i forgot that summer already came.


which makes me nostalgic and reminds me of a home far away, viet nam.

its heat, the flys and

the grills by night.


because i‘m trans, i want to hide some parts of my body.

i get dysphoric, physically and socially.

because i‘m asian, i want to cover some parts of my body.

„not beautiful“, stuck in my head, that melody.

that‘s what my mom told me, to always wear a blouse.

to make my life less stressful,

i barely leave my house.


in a process of reclaiming and loving my body:

my skin that was once touched by several white hands, is now ready to heal.

lighter and darker parts of my body: is this even real?

but my ass and my breasts, I can‘t show anybody.


a white girl tells me that she likes my brown skin cause it looks so good.

i’m lucky to not have been compared with food.

a Black girl tells me that i do really have a beautiful skin color.

when do we even talk about natural color?

a lightskinned asian tells me that my tanned skin looks healthy.

white should‘ve never meant to be wealthy.

and my mom, she stopped making any comments about my skin.

the line between her self-love and self-hate is so thin

and i myself have no idea what I think and feel about my skin.

but i guess that others always do.

tanned or not: they measure beauty by skin color.

and still, i do too.


now that i’m fighting and getting older,

looking at white people and i wonder:

why do white people even look the way they look?

i was desperately looking for me in all these books.

what was the idea of evolutionary making people white at all?

the shakes of „white features“ are ready to fall.

to destroy its power and ordinariness.

colorism as an obstacle in our empowering process:

lightskinned asian doesn‘t equals eastasian.

western invented boundaries making life for everyone just harder.

brown asian doesn‘t equals southasian.

melanin: it‘s not just about skin color.

white people crave to fit into their standards they can‘t even reach themselves,

projecting their frustration on a body like mine.

white people and their fragile souls and meaningless faces.

looking in the mirror and telling yourself:

one day, the rain will stop and i‘ll see the sunshine.

that gives my skin soft kisses.

and tells me that i am alive.

my body that is so precious.

be brave and thankful for having this life

my skin grows.

my skin protects.

my skin carries wisdom.

my skin is a system.



my skin breaths.

stretchmarks on my legs and my ass

their color has changed over the time.

from purple-red to pale.

sometimes i visualize little flowers on them.


my skin is old, sad, happy, dry.

my skin is renewing itself overtime.


my naked skin.

my naked skin that wants to feel warmth.


our skin colors and features:

community is what we crave.

being naked and raw is what we crave.

feeling and breath is what we seek.

love and bravery is what we should keep.

skin on skin.

bodies that collide.


i forgot that summer already came.


someday in viet nam, back again:

finding beauty in your skin color is powerful but finding plurality in

your own being