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12.5.24 Journal entry

“I feel the lowest I have since starting my SSRI. It’s freaking me out. I feel so lost. I’m afraid of losing my resiliency, my boo, my sense of self and drive, my purpose. I feel like I’m just here floating. I hate it. I’m so lucky to have everything I need and more, but I’m struggling. Struggling.

My spiritual spark is gone. I don’t recognize myself anymore and I can’t believe it’s come to this place. I feel like people are just moving on and achieving things and I’m left behind.”

I felt this nagging in my spirit, and it didn’t make sense until I pulled out my journal from a year ago. It’s boring how we all say our bodies remember, but it suuuure does. At this point, it barely feels consensual! Every f*****g month my body remembers a trauma from 1, 2, 3, 5, 35 years ago. God damn being alive is exhausting.

As I read my journal entries from last december, my body involuntarily ached right behind my sternum and a sob rose up. I forgot. I forgot how deep in the grief and sadness hole I was. I forgot what it was like to look in the mirror and see a shell of a person. Not one ounce of motivation within a 100 mile radius.

Witnessing genocide in Palestine broke me in ways I had no idea were possible. The documentary-worthy betrayal and violation that my ex committed against me…who even knows how it has changed my DNA. It baffled me that anyone was able to get up in the morning and do work and take care of kids and have fun.

I surrendered to the waves washing me further into the sea. That was the only thing that made sense.

Underneath it all, I remember so vividly that I knew for sure that things would change. I knew change was constant. I couldn’t feel it, but I knew my purpose here on earth in this lifetime. I knew the cold fact that I (and I believe all of us) have the responsibility to do our part in demanding the dignity of all humans, where no one is left behind. While I was drowning, I knew where the water would lead me.

I’m about 2 or 3 here in this photo. The feeling of excitement at that age is like champagne bubbles traveling up to the surface so fast the container might not even make it in one piece! All I can do is jump up and down flapping my hands.

“I don’t remember the last time I was excited,” my mom said this right before a family trip, and it has crystallized into a core memory.

As a young kid, I learned that paying the cost of excitement towards something I was looking forward was too costly. Like clockwork, important dates like birthdays, holidays, and trips were high risk days. I could almost predict that something would set off my mom, and things would be canceled. Even if things weren’t canceled, the tone of the day was probably tense. In the miracle chance things weren’t canceled and she was in a good mood, I would hold a tense smile braced from it all falling to s**t at any moment.

Every day was a negotiation, a bartering, a betting if it was worth feeling excited about.

Being braced and then bored that things didn’t work out has been seared into my body. Every time the other shoe drops, it deepens the track.

Fast forward to now, my body remembers and is braced.

For the past 15 years, I’ve been slowly working on healing my nervous system to be open to the possibility that things could actually work out. I could actually experience safety within myself and in relationships.

Slowly working on my capacity to receive true care and love. Slowly working on showing up for myself first. Slowly working on separating things not working out from it being some kind of punishment.

Talking about punishment, one way christianity has really fucked with me is carrying the weight that everything bad that happens to me is some kind of lesson from the heavens. Somehow, if I were more obedient to God or more faithful to the bible, things would work out more often. That’s such a sad and twisted way to see things, being that the people don’t choose to be poor, unhoused, or have their land colonized. God is so much more expansive than being a bully waiting to teach me a lesson.

Sometimes after enjoying a few days with my boo, I look around as we are dozing off…astonished and terrified that things are working out. It’s a miracle. I mean, it is a miracle our souls found each other, but the fact that we both have chosen each other out of love for ourselves threatens so much of my wiring.

It’s an offront to my baby-me assumption that nothing is worth being excited for.

It’s offensive to this deep body wiring that I have rooted and safe friendships where I feel seen and known.

It erodes the assumption that being bored of things not working out is better than hoping.

My besties, my boo and I try to get out of town a few times a year, and EVERY TIME there’s a part of me that freezes. My inner child is like “you won’t get me this time…it won’t work out and I’m already over it.” And then when we are almost home after a cute time away…I’m confronted with how it turned out exactly how I dreamed. The first time, and then the second…the third time too.

This kind of love and connection with soul-aligned people stretches my imagination of what is possible.

When they say love heals, I had no idea how treacherous it would feel. The battles that I had and have to fight in order to feel at home and at ease in my body are dramatic…like a sword fight where you gasp at every movement because you can’t tell who will win. And sometimes I lose to the fear and the potential loss. But sometimes I win and I get the satisfaction of feeling settled in my body even if it’s for 30 mins.

I have been fighting for my life in order to feel safe within myself…let alone in the company of other people. What a wonder.

Free falling last year into not knowing when things will change was healing. I let things fade away trusting that change is constant. I let go of trying to smile my way through the crumbling. I let go of trying to hold onto the semblance of myself. In turn, I squeezed out of that version of me and revealed a translucent skin me that is more vulnerable to different possibilities. Things haven’t all worked out and they will continue to defy my wishes, but all I know is that it won’t be every time.

The next time I’m called to fall back into the water, I’m going to surrender quicker.

Not out of doom, but out of deep trust.

What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?

I wrote this in my substack “Today my Body Remembers,”

A future where we can be soft puddles. Where tenderness is abundant and afforded to everyone. Where vulnerability is respected and honored. Where ingenuity and creativity aren’t spent on how to survive, but on art. Where a leisurely pace is just the default. Where communion with the land is a common delight.

Yes! And where being braced converts to being alert for more possibilities.

One thing I have learned is that our nervous system reads stimuli in a very unbiased way, whether it is dangerous or not. The stress of running away from danger and the stress of running for fun read similarly to our bodies. The stress of confronting someone is similar to the stress of flirting with a crush.

Liberatory imagination sparks in me the ability to discover more possibilities. I don’t need to deny my body, my lived experience, or my defense mechanisms. I just need to get rooted in who I am and what life is about, and jump off tracks I’ve grown out of.

How to support me (thank you in advance):

* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart with note “From substack!”

* Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attach the note “Recurring substack subscription.”

LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

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Loneliness comes in so many shapes and textures. I remember sitting in my bedroom I shared with my sister when I was 7, and I was praying to God for help. The bedroom was (and still is) purple. My sister and I shared bunk beds - the top was mine and the bottom was hers. In the corner of the small room was a desk with one of those deep drawers people used to file papers. In that drawer, I hid my diary where I wrote out so many cries for help. My mom’s nervous system was as sensitive as a mouse trap. It took basically nothing to set her off, and then your day was over.

As I prayed, I felt a kind of loneliness that was suffocating me. There wasn’t anyone whom I could talk to or run to. There was no way out. The air in that room was so thick. The people who were supposed to protect me were the ones hurting me, and they told me it was my fault. That I was the problem.

Fast forward to a few years later, when I was 12 or so…I dreamed of a boyfriend coming into my life and saving me with tender kisses and soft tones. He would say, “Don’t worry about anything, I've got it from here.” How I daydreamed of that moment!

I spent most of my childhood daydreaming about scenes of other timelines. Daydreaming about being light as a feather, floating around without a worry. Daydreaming about relationships that were full of softness and passion. Daydreaming about conversations that were present and understanding.

Above is a screenshot of a video my parents sent me recently. I’m probably 4 years old in this photo. I’m in a daze…probably somewhere else in my head.

I just watched this tiktok, where the creator talked in a very honest way about loneliness. They share how they don’t have a best friend, and when they do try to make friends, it doesn’t feel reciprocal or the other person is mean to them. They go on about how it’s so hard to trust people when the track record is so bad. And then they see these toxic people have all these friends who have their back…in contrast, they have no one. The only times they felt seen were when they had romantic partners.

This video hit a nerve for me, because it felt so deeply human and familiar. The comments are all these people saying they feel like this too. So lonely. Trapped and suffocating from the human need for connection not being met.

It’s so ironic how there are so many humans around, and yet we can be so isolated and hungry for human presence.

It made me think about how the empire is grinning.

Loneliness is such a great way to disarm the collective.

If collectivism and people power threaten the empire structure, loneliness and isolation will strengthen empire.

Cults know this well. Isolation is one of the most effective ways to manipulate people. When you take away a human need, you can then use that need to lure them into behavior you deem fit. We all want belonging, to be seen, to be loved. And we should all have access to those things! That’s the juicy part about being alive.

White supremacy and capitalism are a cult. In the same way christian nationalism is a cult.

How does empire want lonely people to cope? Buy stuff. Spend money. Spend more money to dull the pain. Create parasocial relationships through social media. Be obsessed with getting married and having kids.

It is strategic for empire to block us from the necessary resources towards beautiful relationships. It is strategic that we were fed the message that romantic love is the purpose of life. It is strategic that we were taught that having kids is the only way to ensure that we will be taken care of in old age. It is strategic.

It’s a threat! Do you know how many times people have told me (especially in the christian church) that I should consider more angles of [fill in the blank] topic? Consider more people’s opinions and standpoints. I shouldn’t be so quick to write people off…WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? They are a homophobic/transphobic/bigoted a*****e/etc. WHY WOULD I WANT TO BE FRIENDS WITH THEM????

The threat is that if I keep being strong on my “stances”, I’ll have no one. My mom was advising me not to be so harsh, because I would have no one left. She told me friendships are so much harder to make and maintain when you’re older. I believe it, and in a way she’s not wrong that friendships are hard to maintain. But I resist being friends with certain people at the expense of other people’s dignity.

I’m doubling down.

From my lived experience, the clearer and stronger I am with my values and integrity, the stronger and more tender my relationships become. There are fewer of them for sure! But I’ve never had such resilient and beautiful relationships in my life as in this moment.

I’m not saying that when you’re confident in your values, you will automatically have loving people in your life. Nothing is a given. But what I am saying is not betraying ourselves and our integrity is worth betting on.

I don’t believe that people are disposable, but there are standards on who gets to have close proximity to me.

The standard isn’t perfection, it’s alignment.

I need to be strategic with my relational energy. With consistent low capacity, I need my inner circle to have the same emotional/spiritual maturity as I. And honestly, even outside of my inner circle, there are standards. This oppressive colonial world is pressing down on me so hard, and my energy needs to be used intentionally. No one can convince me that watering down my standards will protect me from being lonely.

I know how it feels to be surrounded by people who say they love you, but be completely alone and isolated.

In contrast, I also know the joy of being physically alone and so content in my relationships.

This past month, I read Love in a F*cked Up World by Dean Spade and Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents by Lindsay Gibson. It is so important that we figure out how to be in relationship with each other as the world is on fire. We need to learn how to be honest with ourselves and one another in tenderness. We need to learn how to keep OURSELVES accountable (thankful for teachers like Mia Mingus). We need to practice breaking relational cycles of fear and past resentment however unfair and unjust.

That’s the only way we can forge a new path towards the world we want to build. We cannot do it alone.

The tiktok made me think about how so many people do not have the tools or opportunities to have healthy relationships. We all have so much trauma both systemically and personally. Even in the examples the creator gives, I can hear that those people who mistreated them also want belonging, but they lack introspection and personal integrity.

In the organizing space, it’s no different. People usually come in with good intentions, but with the combo of little practice of introspection + self-accountability and weak personal integrity…it goes to s**t. It sets off a ping pong of reactions and other people’s triggers. The mission of the space is derailed once again.

We should have access to FREE support around relationships from a decolonial lens.

(Prayyyying that I could be instrumental in that in the future.)

I wish I could transport myself and materialize to little Tiffany and say: You have so many loving people in your future. Relationships you can’t even dream of. You will learn how to love and be loved in such a tender way. You will redefine family in a way that will be so freeing. God will always be with you and for you. You will always have me, and I will fight for a beautiful chosen family for you.

What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?

A world where belonging and being truly loved is as ordinary as air. Best friends are abundant. Working through conflict and tension is a given and even a little boring. A world where the responsibility of caring for children and the elderly is so shared that there are no definitions like “biological family.”

I pray that the Sumud Flotilla will safely arrive in Gaza and that the food will be delivered without any killings.

How to Support Me!

I’m going to try something new! For those who don’t know, I run a shop called More Liberation. I’ve been trying to experiment with more ways to figure out how to make rent. So here it is! I’m going to be posting a sticker here every time I write, and you can buy it from me directly.

The vinyl stickers are perfect for water bottles, laptops, notebooks, and light poles.

This Land Back sticker is aprox. 2.5x2”

Cost (shipping included): $5 - domestic. $6 - international.

If you want this sticker:

* Email me [ [email protected] ]:

* Your mailing info: Name + Address

* Design name: This one is “Land Back”

* Venmo me at @ tiffanywongart

(Also, feel free to buy me a cup of coffee through venmo (@ tiffanywongart)!)

Thanks for tuning in!

LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

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Celebrating birthdays is such a cute ritual, where we gather once a year to say YAY another year around the sun! We eat cake, blow candles, make wishes and hope to do it again the next year.

LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

This photo above makes me emotional. I’m squished between my mom and dad as they blow out my one-year-old candle on top of a chocolate cake…as I look at it mesmerized. To this day, my parents still wear those tops! The yellow collared shirt my dad is wearing is threadbare in his closet right now.

I feel something stir in me as I look at myself 12 months awake to the world, and I’m here 36 years later writing to make sense of that same world. I feel sad that the world she should have grown up in doesn’t exist. I feel angry for the pain and heartbreak she will experience. I feel thankful that she had parents who loved and cared for her the best they could. I feel relieved for her that she will find her way towards liberation for herself and others. I feel grief. Grief that transcends myself.

I was talking to my friend Chi Nwosu about how every month I think about wanting to come to more peace around my death from a holistic ancestral place. I want to feel connected to my death in the same way I want to feel connected to my life. Chi encouraged me to do just that! Dedicate some time once a month to explore Dignified Death from the Chinese perspective. So I’m doing it, starting with this piece.

I honestly don’t know that much about how my people positioned themselves in relation to death. My parents and my grandparents are/were Christians in the post-colonial era in Hong Kong, so most of my memories of talking about death are from a Christian perspective. Since leaving the Christian world, I’m really not that interested in carrying forward that perspective. I’m more curious about all the other generations before my grandparents.

One of the reasons I’ve put it off is because doing research about China is really hard. There is so much anti communism propaganda, and it’s exhausting to weed it out. But I’m going to try! Bite size pieces. (Also if you know of trusted sources, please let me know. I am not a seasoned researcher and I know alot of you are!)

Happy Funeral: Tearless Farewell By Majorie Chiew

DEATH is a sad, grim affair but when it comes at the ripe old age of 100, apparently it’s a different story altogether. The Chinese do not mourn when an elder who has lived for almost a century passes on. Instead, a quaint funeral rite or siew song (Cantonese for "happy funeral") is held in his honour.

"It is regarded as a happy funeral because the elder is considered lucky to have lived to such an old age. No mourning or crying takes place,” says Ong Seng Huat, vice-chairman of the Federation of Malaysian Taoist Organisations.

According to Chinese custom, three years will be added to a person’s age when he dies. So an elder who was 97 would be regarded as being 100 years old.

After clicking through 30+ links around the topic, I found this random article/pdf that’s mentioned above. It goes on to spell out how Chinese folks traditionally wear white to grieve the dead, but when it comes to “happy funerals,” friends and family wear red. If you’ve been to Chinese festivals or weddings, you know red is a color of celebration and good fortune. The article ends with this note:

"When a happy funeral takes place, the elder is assumed to have died happily for he has completed his mission in life with five generations to the family line. So he can leave this world in peace, "adds Ong.

That’s Dignified Death! Death that happens after a long purposeful life that followed their elders and ancestors, who also had long and purposeful lives.

Every day I’m witnessing unholy death. Undignified death. Death that is a result of killing, stealing, torture, and man-made inhumane conditions. Genocides. Lynchings. Every. Day. It’s as if empire doesn’t care to hide its true face anymore, and is training us to be numb to it all.

How can we wrap our minds around 380,000+ babies being slaughtered in Palestine? 300,000+++ parents, grandparents, aunties, teachers, doctors, journalists, artists…

Undignified Death.

Ever since I saw the footage of Gisma Ali Omer being lynched by the RSF in Sudan, it has been added to the collection of unimaginable horror that will live with me until the day I die. The things that come across our news feed and the things that don’t.

This is a poem by Sudanese poet + activist Emtithal Mahmoud:

Undignified Death.

Isn’t it so clear?? Nothing matters but building connections, networks, infrastructure, relationships, and ecosystems for Dignified Life and Death.

When I think about how so many people of the global majority are stripped of basic dignity, it makes me want to implode from rage!!! The way people are disregarded and thrown away without a shred of humanity is vile.

The truth is that the empire air we are breathing trains us to be ok with it: That it is inevitable. We gotta step on people’s necks to get to the top to feed our family. “War” has always been and will continue. Just accept it.

TFFFFF?!?!!! No f*****g way am I using this life to accept that. I uphold my own dignity too much for that!!

**DEEP BREATHS**

Look at baby Tiffany trying to eat a juicy orange. Dignity. She deserves a life full of dignity and purpose. She deserves a gentle death after a long life of dignity and purpose. She is no different from the toddlers in Palestine… doe-eyed long lashed angels. They deserved a long life of dignity and purpose. It’s so unjust to be here fighting for something so basic.

What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?

I dream of dignified death afforded to everyone. Grey hair softly lay on a fluffy pillow. Handcrafted quilts of greens, blues, and pinks. The sunshine illuminates floating particles in the air like any other day. The air is like velvet. Someone is cooking a savory soup on the stove in the kitchen. Soft murmurs and bursts of laughter fill the house. Cheek still warm from a kiss.

How to Support Me!

I’m going to try something new! For those who don’t know, I run a shop called More Liberation. I’ve been trying to experiment with more ways to figure out how to make rent. So here it is! I’m going to be posting a sticker here every time I write, and you can buy it from me directly (f**k etsy fees.)

The vinyl stickers are perfect for water bottles, laptops, notebooks, and light poles.

If you want one or more, follow these directions:

* Venmo me (@tiffanywongart) $5 for each sticker - that includes shipping

* For an international address, it will be $6 for each sticker

* In the Venmo Note, include:

* Mailing info: Name + Address

* Design name: This one is “People Over Profit”

* How many + what color(s)? (Orange, Pink, Green)

Example of Venmo Note:

The stickers will be on their way to you in 1-3 days after your venmo!

Feel free to email me [ [email protected] ] if you want to set up another form of payment.

LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

I had the honor to have a conversation with my dear friend and faithful comrade peregrine about shame. Peregrine inspires me daily in the way they move with so much intention, playfulness, and wisdom. It was fun to record a snippet of how many of our conversations usually go! Listen to our podcast episode about our relationship with shame and real life examples of how we maneuver through it.

Connect with Peregrine:

* Website

* 1:1 Herbal consultations

* Patreon (subscribe for free to get on the email list)

* Instagram

During the podcast, we mention the “I Make Mistakes!” Virtual Intensive for BIPOC that is coming up on September 14. Registration is open!

/ To watch this substack via video recording - scroll to the bottom! /

Look at me there! I was probably around 16 in the early 2000’s right at the start of an iconic era both personally and contextually. It’s such an interesting experience looking at photos of my high school days, because I spend so much more time with my inner child who is under 10 yrs old. When I look at this photo, I remember how self conscious I was and how my music practice was my whole life (besides for church.) I lived and breathed the satisfaction that came from performing and killing it. The ability to look fear in the eye and spit in its face was a high like no other.

LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

I started piano when I was 5 yrs old. (Sweet little baby! That’s me at my childhood home piano where I’ve spent thousands of hours practicing.) By the time I was 10, I decided that it was my thing. It felt like something I could channel my emotion into and something I could practice autonomy with. In a household where I felt trapped in many ways, reading and music were two escapes that were fundamental to my existence. Looking back, I think it saved my life.

Once I hit high school, I was accepted into the tutorage under a very respected piano teacher, Mrs. Loo. I haven’t looked her up in decades, and I just found a CBS news feature on her from this April! Her piano studio was small - she only invested in around 6-8 students at a time, and she put everything into them. I was over at her house multiple times a week and most weekends. One of my favorite memories was eating ramen in her kitchen with the other young people in her studio.

Especially leading up to competitions, she would host recitals for family and friends at her beautiful house in the Oakland hills every weekend. How it worked is that every student had to put in money into the pot (I think it was around $10) and at the end she would rank every student from #1-#8. You got the most money if you were near the top, and you lost money if you were near the bottom. Also, every “semester” every student would learn the same piece so we could be fairly ranked as well as learn from each other’s interpretations.

ALSO every lesson would be a betting game.

(I made up an example of how Mrs. Loo would write out the lesson notes.)

For my individual lessons, next to each task, I would either win or lose x amount of money dependent if I nailed it or not. Then at the end of the lesson she would add up the +/- to see if I’m in the positives or negatives. EVERY LESSON. Walking away from a lesson with a negative was so demoralizing. So I made sure I worked my ass off to get in the positives, and I also wanted to place at least middle or high at the recital.

There was not only competition between me and my studio mates, but also competition with myself. Damn…it all really really worked if the goal was to practice hard and perform at a high high high level.

I remember the first time I won a gold medal for performing a Bach piece. Exhilarating. I remember hearing Mrs. Loo tell my parents that my performance was the best I’ve ever done. With all the extreme pressures and all the nerves, I came out on top. OMG I looooved that feeling! My self confidence grew immensely throughout my highschool years. I felt like I had everything in me to excel with anything I put my mind to. The tangible ways of seeing the fruit of my labor was so satisfying.

There was this distinct moment, where it really clicked for me about how to attain perfection in a piano piece. You had to practice with intention. It’s not enough to play something over and over again - the mistakes cannot make its way into the repetition. The way to correct a mistake is to zoom in, and play it correctly so that the memory is embedded into my muscles. So technically, if I put in the time and correct practice technique, I will be able to perform anything beautifully and accurately by memory.

(I’m going to save the story of why my mom pulled me out of that piano studio…for reallyyyy unfortunate and sad reasons.)

I just turned 36, and I’ve been reflecting a lot about my behavior in the present day around competition and internalized supremacy.

For August through October, I made tangible business goals for myself. In the few weeks leading up to August, I noticed myself pushing to get one of the biggest goals for the three months done before it starts. And then I did just that! I felt this burst of energy to come up on top…a very familiar energy. I felt competitive with myself.

I rarely feel like that towards other people, because I know it doesn’t align with my values and what I believe. BUT with myself…it’s way harder to catch and also seems harmless. What’s wrong with self motivation and getting things done?

What is supremacy?

It is an increase of perceived value compared to its counterpart.

It is the movement away from the thing itself and then deriving value from hierarchy.

Supremacy is innately power over.

Being conditioned as an Asian femme, I know this too well. Entering a room that is predominantly white with a few other folks of color…we (all the POC’s) felt the tension. White people want to see us to be desperate for their attention and approval. There can’t be TWO asian people in the mostly white friend group. Only one token asian person allowed!

Model minority myth was like treading in mud growing up. The message was: be thankful, because if you behave - we won’t treat you like Black people. The anti-Black “pull yourself up by your bootstrap” indoctrination was and IS strong! White supremacy beckons and bets on the supremacy within Black and brown communities. Within our own communities and between the communities. So clever, because it’s effective.

If my worth is derived from being better than other people, I’m in deeep trouble. At the exact same time, I can always find people I’m “better” than morally, materially, artistically, etc. AND I can also always find people that are better than me in every category! So then what? I should keep on trying to climb the supremacy ladder? Yes. Exactly. That’s what they (the colonizers) want.

I reject having to place myself and my work on a “top 50” list in order to have its value validated.

I reject displacing the energy to other sources in order to trust that I and my work are good.

I reject that we have to live our lives at the expense of Congolese, Sudanese, Palestinian, displaced/poor/Black+Brown people’s lives.

I reject the whole damn thing.

And yet, I catch myself with internalized supremacy.

I find myself catching it…why did I do that? Why do I have this compulsion of beating myself? And don’t even get me started with internalized supremacy in relationship to learning about emotional intelligence and trauma related things.

I have nothing to prove! I have nothing to one up. It is a disgrace if I try to do that. (And I say that with much love.)

I’m healing and reconditioning from the dopamine hit of “winning.” I am all for growth and expansion, but I know the difference. No one else can tell, but I know. That discerning is the integrity that grounds me and makes deep joy + fulfillment possible.

I want fulfillment and satisfaction that supremacy can never give me.

I hold young teenage Tiffany with so much tenderness. There is so much nuance to her journey! It was so FUN to really excel at music with other young people. She was so delighted to discover how capable she can be. Her creativity, musicality, and determination are such super powers.

As an adult, my job is to mature those desires and skills to match what we truly value.

What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?

Freedom from capitalism that yells in our ear that our little pleasures have to be at the cost a millions of lives. F**k supremacy - all of it. So sick of billionaires forcing it down our throats. Liberatory Imagination sparks rage in me. Witnessing Palestine feels so hopeless even though my spirit knows there is always hope.

Please join me in sharing the rebuild of Bahri Hospital in the capital of Sudan - initiated by SAPA. The forced starvation, the genocide, the lack of basic resources is unfathomable…we can’t wrap our minds around 25 million people. Donate + Share.

How to support me (thank you in advance):

Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.

* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart with note “Happy Birthday from substack!”

* Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attach the note “Recurring substack subscription.”

LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

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This is so embarrassing to say out loud. When I was in conservative christian college, I took a class that required the students to do street evangelism. For those who aren’t familiar, it’s when you go up to strangers on the street to tell them about the “good news” aka that Jesus died on the cross for them and if they accepted him into their hearts, they will go to heaven and not hell.

I couldn’t even tell you which class it was or what I learned, because my mind has completely blocked it all out…almost. I do remember this assignment.

Basically, we had to use these strategies of getting strangers to be interested in christianity. I remember the teacher saying that it was our role to plant seeds in people’s minds so that one day they can pledge their life to Jesus…and if we are lucky, we might be able to reap the fruit right then and there. The strategy I chose was to look like a canvasser with a clip board and ask people questions for the survey. What a brilliant trick!

So I go to the water tower mall, which is in the heart of downtown Chicago, and I go for it. I’m not nervous AT ALL.

I walk up to this guy smoking outside the mall and I ask him questions for my “survey.” I straight up ask him “what do you think happens after you die?” I don’t remember any details of that chat, but I do remember thinking I had an upper hand to most of my classmates. I wasn’t a weird socially awkward christian like them. I was a cute girl that was up on the fashion + pop culture trends and had social awareness. I thought that “secular” people (people who didn’t believe in Jesus) probably thought that christians were ugly weirdos, but I was there to prove them wrong. Christians could be cute and normal! lollllll

More than 13 years later, I still cringe. I was EXACTLY what people assumed christians were like…insufferable and so self assured.

Leaving that cult was one of the bravest things I’ve ever done.

(a photo of me from 2010 while I was at the conservative christian college as a sophomore.)

My journey of wanting to prove people wrong didn’t end at graduating from that christian college. I went head first into the arts right after school to prove that I can go against the grain of what people deemed as a good asian woman. My parents wanted me to get a secure job in the medical field or at least make good money teaching piano. I said no. “I’m going to prove everyone wrong about their assumptions of me by being a poor artist. Get that!”

And boy did I nail it. Still a poor artist to this day!

I just watched the american apparel trainwreck documentary on netflix, and I got major 2010’s flashbacks. Other than being a poor artist, being a quirky hipster was VERY important to me. There weren’t a lot of asian hipsters, and I had to represent. That era was mostly me lusting over Lita’s by Jeffery Campbell, anything from american apparel, and anything Jenn Im from Clothes Encounters (youtube channel) wore - see Jenn and the glorious shoe below.

I think it meant a lot to me to be seen as Jenn, because she was the antithesis to the asian nerd with greasy hair and an accent to me. That feeling was a mix of (taught) self hatred and also discovering what being a diaspora asian person could be. I was taught to see my people through such a narrow and limiting lens. From that place, I could see why proving everyone wrong felt resonant, and I have compassion for that.

If you’ve read other posts I’ve written, you know that I grew up in a predominantly Chinese community until middle school. Entering social circles that were mostly white was a shock. I almost saw what the white people saw when they looked at my family and I…I didn’t like that. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. And I felt like I wanted to prove them wrong by being cooler and smoother than they expected.

The truth is: the more I spoke, move, and dress like my white counterparts, the more pathways opened up to me.

But at what cost? For what? Social acceptance? Belonging? Security?

I would later discover that it was a scam to my soul, but the privilege of proximity is real (until it crosses the invisible line).

I don’t want to diminish real life punishments of not bending to white supremacy. I truly truly get it. I get how asian americans feel like they have to sell their souls to stay under the radar. I get it! But I know it’s not worth it. Nothing is worth our soul.

(a photo of me from 2013 fully decked in an all american apparel outfit.)

During the 2010’s, I learned about the enneagram, which the christian church loooooved. I identified as type 4 “the individualist”, which deeply values being seen as unique. Learning about it felt freeing, and it started to make me really question that desire…for what? For whom does it serve for me to be seen as special? What am I trying to prove exactly?

The enneagram (not endorsing it - but it is interesting at the very least) says that the more you heal, the less you become these avatars. Healing those core childhood wounds will free us from stuffing ourselves into these small boxes of who we are.

Just two days ago, my girlfriend was mentioning how it’s cute when my bangs are a little longer - and my immediate response is that I’m afraid to grow them longer because I would look “norm-core.” She said there’s no way I could look norm-core with my bleached eyebrows and just how I present generally. We laughed about it, but it did make me think about this deep seeded desire of mine. It’s still there!

I’ve been simmering on what pressures do I feel right now? What assumptions do people have about me that I might want to prove wrong? What do I want to prove to myself?

I feel like I want to prove to myself I can be a productive leftist who know’s her s**t and gets s**t done. In trying to take care of myself mentally and spiritually through the onslaught of continual overwhelm, I feel shame knocking at my door telling me I’m not doing enough. When that happens, I usually go to the door and speak through it saying, “let me be…I don’t want to have a mental breakdown like last time. The internal and spiritual work I’m doing is also work.”

To bear witness to the genocide of Palestine, alligator alcatraz, ICE kidnapping people, losing medicaid + SNAP, trying to make ends meet every month, the attack on Iran…I am constantly trying to stay grounded in truth and love for what is possible. Constantly trying to survive, practice my gifts towards our North Star, bear witness, and stay connected with my people.

I have nothing to prove to myself or anyone.

I only have to focus on embodying my values and principles.

I only have to look at the day and ask “what is possible?”

How can I invest in my spiritual, physical, and relational health so that I can be present in this reality?

This is an area I don’t feel the pull to prove people wrong: that I am too rigid and stubborn about my political beliefs.

You think I’m too rigid? Ok. You think I’m too sure about xyz? Sure. Ok.

No one is ever going to convince me that I need to see the other side of genocide/colonization/imperialism/prisons-slavery. I’m very familiar with the other side. My whole life is drenched in the other side through propaganda and indoctrination.

The freedom I feel in accepting how people may or may not perceive me when it comes to my principles is deeply healing.

When I think about how I have changed and grown in my world view, it gives me hope. No one had to debate with me or humanize my viewpoints for me to change. I was the one who went out of my way to learn and witness activists and artists who stood strong in their principles. I was the one who looked for answers. Even through the indoctrination I had from birth, there was space for me to lean into changing my mind.

I truly believe that the deeper my roots are - call it rigid or stubborn - the closer we all are to a world where everyone has their needs met.

Call it whatever you want! I know that I am rooted in love.

What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?

Death to the IOF.

How to support me (thank you in advance):

Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.

* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart with note “coffee from substack!”

* Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attach the note “Recurring substack subscription.”

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Paper Daughter

My story begins long before my existence, before my first birthday, before coming into soulful consciousness.

It wasn’t too long ago that my mom told me that we immigrated here through clever means. The term “trickster mobility” by Akwaeke Emezi keeps on coming to mind. The way “trickster” sits in my body feels steady and strategic. It doesn’t feel devilish or deceptive. Well, I guess it is deceptive to the empire. The empire that defines what is legal and who is legal. The same empire who steals lands and commits genocides.

My mom casually mentioned that my great grandfather was in San Francisco as a laborer during the 1906 SF earthquake that resulted in days long fires across the city. The fires burned down everything including papers and documentation. Trickster mobility! The Chinese laborers including my great grandfather saw their opportunity to forge paperwork. They claimed to be sons and daughters of Chinese American citizens. And then, subsequently, their sons and daughters and their sons and daughters were also citizens. Thus the term paper sons and daughters. (Here is an excellent articled titled “My Father was a paper son” by Steve Kwok.)

But let’s back up even more.

The Chinese Exclusion Act (“the Act”) was passed on May 6, 1882 and was the first U.S. federal legislation that explicitly prevented the immigration of a particular nationality by prohibiting Chinese laborers from entering the United States. Originally lasting for 10 years, it was extended by the 1892 Geary Act for another 10 years, then for an additional 10 years, and finally indefinitely in 1904. The Act mandated that people of Chinese origin carry identification certificates or face deportation.

Eventually, the Act was repealed by the 1943 Magnuson Act, but it only permitted an annual quota of 105 Chinese immigrants. This quota system was finally lifted by the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965.

Sourced from this site

83 years. It birthed the Model Minority Myth, which was designed to pit Asians against Black folks. Those 105 Chinese immigrants (highly educated and rich) were hand picked every year to prove that pulling yourself up from your bootstrap works! You just need to study and work hard.

Be a good minority. And stay a minority.

So as I’m witnessing daily the kidnapping of folks both documented and undocumented by ICE, the rage is burns hot. Every day, ICE is trying to kidnap folks going to their court hearing. Just a few days ago, Chao Zhou, a Hong Kong student was kidnapped and detained here in Chicago. ICE was spotted a few blocks away from where I live in uptown yesterday. It’s enraging to see how humans are treated sub humanly everywhere I look. No one is safe.

No matter how much you try to assimilate and appease the empire, no one is safe. If you are Black or brown or even white, you are not safe from the hunger of empire. The poorer you are, the more disabled, the more you dissent, the more you see through the empire, the more unsafe you are. As I’ve written a million times, things just get clearer. There are so few things that actually matter, and it’s crystal clear.

In October of 1989, my mom drove through the Bay Bridge after my 2 month old appointment. A few hours later, the bridge collapsed during a huge earthquake. I find it poetic my birth coincided with the biggest earthquake to hit SF since 1906. Being a Leo, I have always felt like my purpose is to burn, shine, and clear space for truth.

Not to romanticize natural disasters, but I’m sitting with:

What do we need to clear out and make way for? Because this is not it.

Calls to action:

* Donate to this fundraiser to support a single mother pay legal fees - as her son is being detained by ICE.

* Sign this petition for our local organizer, Gladis Yolanda Chavez Pineda, who has been detained by ICE.

What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?

I was listening to adrienne maree brown’s podcast How to Survive the End of the World’s latest episode titled “A Palestinian Love Story with Devin Atallah and Sarah Ihmoud.” It brought me to tears multiple times when they talked about deep love during genocides. It is a powerful thing to say yes to and a magical way that fuels us. To fall in love and to be in love is such a f**k you to the empire…if the alignment and north star is shared.

Devin Atallah says on the podcast:

“Our love story is not something I can celebrate without being real that we are weapons. And we need to be weapons right now. We’re not trying to be coming together and enacting care for each other that doesn’t help us fight and get free. We have to be weapons for a collective freedom and it’s our responsibility to do so.”

Yes yes yes. What an honor.

How to support me (thank you in advance):

Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.

* Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attach the note “Recurring substack subscription.”

* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongart with note “coffee from substack!”

LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

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“Like that thing where you show someone just a little bit and they run, and then you think, wow, if just this terrified you—the tip of a feather—how am I supposed to open up entire wings? If I’m already so alone with this useless human face pressed over mine to make you more comfortable, how bad will it get if I show you my nonhuman faces?”

— Dear Senthuran: A Black Spirit Memoir by Akwaeke Emezi

When I see a child throw a tantrum or cry really big, my instinct is now to tear up and want to hold them so close. Not necessarily to comfort them, but to assure them that it’s ok for them to feel big and be seen.

Because that’s what I want as a 35 year old.

Just yesterday I was video chatting with my sister and my nibling who is 1.5 years old. My nibling was eating a muffin, and when my sister went to help peel the wrapper off - it was over. Their little glorious face contorted to be the most pained face, instant tears, a loud cry, cheeks red with rage. It became very clear very fast that they didn’t my sister to peel the wrapper - either they wanted to do it or just eat the muffin with the risk of paper in the mouth. As i was watching this unfold, tears came into my eyes, because I know what it’s like to feel my agency being taken from me. I relished in this new human to express that quickly and vulnerably.

What would it be like for me to be soft like a toddler? With my most beloved chosen family. I’m not even sure if I’m soft like that with myself.

[Photo: that’s 8 year old me in the orange shirt at my sister’s 5 year old bday.]

I remember when I was probably 8 or 9 years old writing in my journal in the dark corner of my bedroom that I have chosen to shut myself off from my emotions. It was a clear moment where I found a spell that I can summon anytime. When I willed it to activate, it created this impenetrable bubble where everything was muffled on the outside, and everything was ok on the inside. The only thing I needed to abide to, is not to react to anything on the outside of the bubble or the spell wouldn’t work.

I wrote in my locket journal that if I was able to shut off my feelings, everything could slip off me. It won’t hurt! In those next years, I perfected nonchalance. A kind of non reactivity. Sometimes I fell for the trap, and I let it all go at the same time - but for the most part my new spell was key to feeling agency again.

When my mother would rage and lose all control, I would look at her blankly and continue to do what I was doing without batting an eye. That would set her off more, and I knew that. I put myself on a pedestal (as much as a 7 year old could) high enough to see her exploding in her own suffering and thinking that I would never: it’s so embarrassing to lose yourself like that.

That loneliness echoes in me to this day. I’ve never been socially alone (thank god). Throughout the seasons, I’ve found community - even though in hindsight many of the “communities” have been shallow as hell.

But that kind of loneliness to myself within myself is such a distinct flavor.

I’m reading Dear Senthuran by Akwaeke Emezi right now and it is HITTING. I’m only 40% through the book, but it’s clear what the themes are. Emezi writes so rawly and so other wordly about what it takes to be honest with ourselves and each other in relationship, in creating, in resisting, and in being.

“For people who live in the knuckles with sixty-seven faces, it’s not really about pretending to be people you’re not. It’s more about having faces for all the things you already are—blurred spaces, trickster mobility.”

Their take on code switching or mask wearing is so refreshing.

As a child, I had to put on that mask and summon that bubble to survive. To cope. It was the face that kept me the safest.

The past 15 years has been learning to take that mask off when I’m alone, and then also dipping my toe into taking that mask off in front of people I choose.

When I read the quote at the top of this post, I physically stopped doing the dishes and had to listen and read it again. It’s what I’ve been talking to my dear ones recently! There have been so many people in my life who I thought were for me, and when I showed them a flicker of my heart, they ran away. Too harsh. Too fixed. Too sure. Too much.

What do you mean???? I didn’t even go hard. I didn’t even show the breadth of how I feel and how I can create and how I can expand!! If you can’t handle that little bit, it’s clear you can’t handle me at all.

I’m so tired of bending and wearing masks. I can and will do it to survive, but I’m tired.

Healing for me is to create enough space within myself to be huge and to feel big.

With my babe, I’ve shown glimpses of my real emotions that I’ve never shown a partner. It’s scary. Because I can feel my inner child watch and squint…”we don’t do that.” “We don’t cry in front of people.” “We don’t show them our tenderness.” “We don’t get angry and show it.”

Healing is developing trust within myself that I can be big, and not hurt or harm anyone. I can express my feelings and not say things I don’t mean. I can fill the room, and still make space for people who have earned my trust.

I’m still scared of being accused that I’m too much.

The thing that keeps me rooted is that when someone says I’m too much, most likely they are just confessing their own fears.

I have matured enough to know that I can never wait for people’s permission to pursue what I want to see in my life, in community, in our world. As an Asian femme, I know too well what people expect me to be like. If followed that, I would be married to a white man with children, church going, have no stance on anything, a liberal, and my spirit would be dead.

Another aspect about letting people see a glimpse of me, is that it attracts people who want to extract from me. My people and I talk about this ALL THE TIME, because it happens to us ALL THE TIME. People want to get close, because I reflect something they want to acknowledge in themselves - like honest creativity. But the moment that they are confronted about the cost it takes to be honestly creative, they attack (or leave). As if I am the source of why they are not living into their potential. As if I am the reason they aren’t ready to pay the price.

No thanks.

What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?

Where we [Black + brown folks] can feel deeply, express it, and be safe. It is an honor to be big in how we feel, in the joy, fear, rage, bliss. It is an honor to witness it. White supremacy has stolen so much.

I want us to wrap our younger selves in our arms and tell them it’s ok to be big and to feel big. We will nourish them to feel safe with their emotions and teach them that they aren’t their emotions. They ebb and flow. There is enough space.

How to support me (thank you in advance):

Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.

* Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attach the note “Recurring substack subscription.”

* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongartwith note “coffee from substack!”

LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

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Up to just 2 years ago, I thought it was my destiny to have children…like birth them from my literal body or through adoption. Being a future mother felt synonymous with me since I was little. I’ve always been really good with kids and everywhere I went people commented how I will be an amazing mom one day. I remember so many times growing up when I would be in the kitchen helping my mom make dinner, and she would say how this is training me to be a good future mom and wife. Every time she said that, I didn’t cringe. It warmed my heart thinking about me grating ginger for my future family.

LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

For two decades of my life, I took care of children for a living! I freaking loved being a nanny. I loved playing and taking care of little ones, and I still do. I loved picking up the baby after nap time and getting their snacks ready. So what happened in the past 2 years? Is it my age that made me suddenly have a change of heart?

I almost froze my eggs.

From 2021-22, I did ALOT of research about freezing my eggs. Early 30’s is when people say you should do it before it’s too late. Too late. Too late. I kept on hearing that and I kept on saying it.

I was in a long term committed relationship at the time and kids were a possibility with that partner. (Side note - I thank the universe every day for saving me from having kids with that man. He ended being a lying and manipulative piece of s**t.)

At that time I was 100% sure I would have a kid with or without a partner, but I really hoped it was with my then boyfriend. I learned that freezing your eggs is very expensive (10-15k), it doesn’t guarantee a successful pregnancy, you might need to do multiple rounds if you want a higher chance of conceiving later, and freezing your eggs fertilized makes the eggs more stable. In the end, I didn’t want to be in debt and would take a chance on things working out naturally.

After the breakup, I felt free. And then after uncovering all the ways my ex lied to me after the breakup, I felt EXTRA free. I got to embody principles and values I couldn’t when I was dating that piece of garbage (I don’t usually like to classify any human as garbage, but you would agree if you knew what he did).

Throwing away the relationship ladder.

Finally I was able to live into my queerness not as an abstract idea, but a tangible way of life. It was healing to connect and love people of different genders excluding cis men. But - let me tell you - untangling the tricky ways of comphet (compulsive heteronormativity) and patriarchy is an ongoing struggle. It’s so much more than who you are romantically connected to. It’s getting into the nitty gritty and questioning it all on a body level.

Part of embodying queerness was getting rid of the relationship ladder. Dating→partnership→moving in together→getting married→having kids. The whole thing is trash. It robs us of true choice and consent. It makes us become little capitalism machines churning out humans to feed the capitalism machine. It strips us of having relationships and connections that are rooted in authenticity and accountability.

I’m not saying that all relationships that follow the relationship ladder are fake or unhappy or unsuccessful…I’m saying that without clear alternative paths (that are available and respected), it’s not much of a consensual choice. Going to repeat myself again: truly liberating ourselves from patriarchy and systems of oppression cannot be stuck on an intellectual basis.

But I get it. Like what I wrote in the last post, there are real life consequences (socially/economically) when you don’t submit to empire’s wishes for you. If you don’t follow the relationship ladder in a cishet relationship, there are punishments. Many of them are lethal.

How much was the desire for kids selfish?

How much was the desire of having kids spoon fed to me by patriarchy/capitalism and how much was it actually from me?

To expound on that, part of it was that I wanted to see a mini me. I wanted to raise a child and do better than my parents. I wanted to give a child the household I wish I had. I wanted to feel what it’s like to have a human grow inside of me. I wanted to have a baby that adored me and needed me. I wanted all the snuggles and sweet baby breaths. I wanted to have a toddler who would be delighted to see me enter the room. I wanted to be able to choose their little clothes and style their hair. I wanted to do night time baths and bedtime book time. I wanted to have open and honest communication. I wanted to create a household that was safe for their big feelings. I wanted a tangible way of passing on my legacy. I wanted a full grown adult to hug me and say they couldn’t have solved world hunger without me. And once again, I wanted to blubber over my mini me, who would be the cutest thing ever.

(Above: a photo of my mom and me. Omg look at me…I’m SO CUTE.)

When I looked at the reasons why I wanted children, I couldn’t justify it.

Those weren’t good enough reasons to bring a human into this world. Side-note: I’m not going to get into adoption here, because that’s a whole other complex conversation.

To answer my leading question: yes the desire is selfish. All those reasons center me and my ego.

Reasons why I choose not to have kids:

1 . In this economy??

I can barely make rent.

2. Under this empire??

This empire wants to either kill the children or make them into slaves (prison or to capitalism).

3. With my unstable state??

I am mentally/emotionally unwell and traumatized. If push comes to shove, I think I could rise to the occasion, but that’s a huge question mark. There are so many moments where I just thank god I don’t have children when I just need to crawl into my bed and disappear…or when I’m overstimulated and feel like screaming.

4. In this timeline??

If I were a floating soul, I wouldn’t want to be birthed into this timeline.

I love children.

I know people will continue to have kids and they won’t regret it. This is not sarcastic - I’m happy for them. And no shade to anyone! Children are incredible and such a gift. The reason why I don’t want kids isn’t because I don’t value them anymore. It’s because I’ve pivoted how I see family and community. I have the peace that there will always be children in my life, and I hope to be a loving community member in raising those children. For how society is structured, I don’t think I have the means to raise children, and in deconstructing my desire for kids - I’m not sure if I will ever have any valid reasons to have them. That feels peaceful in my body.

The rush I felt in my late 20’s going into my 30’s to have kids was so unfair. I hate that I felt that weight in watching my “biological clock” tick. Having that pressure lift off of me is a blessing. Honestly, who knows what life will bring me. All I know is that my responsibility is to heal from this oppressive system as much as I can while living from my values.

(Below is me - the older one, my baby sister, and my stylish mom.)

What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?

A world where children are actually valued. People like to think that they care about children, but it comes out real fast they don’t if they are Black or brown or poor. The images of babies in Gaza…in the NICU…left to die…is seared into my body forever. The countless kids who were martyred. Hearing from children about their accounts of watching their siblings being killed. Girls in sudan being systemically sexually assaulted. Black children who are fed into the school to prison pipeline, which is just another word for slavery. Just yesterday an autistic teenager was shot 9 times by the police. This world hates children.

Liberatory imagination asks me: what am I doing to contribute to a world where children are loved and protected?

I have a new event coming up virtually! We will be gathering on April 16 Wed 7-8:30pm CST. Registration is based on sliding scale (free is an option). For more info and to register: visit my site.

How to support me (thank you in advance):

Currently, I’m in between jobs and would appreciate any support you can afford.

* Subscribe for free (all my posts will be available to the public), but set up a monthly or annual recurring payment with me directly on venmo - @tiffanywongart. Attach the note “Recurring substack subscription.”

* Buy me a cup of coffee. Every bit counts! You can venmo me at @tiffanywongartwith note “coffee from substack!”

LIBERATORY IMAGINATION is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

\\ To watch this substack via video recording - scroll to the bottom! \\

It’s maddening and laughable, because I was taught that if I focused my whole life on god (or at least who I was told god was) then I would live a righteous life. In bible school (yes I went to a private christian collage), I so vividly remember these two images in one of the bible classes.

The first image: numerous dots surrounding god and they are chaotically going in random directions with no balance. The second image portrays those same dots neatly surrounding god, pointing in towards god, in perfect balance. I remember how it really clicked in my head: “WOW. How can it be any clearer?! Makes total sense, and it confirms everything I know and feel. If I just focus on God, then everything else will snap into place.” I breathed and lived for god (I mean, I cheated ALOOOOTTT in college, but who cares - god understood.)

I’ve written this before, but I really miss that kind of unprincipled peace. The kind that let’s you walk with a bounce, because you got it all figured out - the purpose of life, how it all started, what happens after death, what you can and cannot do, and what I need to personally do to please god. That kind of clarity on top of existential superiority is so fun. Everyone at my church knew me, because I led music. Saying hi to so many people was exhilarating. Did any of those people actually know me or have my back in any way? No, but I didn’t know that yet.

After college, I got deep into leadership with a church that I thought was more progressive. LOL. It felt like a cool and grounded church, but in reality it was just as patriarchal, white supremacist, and homophobic as any ol’ church. My ego ate it up though, because being a token woman of color - I felt “loved and heard” - at least 20 percent of the time. And I was cool with it! Change takes time!

I spent hours prepping and practicing for music every week (below is a photo of me in 2022 deep in my church era - I’m looking off in the distance playing the guitar). Hours in meetings about initiatives. Hours in meetings about the “vision” of the church. Hours in meetings about meetings about meetings about meetings. SO MUCH TALKING. With nothing to show for it. Nothing ever happened. Except for an egg hunt for the kids during easter.

Those decades are formative to who I am today, but I grieve. I lost all those hours and weeks and years laboring for free. I believed it my choice, but was it? Other than my ego getting stroked and experiencing the facade of “community,” was I better off? HELL NO. The thought of all those hours of listening to men talk nauseates me. All those hours of listening to “diverse view points” and “spirit led” blasphemy was sickening. And not to forget…I gave CASH MONEY to the church, because I was taught to tithe (give 10% of your income to the church).

For what?? A tinnnyyy fraction of the budget helped people in financial need. We were able to go on trips and retreats on that church budget. The church supported missionaries. *GAGGING*

The success of mobilizing a few hundred people went to…nothing. People had the semblance of community and maybe made some friends, but it was nothing more than a social club. They loooved talking about how the church is not a social club - ironic. There are real life people who need CASH MONEY to pay for rent and food, but the church didn’t actually care. They didn’t actually care about addressing white supremacy and colonization. They knew how to use key words to seem relevant. Push comes to shove, no one is willing to sacrifice their comfort for real work or change.

Obviously that’s a huge generalization, but that’s what I saw with my very own two eyes. Even in writing this, I can feel my blood boil. It’s so wrong to use the umbrella of Jesus’ teachings to neglect people who are outside the doors - who need homes, food, and shelter from ICE. And it doesn’t count to volunteer at a homeless shelter 2x a year. I’m still actively grieving not using my energy and resources in a materially helpful way all those years…let alone the religious trauma.

When I finally left the church for good, I was so angry. Everything the church taught me about chaos (like in that illustration) was wrong. My life didn’t crumble because I was leaving the church and the faith. I didn’t fall into sin (at least in my definition). I was taught that people who didn’t have Jesus in their heart were lying to themselves in believing that they had peace or were happy. I was taught it was all a facade. When I left, I saw that the people outside the church were just as miserable as the people in the church. Actually, christians are some of the most tortured, discontent, and immoral people I’ve ever witnessed.

When I finally left the church for good, I had agency to actually walk in alignment. The weight of obligation and spiritual guilt lifted off of my shoulders. OMG I had no idea how heavy it was. I always felt bad I didn’t pray and read the bible more. It was always weighing on me that my relationship with god wasn’t stronger. The peace I felt after leaving was deeper and truer than anything I experienced. In my soul, I know Jesus would have been proud of me!

Instead of being in meeting after meeting, I took control of my energy and how I allocated it. Years later, I’m still figuring out how to be a loving friend, partner, and local/global neighbor. Because I don’t have spiritual obligation and guilt taking up space in my being, I can own up to my decisions fully. I’m not showing up truthfully because I should as a christian…I’m showing up truthfully because I choose to practice integrity.

Self accountability can only happen when I’m not functioning out of obligation and guilt.

Something I have my eyes and ears out for is the same pitfalls the church had in the organizing space. All I know is that any space where people gather is susceptible to losing the whole plot and obeying narcissist leaders.

Just because a space isn’t religious doesn’t mean that the same systemic harm can’t exist. Wow triple negatives! Cults are cults whatever form they take. In my book, a cult is where people are exploited for their bodies and their labor, usually led by a person or group of people who are in it for themselves. Typically it’s for money, but it could be for sexual gratification or just ego/control, or all of above.

In the christian church, people are exploited for their bodies and their labor in exchange for the sense of existential certainty, a feeling of belonging, moral superiority, and “community.” Who benefits? Usually it’s white men (sometimes white women and sometimes men of color) who are the pastors and leaders. They get literally paid by people’s tithes or/and they get their ego stroked. I’m not even going to get into MAGA churches and how all those votes are manufactured by the US and israel.

I gotta be honest, some of these political spaces look more like cults than revolutionary spaces. There’s alot of talk and little action…lots and lots of meetings…more talk…performative actions…very little material difference. People are finding belonging and friends, but at what cost? All I’m saying is that I won’t be surprised when I find out there is financial fraud or that a prominent person in the group has been abusing people. It’s sad. I don’t wish that on any group or anyone.

Having come from a background where that was normalized, I feel super guarded.

I’m reading Abolish the Family by Sophia Lewis and I just finished Earthlings by Sayaka Murata. They both address our function under empire and what the system expects of us in order to be deemed as valuable to them. It is ALL about exploitation of our bodies and labor. Earthlings was a creative and provocative book that I’m still churning on.

Something that I loved being brought to light is: what is considered as taboo? And who is protecting abusers?

Being an unwed and child free woman is socially unacceptable (kinda taboo if you think about it), and there are many punishments for that behavior. Pedophilia is taboo for sure, but who is protected the majority of the time in a society that doesn’t value children?

I highly recommend the book, but please read through the very intense trigger warning list before starting the book.

What does Liberatory Imagination spark in me today?

A day where we don’t have to figure out how to resist and survive (like this image of a bee barely hanging on). Surviving seems so impossible as we are still witnessing the genocide in Palestine a year and 6 months later…as we are witnessing devastating earthquakes and tsunamis…the abduction of people off the streets…trans siblings having all their rights stripped away…surviving itself feels so impossible. Liberatory Imagination sparks in me a future where we don’t need to “choose” between bowing down to the empire or death. Either way it is death. Liberatory Imagination sparks in me a future where we have the context and environment to actually thrive. There’s no thriving here, baby. We can have glimpses and glimmers, but until the empire has been burnt to the f*****g ground…there is no thriving.

I have a new event coming up virtually! We will be gathering on April 15 Wed 7-8:30pm CST. Registration is based on sliding scale (free is an option). For more info and to register: visit my site.

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