#libromance

And just like that, the first month of the year is over.

I hope you’ve spent the last month reflecting on the past year’s feels and struggles, a critical process as we face another stretch of months ahead. Because as fly Pilipinxs in the diaspora - especially in the age of Trump - we need to strengthen our resolve and look to each other for love and support.

I’ve been thinking long and hard about the necessary tools we need, as artists, healers, changemakers. Some of the questions that came up when I was putting this list together were:

How do we take care of ourselves, our communities, and our planet, as we struggle to thrive in our respective spaces?

How do we navigate a constantly shifting society that gives us mixed messages?

And how do we transform our pain and our traumas and heal with resilience - and help others heal as well?

One of the lessons I learned last year is the practice of emergence: that how we live, how we relate with our communities, and how we take space on the planet are intrinsically interconnected. It wasn’t until I finished adrienne maree brown’s Emergent Strategy: Shaping Change, Changing Worlds (AK Press) that I realized I was functioning disjointedly - which may have explained the onslaught of frustration and burnout in many aspects of my life.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve long carried the idea of changemaking borne out of my own struggles as a queer, immigrant Pilipinx. I’ve also been fortunate enough to find spaces where I could harness pain, anger and trauma into something transformative for myself and other people. The work is hard, but beautiful. You get to build with fierce community organizers whose energy and sense of justice is empowering. You become a witness to the liberating power of collective action. And at the end of the day, even though your bones are tired, you know you can lay in bed and continue to dream of a better world.   

That’s where I was for several years, until I found my own heart and spirit weary. Suddenly, I started feeling detached, disconnected. My hair started falling out. Friends and family would assume I couldn’t make it to certain events so they didn’t bother inviting me (which hurt, a lot). My work felt compartmentalized, and I was different things to different people. Many times I wished to be in two places at once, my heart in some other place my feet weren’t. I couldn’t afford to be overwhelmed, so I kept pushing. Over time, this feeling of disjointedness crept up and I caved in.

I’m still in a weird limbo as I write this, but what I’ve discovered is that when you make room for what you want to happen, it all comes to fruition. Clarity that was once elusive comes to the forefront, as long as you treat yourself with patience and gentleness. Slowing down works wonders, and in the process of making art, writing, changemaking, or anything worth pursuing: sustainability is key.

And what a joy it is to find strength in literature, especially the kind that nourishes, equips, and empowers you. Below are five books I’ve lovingly compiled that ask the right questions; the critical ones we need to be asking as we endeavor to create and make change.

   Emergent Strategy: Shifting Change, Changing Worlds (adrienne maree brown)

Inspired by Octavia Butler's explorations of our human relationship to change, Emergent Strategy is radical self-help, society-help, and planet-help designed to shape the futures we want to live. Change is constant. The world is in a continual state of flux. It is a stream of ever-mutating, emergent patterns. Rather than steel ourselves against such change, this book invites us to feel, map, assess, and learn from the swirling patterns around us in order to better understand and influence them as they happen. This is a resolutely materialist “spirituality” based equally on science and science fiction, a visionary incantation to transform that which ultimately transforms us.

  The Next American Revolution: Sustainable Activism for the Twenty-First Century (Grace Lee Boggs)

In this powerful, deeply humanistic book, Grace Lee Boggs, a legendary figure in the struggle for justice in America, shrewdly assesses the current crisis—political, economical, and environmental—and shows how to create the radical social change we need to confront new realities. A vibrant, inspirational force, Boggs has participated in all of the twentieth century’s major social movements—for civil rights, women’s rights, workers’ rights, and more. She draws from seven decades of activist experience and a rigorous commitment to critical thinking, to redefine “revolution” for our times. From her home in Detroit, she reveals how hope and creativity are overcoming despair and decay within the most devastated urban communities.

  The Artist's Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity (Julia Cameron)

The Artist’s Way (Julia Cameron) is the seminal book on the subject of creativity. An international bestseller, millions of readers have found it to be an invaluable guide to living the artist’s life. Still as vital today - or perhaps even more so - than it was when it was first published one decade ago, it is a powerfully provocative and inspiring work.

  The Revolution Starts at Home: Confronting Intimate Violence Within Activist Communities (edited by Ching-In Chen, Jai Dulani and Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha)

Long demanded and urgently needed, The Revolution Starts at Home: Confronting Intimate Violence Within Activist Communities finally breaks the dangerous silence surrounding the “secret” of intimate violence within social justice circles. This watershed collection of stories and strategies tackles the multiple forms of violence encountered right where we live, love, and work for social change and delves into the nitty-gritty on how we might create safety from abuse without relying on the state. Drawing on over a decade of community accountability work, along with its many hard lessons and unanswered questions, The Revolution Starts at Home offers potentially life-saving alternatives for creating survivor safety while building a movement where no one is left behind.

  How We Get Free: Black Feminism and the Combahee River Collective (edited by Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor)

The Combahee River Collective, a group of radical black feminists, was one of the most important organizations to develop out of the anti-racist and women's liberation movements of the 1960's and 70's. In this collection, founding members of the organization and contemporary activists reflect on the legacy of its contributions to black feminism and its impact on today's struggles.

 These are only some books that I hope can guide us as we usher in a new year of sustainability with the things that we care most about. If you have any other books to add to this list, feel free to share them with us below!

Pia Cortez

INSTAGRAM - WEBSITE

PRONOUNS: SHE/HER

The Ways We Choose to Live, with Magda Szabó (A Book Review)

Assuming that someone could vouch for us, and assure her that neither of us were likely to brawl or get drunk, we might perhaps discuss the matter again. I stood there dumbfounded. This was the first time anyone had required references from us. “I don’t wash just anyone’s dirty linen,” she said.

I grew up with Ate Marie, our nanny and household help. My mom had a full-time job with three little…

#FinestFiction: Reading the 2017 Man Booker Longlist

Since the 2017 Man Booker Prize longlist came out, I’ve been stewing on this thought: so many books, so little time. After my pseudo-dramatic rant on Friday, and after perusing the aisles and shelves of Green Apple Books & Music in San Francisco, I made my decision: this summer, I’ll be reading all of the books on the longlist. 

What is the Man Booker Prize? Here’s a little history:

From the very…

#GetLit: Arundhati Roy & Artwork by Political Prisoners

I published my book review for Arundhati Roy’s The Ministry of Utmost Happiness earlier this week and if you haven’t checked it out, head on over here. It’s one of those books that you fully appreciate days after reading it, with the big picture getting clearer as days go by. It is a love letter too, an ode to hijras, mothers, freedom fighters, to Kashmir. The world will thank you for reading…

#GetLit: Rules & Shout-outs

I’m almost done reading Arundhati Roy’s The Ministry of Utmost Happiness and I’m a little overwhelmed with everything that’s been happening in the book. The only part that I really like is about the only character that I really love: Anjum. More on this next week, when the book review comes out.

Connect with me on Instagram 🙂

* * *

Four rules from John Maeda by way of Swiss Miss:

    1. Don’t…

It was here where I first discovered Frida Kahlo. I don’t remember the first time I started learning about her, but I do remember buying a book of all her paintings. I didn’t know much about Frida, but her work resonated with me immediately even before I knew er story or the stories behind her paintings.

A decade later, I was standing in front of La Casa Azul in the beautiful neighborhood of Coyoacán, about half an hour away from Mexico City. I’ve wanted to visit Frida Kahlo’s home-turned-museum for a long time and standing there, in the middle of the lush foliage and blue walls of the compound I felt like I’ve achieved a milestone.

Casa Azul, June 2017

Stepping into La Casa Azul felt a lot like stepping into a dream, into the world of Frida. It took me a while to believe that I was really there and I wanted to see everything and do nothing at the same time, for the sheer joy of being in the space. It felt sacred.

There were people in the courtyard, sitting on benches and talking, people milling about, people taking photos. There was also an area off to the side where there was a film showing, as more folks trickled in and out of the space. We headed straight to the museum which led to what became Frida and Diego’s home for awhile.

These were some of the first few paintings I saw: an unfinished self-portrait sketch made in Detroit, Frida and the Cesarean (also unfinished) and a a painting called “Marxism will bring health to the sick” which features Frida wearing a leather corset and a Tehuana skirt.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of Frida’s paintings in person, so seeing these was a gift. Most of her paintings are also all over the world — in prestigious institutions like the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, in universities, in private collections and with close friends of hers and Diego’s like Dolores Olmedo. I was planning to visit Olmedo’s museum to check out more of Frida’s work but at the time, the exhibit was under construction.

Throughout her work — unfinished or completed — Frida’s lust for life was evident. In spite of her illnesses, the numerous miscarriages she had and the heartaches she’s  had to endure from Diego, she radiated what she painted in the simplest, but also grandest terms: viva la vida, or long live life.

After her (and Diego’s) paintings were also photographs of Frida herself, with eyes that pierced and a stance that was bold and fearless. I stared at one of her photos, one from Lucienne Bach’s series. In the photo, Frida is looking straight into the camera, her necklace dangling from between her lips. It was evocative, but firm. There’s a photo of her plaiting her hair, naked from the waist up. In another photo, she’s on a boat leaning down against the rail, her fingers playing with the water.

Tender, bold and playful at the same time. I thought to myself: How many of us are actually living our lives? How many of us are actually brave enough to stray away from our routines and focus instead on creating our own maps, no matter how arduous?

Eventually, the photos gave way to Frida’s study where her books were (still in their glass shelves), her paint, tools and figurines preserved as if Frida herself would come any minute to paint.

There were still many people outside in the courtyard even though it was already half past five (the museum closes at 5pm). There were even more people inside the museum still, all of us eager to get a glimpse of the rest of Frida’s house. The line moved an inch and in a few minutes, I was standing in front of her day bed, which was in direct view of the courtyard. I imagined Frida, in her later years, still filled with love, hope and longing.

While I started taking photos of every detail, I realized that she had also put up a series of photos of the most important political theorists of our time: Karl Marx, Vladimir Lenin and Mao Zedong.

Frida’s political involvement started early as I recalled reading about The Cachucas, children of the revolution that Frida was a part of along with seven boys and one other girl. Their ideological cocktail was composed of Socialism, Romanticism and nationalism although their passion for poetry and literature overshadowed their politics.

In her diary, she wrote an entry dated 4 November 1952:

Today more than ever I feel a sense of companionship. For 20 years, I have been a Communist. I know. I have read conscientiously [crossed out] the principal origins mixed up with ancient roots.

I have read the History of my country and of almost all other nations. I already know their class struggles and their economic struggles. I have a clear understanding of the materialist dialectic of Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin and Mao Tse-tsung. I love them because they are the pillars of the new Communist world.

As I walked out of the museum, down the stairs which led to an outdoor hallway of her and Diego’s collection of native artifacts, I was overcome with a thousand emotions. I was sad and excited at the same time, I felt small and grand. Frida was as big as life itself, and I had mine to live.

“Pies para qué los quiero, si tengo alas pa volar?”

(“Who needs feet when I’ve got wings to fly?”)

#GetLit: Internal Excavations & Frida Kahlo

Yesterday — July 6 — was Frida Kahlo’s 110th birth anniversary and I ended the day by leafing through the watercolored-pages of The Diary of Frida Kahlo (Amazon | Indiebound). There were tomes in Spanish, sketches, self-portraits, the word “Diego” written on many, many pages and more of her writing.

I’m familiar with most of Frida’s paintings and seeing the sketches in her diary transported me…

I think I must’ve been about four or five. It was Mother’s Day and as early as that age, I was already a professional procrastinator. I remember my younger sister putting the last touches of the card she’s been working on for days for my mom, while I stared at her and realized I hadn’t made a thing. I probably watched TV all day, while waiting for the fishball vendor to pass by our street with…