Five Notes of Struggles for Queer Hmong American Liberation

Note 1: I stare at the people all lined up in the barracks. In that moment, I anxiously waited for permission from someone, perhaps an adult, to give a clear signal that I too can march over to receive what is being distributed among all the kids. Disorderly children are scrambling left and right for their turn, and it is here that I was able to hastily scurry towards the barracks and reached into a crate. What was it? It was a pint of chocolate milk. I scurried away from the crowd to enjoy the token in peace. The sip of chocolate milk against my sun-dried lips felt invigorating, and then I realized it was the only thing I had drank all day. It was sweet, a taste that has never entered my dirty mouth before. The taste dissolved against the backdrop of the rising dust of the camp. The sun was just above the sky and nothing could calm me down more in that moment than that sweet taste of ecstasy that I dare never to forget. Visions engulf me back to those times. I walked a short distance to the garden where the vegetables sprout heartily from the broken ground. A caterpillar manages to spring to life from what is mostly a barren piece of land. I take the caterpillar in my hand, caressing it gently to see for myself the life that is bubbling inside its soft tissue. A scream in the distance. And in that moment, the caterpillar flees from my grasp even before it has become a butterfly.

Note 2: The turbulence of the airplane violently thrusted me in my seat. I needed a plastic bag to be put over my face before my vomit is thrusted out like my heart and my brain. I knew we were leaving the camp forever. A white woman (or was she?) tried to calm my cries, but alas, I threw up right into the bag, frightening her as she turned away in the other direction. A warm hug from my father calms my fears. The airplane ride seemed like an eternity. Looking back now of course, I realized that this was just the beginning of a journey which I don’t think will ever be complete but nonetheless is a fragment of the whole. It is perplexing to leave a place that is so familiar yet profoundly peculiar. The stains of dry mud along with the freshness of the air that bathed our naked bodies are small residues of a life that was once so peaceful yet extremely violent. At night, I think about this moment, but as I awaken, only remnants of these visions remain in my memory while the rest dissipates into other realms which I may never know. I had never known about the treacherous treks across the dense jungles or the perilous pursuits of freedom across the Mekong river. But, at least, I can say that I know the frightening flight that overtook me as I soared high and away from that previous life.

Note 3: I was walking with her back home from elementary school. Yes, those days, children would walk home by themselves, although sometimes, a friend or two would accompany me. She had kissed my cheek earlier that day on the playground. It was under the canopy of the playground slides where we were playing with the woodchips, to be exact. Funny. In those days, we were kids who were just learning how to swing our feet on the swings if we wanted to go higher. I in fact was just learning that tying my shoes were not as complicated as I thought. Of all the vocabulary words that we had to memorize, I bizarrely recall the meaning of “dilemma.” Perhaps that was because the greatest dilemma in my life even for that age was my curiosity of the forces and fences around me. “Dilemma” taught me to recognize that grander picture of things, and earned me a big beautiful star as well. We were amazingly coming into being as ourselves, not knowing (or not caring) that soon life would change. Her brother runs up to me, punches me in the gut. I fall on the ground. He stomps on my legs as she watches my pain. “We don’t want my sister to be liking someone like you,” I remember him saying. What does he mean “someone like me?” I knew what it meant. I was too beautifully different. I don’t remember how much older he was, maybe a fourth or fifth grader? I am laying on the cement. I cannot walk. Home was only another ten-minute walk, but it felt like I will never reach it as I watched them walking away.

Note 4: It was a surprise for both of us. I caressed his penis with my tender hands as I kissed his soft lips. It was magical. I am on my back. He puts my penis in his warm mouth. The variety of movements of his mouth enhanced that moment of ecstasy. And soon, I am sucking on his penis too, using every technique of the tongue to boost the sweltering sensations as my hands clasped onto its perfectly crafted shaft. The synergism of our psychologies is transferred into our tight bodies. Soon, our bodies were grated together passionately in a way only describable as the ultimate arousal. Our blood hastens with a passionate urgency for that ultimate euphoric release. It was a delightful moment to realize the diminishing of self-susceptibility as it is transformed into a night of everlasting beauty. Love can be pleasurable, and it can be terrifying. Ultimately, it is about bringing their taste and their senses into yourself as you inhale the power that is emanated through that moment of shared vulnerability. Queer sex is a politics of sexual liberation. Queer sex is a means to undo the normalized expectations of pleasure that often are used to discipline queer people into death and destruction. It is about reclaiming intimacies that have long been relegated to the wayside. And that was exactly what making love is.

Note 5: What is it that I seek in liberation? I am gesturing towards that full and complete escape from the elements of self and social constraint. It is about crafting out more ethical selves as I simultaneously create more ethical relationships with others. That is, constantly working towards experiencing a stranger and more intense form of love. “Queer” is a process of never-ending labor that I must undergo in order to achieve this form of liberation. It is an enterprise that seeks to reshape how I define myself in the larger scheme of things while recognizing and cherishing those everyday struggles that I have overcome to be present in this moment today. This is a process that people like me must undergo as we continually learn to love and learn about our queerness in a world that constantly wishes for our ultimate disintegration. Yes, this is the extraordinary queer Hmong American refugee life that I have been blessed with, and it is one that I shall continue to work towards reshaping in order to become a fuller and more sensible human being.