Posted on 07/12/2016 It was a swipe right, a short convo, a debate over the best Old Fashions and Black Russians, and a meeting downtown with every intention to be out of our minds then her polka dot panties and my Superman boxer briefs long before the bars closed. This town is small and made for bowlers and girls who wear side ponytails and Reebok Classics. Neither of us fit and found comfort in our sheepy behavior, however black it got. Drunk, though I could argue we were t

We judge people based on their sex, their creed, their chosen profession, or even the friendships they keep. And of course, women are more harshly judged; especially among other women. Our standards of what we believe to be beautiful, promising, or successful do not align to what men’s ideas are of being “that” woman; the ideal woman. But then again, could we even draw “that” woman? I wrote this poem thinking about what she’d look like and knowing that I can never draw her. B

So often, we measure others by our measuring stick. (Incidentally, we often measure ourselves by others' but that's neither here nor there). What frustrates me is that, while many people of color are angered by the consistent stereotypes hurled onto us by a majority-white society, we tend to do the very same thing to ourselves. Last week, The Echoes Blog featured a post by Mandish Kalsi: an Indian-Australian woman constantly defending her individuality as it compares to her I

When I was growing up in Sydney, Australia, I was called an Indian; even after I had received an Australian passport. I had a tinge of Indian in my accent (which I'm sure I still do). I would talk about my favourite Bollywood movie. Hence, I was not Australian. As I grew up, perhaps due to my circumstances or perhaps it was a conscious decision, I began doing things that weren't very “Indian.” I started hip-hop dancing. I learned Italian. The final straw was when I chose to s