Writing is Punk Rock

I haven’t written a blog post since 2020, and I’ve decided to take a moment to write and share a new story about how life has been so far. It’s been a magical, surreal, and ultimately, a punk journey.

I am incredibly grateful to have people who love and support me and my storytelling across mediums: film, books, comics– you name it. There are those who have seen me since the beginning writing (mwahaha) fan fiction as a teen to those who now see me as an adult writing (yes, more fan fiction, kind of) but in a different light. Writing stories that feel more authentically me, a mixed Indonesian American diaspora person who embraces my queer identity and a new journey of being diagnosed with chronic illness and navigating my mental health.

And it’s been a punk journey, and I mean that in a lot of ways. Punk is DIY. It’s also a movement, a celebration of differences. A celebration of communities who face oppression, hatred, bigotry. A celebration of screaming into the void no matter if the void feels like it will swallow the world whole. If it does, then we punk-rock-scream in a way that’s brighter than the sun. Even if it feels insurmountable, to shout with even one voice is more powerful than to let the void win.

Punk is choosing unrestricted kindness even when it feels difficult. It’s meeting people where they’re at. It’s listening when others are hurting. It’s defending others when you can (but take precautions and stay safe). It’s taking care of yourself even when implicit/explicit messaging from the world tells you to give up and lie down. It’s never stopping raging against the dying of the light, and also, taking that rage and turning it into healing in whatever way that means to you.

A wise activist once told me that to live in community and true activism is to make work that attempts to get its message across to everyone. Regardless of different rates of understanding, literacy, and even language and other communication barriers, choose kindness when you are able to. And that message, as always, is a punk one. Defy uniform hatred and conformity. Love yourself and your community even when it’s difficult. Be inclusive, authentic, and empathetic. And if you make a mistake, that’s okay, but learn and do better for a better tomorrow.

Ultimately, I also remember writing can feel solitary, but it is also punk. It is co-writing with friends. Asking your local librarian about their favorite books. Telling indie authors how much you appreciate them, and supporting mentorship programs to make art more accessible. And that’s so very, very cool! (Rock on!)

I have a long journey ahead of me in storytelling, and writing this post, I take time to look back and in the present to see and thank all my loved ones, friends, and acquaintances I’ve met along the way. I wrote a book PHONING FAUST about suicide awareness, a fictionalized and real account of my experiences thanking the Trevor Project hotline for saving my life.

I sent it into the world, even if I was terrified to release something so personal and real despite the fiction. Some bigots messaged me telling me they’d burn my books and called me all sorts of vile names. They wanted to tell me that they hate me for different reasons beyond my control. I do my best to block out the hatred and keep writing despite it all. And, as always, I continue reading stories from a variety of authors across spectrums of race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, ability/disability, and so many other forms of identity that are as unique and limitless as light within the rainbow. I continue despite the horrors (which is especially poignant because, at times, I am a horror writer, lover, and genre-ambiguous enthusiast).

Ultimately, I choose kindness. And I will keep weaving that selfsame kindness into my stories no matter what.

With all my love and wishing you kindness too,

Sophie Mutiara Nova

(they/them)

 

p.s. this is an image of Butters the butterfly, so named because they could not fly. (a bird ate its wing) I made a habitat of flowers and changed it daily in a recycled enclosure, using sanitized water droppers and sugar and nectar-rich, homegrown flowers, and would let them out to exercise under supervision on plants outdoors. I learned more on lepidopterology (study of butterflies) that I didn’t know before. It is a Painted Lady Butterfly and should’ve only lived two weeks, but they lived a full nine weeks because of its indomitable spirit. They were buried amongst flowers and near butterfly-friendly plants and milkweed that are now in bloom. Whenever I want to give up, I remember Butters. I hope this story brought some cheer. Thank you, Butters <3