Bánh tét chuối

Exposed. My poor little slice of bánh tét chuôi, sitting in the work refrigerator wrapped only in clear plastic wrap. The deep red of the cooked bananas and red bean look like raw meat.  I wonder if my co-workers will freak out? I try to tuck it behind my tupperware of fresh fruit, out of sight but there’s not much room.

Who cares? If you’re put off by the sight of my bánh tét chuối  as you reach for your lunch then you don’t even know what you’re missing.


A conversation on activism and white privilege in my own head, after the Women’s March

A conversation with my white co-workers, in my own head:

My activism does not look like your activism

Just as my face does not look like your face.

My body is received and represented, differently from yours.


My family’s boot straps, worn down by violence and civil war,

have lifted me to your height. So we stand on level ground, yes?

This ground that we all marched on.


My path was paved by sisters, aunties and mothers who fought to be included,

I march and fight for them, just as I have always done.


I applaud you, and your activism, keep up the good work.

But because I did not do the same thing you did today,

Does not mean I have not worked every damn day for the rights of women who are like me.

And for women who are different.