. But I’m not talking about Enlightenment with a capital ‘E’.
… Meet the Parents: A Story Best Told in Three Parts
Words by Delilah Yu Art by Lily Li… A Happy Chinese Valentine’s Day Sex
Words by Tess Astle Art by Min Wong
I always trusted my father. Until the day he told me the movie Love and Other Drugs was just a dark yet beautiful drama involving a pharmaceutical rep and a Parkinson’s patient. He was wrong. Picture this, 14 year old me stuck between both parents as I watched a good 20 minutes of Anne Hathaway and Jake Gyllenhaal fully naked, fully having sex. Unlike my father’s lil blurb, this film was an erotic romantic drama riddled with heavily graphic scenes. It was a long two hours.
Words by ANONYMOUS
I learnt to switch off whenever I was caned, because the pain was only temporary, and little by little, I started to resent my mother.
From the time I was growing up until now, I have never considered my self-esteem to be sky-high. … A Social Media Blossom
If I was to make a cheesy and unnecessary ghost analogy involving myself, I’m more of a Casper-the-Friendly-Ghost type.
It is not, and it has never been a compliment to hear that a man – more often than not, a Caucasian man – loves ebony porn.
What’s your number? The double entendre I fear the most.
Here’s hoping that one day their innocent love will break down the institutions that bind them.
Esperanto Magazine 