​Mask Up
 
In my line of organizing work
I’m usually down to mask up
Cause it means shit’s about to go 
Down at a public protest
And I’m not trying to get doxxed. 
 
But this masking up everyday
Just to go outside? 
Just to see people?
I hate it. 
It’s hot, stuffy
And becomes a struggle -
Harder to breathe
Harder to talk
Harder to just be
Cause I can’t think without this pandemic
Hanging over my head.
 
COVID-19, 
An omnipresent catastrophe
Even though my life looks and feels mostly fine
Is a cognitive dissonance 
That’s hard to process
But again I’m mostly fine
Except when I wear the mask
Cause then a mental harangue of
<Alert! Stay at home! Alert! Flatten the curve!>
<WE ARE ALL IN TERRIBLE DANGER>
Rains down
And I forget what I’m doing cause
This mask is suffocating 
Like this omnipresent catastrophe. 



I go by TiDo or 杜雪玲. I use she/her pronouns. I cry over spilt compost. I smile with doggos, hikes, books, and gardens. I don’t just laugh at flatulent humor; I greet my parents with it. And I teach and organize.

Nipaluna/Hobart, Australia


minutes rolling into hours
pvc protection overlying
a world map held captive by my eyes
flinging themselves back and forth
from hobart to harringay
17390km of air which
feels stagnant here so my
mind rekindles the
energy of final moments away in
3pm afternoon sunlight
rippling silhouettes on your
linen bedsheets as i try to salvage
the blurred sensation
of your body contouring mine
 
weeks slowly stretching into months
sometimes if the sky is blue i’ll
sit outside watching the full sun
arcing perpendicular to the horizon
as it shortens its path day by day.
i dream of summertime reunification
south of the black sea and notice my
screen time has jumped up 237% from last year  
as my nights slip into my days or yours and
i switch airplane mode off
to catch your P3 free. or maybe my call will ring out
with broken wifi, miscommunication, misinterpretation
forcing me to pull my head
out of my phone and feel
what it’s like to live in the real world for a little
until diving back in again
 
and suddenly months snap into hours
panic buying one-way tickets as items are
hastily thrown into a case before
rising in the darkness of night chasing
forever shortening daylight towards
winter solstice as you  
flip your life 17390km
and bring lightness to mine
 


olivia (they/she) is a fourth-generation chinese-australian queer writing from nipaluna/hobart, australia, in the slow process of reconnecting with their long-lost chinese heritage. they miss going to the club.

​
​The sweat-slick kiss of the sun
Embraces me through every droplet in the air.
Mornings greeted by 
Floral silk pajamas trailing a fruit stand.

The walls and outlines that fill the distance
Seek rest from those inanimate.
The walls built to hold me tight.

The passage of time
Documented through the ice thawed on the surface
Passing rivers and valleys amidst skyscrapers and concrete.
Where the same sun kisses through March snowfall.


​
Melissa Bui (she/her) is a Canadian-Vietnamese designer who spends her time reflecting on her diasporic roots and the sense of belonging after living in both Vietnam and Canada and still feeling othered. @melissabuidesign