Issue 1: The Editors Speak
The editors of Mahogany Journal, Jaryl George Solomon and Prasanthi Ram, share their thoughts before the launch of the inaugural issue: The +65 South Asian.
Credit for artwork: @paati.philosophy (Instagram)
The Human Coconut
Throughout my young adult years, it was not alien for me to be labelled as a coconut (and in some problematic cases, an Oreo too). My Indianness tends to be symbolically reduced to a game of tug-of-war that I had never asked to participate in. Somehow, I had to balance between being the colour of a fuzzy husk with my supposed ‘whiteness’ that came from a media diet of ‘90s cartoons and horror films. It did not help that my mother gifted me a three-tiered ‘ang moh’ name due to my Roman Catholic roots and that I found myself at the back of every Malay class struggling to comprehend what was being said. I was truly a conundrum personified!
Even presently, I still seem to confuse many. My students have questioned if I hailed from Wakanda and taxi drivers have admonished me for not knowing Tamil. I usually freeze if anyone interrogates me about my heritage. It has been 32 years of being a Singaporean Indian and I still find myself uncomfortable in my brownness from time to time. Oddly, this was exactly why I decided to embark on this journey to birth Mahogany Journal alongside my dear friend, Prasanthi. I was sure about many other +65 South Asians similarly struggling with the questions, assumptions and interpretations that came with the colour of our skin. At the same time, I hoped that I would come across +65 South Asian writers who would be so unabashedly themselves that I could not help but seek comfort in their light. Ultimately, we needed a platform to anchor these voices in, voices that may otherwise be drowned out or overlooked. With the launch of our inaugural issue, both Prasanthi and I hope that we have accomplished this.
Thankfully, the many submissions we received explored the intricacies of being South Asian in Singapore. While we encountered some submissions that unfortunately did not know what +65 South Asian voices referred to, the bulk of the poetry and prose received handled our open call rather well. Most of the submissions, especially the poetry, have helped me understand that there is a paradox that comes with discussing our experiences as marginalised voices. Readers constantly expect us to unearth the daily cruelties that can come with being South Asian for all to gawk at. Yet, at the same time, are we doing a disservice to our community if we blatantly choose to reject writing just that? Do we become any lesser of a South Asian if we happen to date someone not belonging to our racial group or if we were to pick ziplocked sandwiches over tiffins? And what happens if we decide to choose our battles with discrimination?
I hope that the thirteen pieces selected by us offer some form of clarity to these questions posed. However, even if they do not, that is perfectly alright too. I do acknowledge that the pieces we have selected are but a sliver of what the +65 South Asian community can offer in its entirety. What I do wish is for all our readers to genuinely see and receive Mahogany for what it is and can become, not for what it is not. I am confident that as our journal grows through future open calls, we will hone the voices we have heard and be exposed to even more insights that would help us appreciate the many facets of being South Asian in Singapore. After all, Mahogany Journal will always be a platform created by +65 South Asians for +65 South Asians.
At the end of the day, as I binge on more dog rescue videos on YouTube to buy time as we inch towards a new normal amidst the global pandemic, I must confront the many labels plastered upon me. I am (often) a coconut, (sometimes) an Oreo and even, (falsely) a king cum superhero of a fictional land named Wakanda. More importantly, I am the poetry editor of a journal I am very proud to have brought to fruition with my close friend who has embraced me in all of my confusing South Asianness. May this journal do the same for you.
With gratitude and hope,
Jaryl
Stories for Shaken Spirits
When Jaryl and I first conceptualised Mahogany Journal back in December, we had no idea that in just a few months, the entire world would be forced to its knees as an invisible disease ravaged through terrified masses. The very premise would have sounded to us like a wild fever dream. But here we are in the month of June, 2020, still with no end in sight and I must admit—the future seems awfully bleak. The pandemic has exacerbated every governmental vulnerability and socioeconomic disparity possible, and one wonders what may be the final straw that sends our global society crashing to a point of no-return. The cynics among us may even say that we are already there.
What then does it mean to build this journal, this online literary space for +65 South Asians? How do we rationalise this project that does not address the immediate crisis we are gravely circumscribed by? Have these perennial concerns about our identity, community and the treatment of both become irrelevant for the time being in the face of disease?
At first, I too had no reasonable answers to these questions. I was weary and anxious from the daily updates of surging death counts and ever-expanding restrictions. And with a surplus of time on my hands, I was afraid that I could not be productive enough, or that even my productivity would amount to nothing in the grand scheme of life post-pandemic.
But you see, that is the magical thing about art. The sheer endeavour of building a virtual community of stories while isolated and on the perpetual brink of cabin fever has slowly revealed itself as an incandescent gift to my spirit. Truly, I have found that it is easy to forget what it means to be a social being in a world of lockdowns and circuit breakers. It is easy to forget how much and how easily we gain just by communicating with another person. But through the words of our contributors, I now remember what it means to resonate with someone else, that too with fellow South Asian writers, and find comfort in that intangible connection. This is precisely what makes art so meaningful; it is the salve to our shaken spirits and it should never be taken for granted.
The five short stories we have selected for this first issue each contain their own salves that are delivered to us through an eclectic yet familiar bevy of characters. How there is still immense joy to be gained from our choices even if no one else approves in "Rahemat's Wish". How our mothers protect us and teach us to protect ourselves in "Unsaid Things". How it is not okay to beat ourselves up for not fitting into society's expectations of our bodies in "Sacred Scalp” as well as "Cold in Here". How religion can eternally stand between a parent and child and yet be the final thread that holds them together in "The Prayer Mat". These pieces, together with the eight poems we have chosen, are very much about us—the +65 South Asian community that is so heterogeneous and layered that it spills generously out of the box it is often forced into. But the works are universal too, as art often is, in their messages about life and living.
From an idea shared between two old friends to a functional website to forty-four submissions and finally, thirteen solid works, both Jaryl and I have been truly blessed by your interest in and support of our project. It would be an understatement to say that I am proud of our first issue. I am absolutely over the moon at the thought of introducing you to these writers from and works about our community. To our contributors, it is because of you that I can now call myself an editor—for that, I am infinitely grateful. To Jaryl, just look how far our pipe dream has come, from fretting over colour palettes and domain names in an air-conditioned corner of Coffeesmith to this textual manifestation of our community’s desire to be seen, heard and read about. And lastly to our readers, it is my sincerest wish that every issue of Mahogany Journal henceforth brings us all a step closer to understanding the enigmatic essence of living as a +65 South Asian.
Sending love and light,
Prasanthi