I Can Feel Him Breathing is the honourable mention for the 2021 Creative Non-Fiction Contest, as selected by Judge Dr. Njoki Wane. _____________ In the morning I stand in front of the bedroom closet, half-dressed, wrestling with the sliding door. The door won’t...
My introverted grandfather used a code to let my extraverted grandmother know when he was running out of steam at parties: fists by his side meant he had some energy; one fist in the air, spotted across the room, meant he was running on steam; both raised above his head meant he was finished and had no energy left for socialization.
Amidst all the swirling anxieties of the pandemic, I had almost forgotten I was brown. I had forgotten that the eyes looking out from above my mask were deep inky pools which so often failed to reflect familiarity and belonging.I had forgotten that, while my hands were gloved and hidden, my sepia arms betrayed my origins in a sun-washed and sun-dried land.
from LooseLeaf Magazine In 2015 I had a wild dream to start a publication for pan-Asian writers and artists, and that winter, in partnership with a bunch of equally naive and down-for-anything Asian creatives, LooseLeaf Magazine emerged. Like a lot of other grassroots...
“Queer relationships can save lives, not just romantic ones, but platonic friendships, too. Especially because for so many queer people, our families may not know how to affirm or see us.”
Who “I” am is entangled with a host of others, not just other humans and their stories, transnational production processes, institutions of power, but also clusters of other-than-humans, including other animals, bodies of water, lands, and even inorganic elements such as viruses. “I” am vulnerable and plural because the border of my skin is porous and because in my psyche are lodged the thoughts and ideas of others.
I am not homeless in the literal sense and I don’t have the language to describe the home for which I feel intense longing. Terrene, waves, raindrops, bark, foundation, walls, roof, pen strokes on a page, flick of the tongue, tightening of lips, closure of the vocal chords, intimacy, trust, embrace, connection.
I think of all the times as a child my mother has sent me over to the neighbour’s with a bag of garlic, when they asked for just a clove. These acts of care, mercy, and consideration have been happening under society’s collective radar.
Chia buồn is how one expresses condolences in Vietnamese. Instead of my thoughts are with you or sorry for your loss, the term literally means to divide (chia) sadness (buồn). If only I could have invited others to hold pieces of my shattered heart when Ông Nội died...
Someone has cut the brakes on modern life. Car doors slam and trolleys scramble. The lips and nose of strangers are covered by a blue screen. Behind closed doors the bombardment of news stories causes the heart to panic. It feels as though the ground has been pulled...
ROOM 48.2 TRAVELLERS
In ROOM 48.2 TRAVELLERS we reflect, dream, manifest. Join us in these human ways of time-travelling, from infancy to the future, through relationships and into surreal realms.
ROOM 47.4 FULL CIRCLE
Step back with Room into the past, to parents, to childhood homes, and to people once known and loved; dig into themes of grief and healing; and ultimately explore what it means to come full circle in literature.
Seeking members who love literature, events, merchandise, and supporting marginalized creators.
Travellers | 48.2
$10.00 – $20.00
Wits End | 48.1
$15.00 – $25.00
Full Circle | 47.4
$15.00 – $25.00
Bodies | 47.3
$15.00 – $25.00
Seedpod | 47.2
$12.00 – $25.00
Utopia | 47.1
$12.00 – $25.00
Sponsor a Contributor
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Sponsor a Writer
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Sponsor a Poet
$50.00
Fever Dream | 46.4
$12.00 – $25.00