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Work

Copyright 2002-2006 by Hanalei Ramos. All rights reserved.


Current Projects:

Poems // Performance Pieces


Media

Available Workshops

Short Stories


















































Guns and Tampons: A History of Violence Against Women I Know

Guns and Tampons: A History of Violence Against Women I Know is the new work written and performed by Hanalei Ramos. In her first multi-media solo show, Hanalei has staged a series of performance pieces based on the experiences of several women who consider themselves victims and survivors of abusive relationships with family, lovers, and friends. By staging portraits of some of the most intimate moments of any woman’s life, Guns and Tampons challenges our assigned definitions of womanhood and violence and how it is warped by cultural expectations, societal conditioning, and the more subtle forms of violation experienced by women.

The work features a myriad of characters assembled across generations and circumstance. Guns and Tampons touches on the found stories of a high school senior’s found diary entries, the lost interviews of an undocumented college student, a couple caught in the cyclical dance of violence, the language of assault, and the many people who are yearning to understand how they function while maneuvering through love. Guns and Tampons questions what it means to be a survivor and victim of violence, and exposes their muddled boundaries. However, the work serves as a hopeful narrative threaded by themes of shared isolation, patterns of love, and the chances we take toward the secret hope of self-understanding. Ultimately, the patchwork testimony of several individuals transforms itself as the story of all women, and becomes a compelling glimpse into a world of survival and strength. Guns and Tampons was produced by Gayle Isa and directed by Gary San Angel. The show was created through the generous support of the Asian Arts Initiative.


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MORE MEDIA COMING SOON!

  • To My Girls April 2006 @ Silk Road Mocha

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkfvbX4QlrY with Binky Veloria

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    Breasts

  • Breasts February 2005 @ ECAASU (University of Pennsylvania)

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    A Love Poem To Our People

  • A Love Poem to Our People, a collaboration with Stephen Bor. February 2005 @ ECAASU (University of Pennsylvania)

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    My Spine

  • My Spine April 2006 @ Silk Road Mocha

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    Excerpts from The Tacit Rules of Third Grade: A Collection of Short Stories

    (coming soon!!!)


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    Conversations at Dinner

    you.

    you are who i've wanted to become all these years
    we owned everything between journal square and greenville
    between the great lakes and the schuykill river
    from salt flats that reflect endless sky
    across four time zones or more
    we are annuals and perennials
    between the births of children and ideas
    amidst the ashes of memory and inappropriate laughter

    the you i know
    has broken bread with me
    we sit across one another
    at this very table
    swapping woes
    between meals of ghetto fried chicken
    bok choy and oatmeal raisin cookies
    turkey wraps and lobster stuffed lobster
    a pot of sinigang and dreams of chorizo
    cups of coffee and waffles at three a.m.
    or a simple consolation shot of patron

    the you i know
    lives in the throat of this concrete
    in the space between the cracked steps of my stoop
    and hudson catholic high school
    orange flavored quarter-water in one hand
    and stale cherry now and laters in the other
    on our way to pershing field
    we walk up the hill and cross observer highway
    (where your cousin died)
    and the sky turns pink as we tiptoe along the overpass
    as if God is nodding at us

    the you i know
    has cried with me
    and as you fed your daughter on your lap
    told me that we will always go through life
    loving someone who is toxic
    as you burped the small bundle attached to your arms
    as you drove home from work at midnight
    as you responded to my handwritten letter
    as we make the same realizations about ourselves
    while veiled in this beige twilight
    i saw that you
    have the strength to command and coax the eye of the storm
    into the center of your palm

    you have undeniably loved me
    we have survived crayola to krylon
    baby steps to babies of our own
    play fighting by the swing set to bruises from those we love
    in survival,
    we have enjoyed each other in whispers.
    we have enjoyed each another in silence.
    we have enjoyed each other well.

    the you i know
    has never judged me.
    (when i am hideous
    when i am weak
    when i am broken)
    you allow me to slowly regain my humanity
    because in one sentence, you are the salve that redeems me
    from the rest of myself.

    so, this is for the slivers of hope
    that hang from my lips like tinsel
    thank you
    for making me think of better tomorrows
    annuals and perennials
    between the births of children and ideas
    amidst the ashes of memory and inappropriate laughter
    despite the walk from journal square to west side ave/ park slope / along the N train / chinatown - downtown or in flushing / newport mall / 15th and girard / cherry st / West L.A. and oakland / 7th and H / Route 80 / the jersey turnpike / Lakeville, CT and Milton, MA
    between the great lakes and the schuykill river
    from salt flats that reflect endless sky
    to bare feet in course sand
    across four time zones or more

    i know that this table
    is the only distance between us
    i know that this table
    is the only distance between us

    this is the only distance between us

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    Excerpts from Letters to Martha

    Letter #9
    Dear Martha,
    What I resent the most is feeling like a science project. Like I’ve been discussed by him with the girl he has cheated on me with…about our problems, our sex life, the secrets of my childhood. Nothing is sacred. Why is that? The more he pushes me away and wishes I wasn’t here, the more I want to work harder for his love. And right now, he’s only willing to give me the opposite of what I want. So, I cherish the crumbs.

    Love,
    Hanalei

    Letter #18
    Dear Martha,
    Nevermind all preceding letters. He and I are in love again and want to work things out. You may not hear from me in a while! Because I will be busy being elated!

    Love,
    Hanalei

    Letter #26
    Dear Martha,
    He hurt me. I had a panic attack, and I don’t know if I was dreaming, or what? But I kept seeing things. I feel crazy. Finally, in the middle of the night, I started murmuring because I was so scared of these ghosts, and he pounced on me and I felt his fists on my chest. He kept yelling, “ENOUGH! STOP THIS SHIT!” He pushed me when he got up, too. I don’t even know what’s going on with me. He didn’t see that I was scared, that I didn’t understand what was going on. He just pounced on me. I'm scared, but I can't tell who or what I'm scared of. He just hit me, but I guess I deserved it.

    Love,
    Hanalei

    Letter #38
    Dear Martha,
    After moving all my furniture out of our old apartment, he called me and had a pity party, since without shelves in the closet, he had nowhere to place his boxers. Why is this my problem?

    Love,
    Hanalei

    Letter #41
    Dear Martha,
    It’s difficult to mourn someone who is still living--- especially when he is living about 7 blocks away. He is dead, Martha. WE were going to get married, you know? I still have my ring…he proposed officially before we moved and hopped into his mileage-friendly Echo and did the 6 day cross country drive from Los Angeles to Philadelphia. The ring didn’t fit, and he never got it resized for me. Was that an early sign? Should I have never gotten into the car? I don’t know what to do with ring now. It’s so difficult to give away or pawn, since this trinket is probably all I really got from this relationship. It proves someone loved me once.

    Love,
    Hanalei


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    Pussy (a.k.a "Little Brown Fucking Machines")

    Excerpts from "Life In A Service Economy"

    “In Olongapo and Angeles in the Philippines, where the U.S. Subic Naval Base and Clark Air Force Base were respectively located, "[t]here was virtually no industry except the 'entertainment' business, with approximately 55,000 registered and unregistered prostitutes and a total of registered 2,182 R&R establishments. By 1985 the U.S. military had become the second largest employer in the Philippines, hiring over 40,000 Filipinos. . . . “

    Magsaysay Drive, the main red light district, receives 6000 sailors and marines on an average night. The strip is crammed with a total of about 600 go-go bars, massage parlours, short-time hotels and nightclubs.

    In this and other parts of the city, an estimated 16,000 prostitutes work. Of these, 5000-6000 are registered hospitality women in a licensed bar or brothel. The remainder are “freelance prostitutes” or streetwalkers. Prostitution is illegal in the Philippines, and local government officials deny any type of prostitution takes place in Olongapo; the women are referred to as “hospitality girls” or “entertainment girls”.

    The withdrawal of U.S. naval bases in 1992 also left behind a legacy of approximately 50,000 Amerasian children in the Philippines, with an estimated 25,000 of them living in Olongapo, which had housed the U.S. Subic Naval Base."

    ==========




    In war,
    pussy is a commodity
    In war,
    Filipinas become caricatures of
    japayuki whores,
    two dollar
    dick gagged
    suck and blows

    In war,
    Filipinas were a reason why the navy prepared a film called
    “Sex and the Naval Aviator”
    to rationalize an institution’s need to impregnate 12 year old girls
    To carefully justify
    carelessly impregnating
    Twelve year old girls to the wives of these men

    In this war, protection is
    “picking out the oldest and ugliest ones since they
    were less used and
    less likely to get diseases.”

    this is a war where, there are websites dedicated to girls
    under $10 in Sao Paolo, Manila, and Bankok
    there are online bulletin boards and
    listservs dedicated to the Philippines’ sodomy and
    statutory rape laws

    In Olongapo and Angeles,
    which housed the former military bases within the plush green of the Philippines,
    women became "little brown fucking machines,"
    popular with the honorable men of the navy and air force

    Sailors wore shirts that said “'Little Brown Fucking Machines Powered with Rice” proudly on Friday nights
    prowling for cheap girls
    no longer women
    because she is worth $6 for three hours,
    $9.50 the whole night
    an extra $2 if it’s extra good

    America turns its back and says,
    “Well, it’s her fault for wanting to be prostitute!”
    When she doesn’t have a choice between her body and her poverty.
    She doesn’t have a choice between the child growing inside her belly and
    The a cheap abortion she could get, but shouldn’t risk
    Sailors and sex tourists don’t like using condoms on discount pussy
    And if the choice is catching a disease or
    losing business
    She’d prefer not to pick the latter.

    America turns its back and says “boys will be boys”
    And doesn’t realize that it’s NOT an acceptable defense anymore
    And their solution is weekly military sponsored
    safe sex workshops at every base across the world
    When the answer is that the military needs to invest in crotch locks
    Because this war has built an economy dependent on American dick.

    America turns its back on the Philippines and sells its people
    Because its our number one export.
    Sex = money = livelihood =sex
    guest relations officers
    hospitality managers
    and
    entertainment girls are all words for prostitute

    the face of this war is Marlyn's
    Who at 11, was forced into prostitution when her stepfather convinced her
    that she felt "good enough" to sell to the soldiers
    Every night she would scour “Barreto Strip” in Subic Bay, for prospects
    And sold herself to feed the two children
    Whose fathers forgot about them
    during the thirty days they couldn’t have sex
    Before coming back to America
    To their homes,
    their families,
    and the rest of their valuable lives.

    Wives blame "island women" for seducing their husbands abroad
    Blaming these Filipinas for unzipping their man’s pants
    And imagining how great it must be to earn a living on your back
    These wives forget these women aren’t prostitutes for fun
    They choose this to survive
    To feed their children
    To sustain their livelihood
    These women, already subhuman in their eyes,
    Have no families
    Or needs under a selectively judgmental veil ...

    This is a war against the cycle that GI dick based
    economies breed
    wombs are not battle grounds
    to plant the children that will be labelled bastards
    this womb is not here to defile
    this womb is not an empty gourd to fill
    or what is considered yours to claim for $2 an hour?

    I hold my hands up to the sky
    i lace my fingers against the blue of midnight
    I picture Marlyn doing the same...
    thousands of miles away I know that she and I are one.
    I know that we are fighting for our survival
    ....Our children’s survival
    We are holding onto our communities
    and with every limb occupied
    We are fighting to keep our communities alive.

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    To My Girls April 2006 @ Silk Road Mocha

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkfvbX4QlrY with Binky Veloria
    "to my girls"

    sometimes, we pick scabs
    and are surprised they still bleed,

    spouting oceans of crushed
    pomegranate and shame.

    we forget until we
    hear that voice, thick as paste down our throats

    whispering hot breath on
    young necks.

    i want him to taste the
    color of this pain; plant

    needles in his lower lip like
    the lies breathing, rooted in

    our chests; plunge revenge
    into his forehead because

    our mothers accused us of
    being liars or pretended to

    be blind. cleaving hearts.
    leaving our palms empty. loathing

    every clear day
    ruined by his thrust. love,

    survival is more important
    than innocence. i am here to

    remind you, the shriveled part
    of you that hides, how beautiful

    it is and you are, despite these
    memories. despite this loss.

    how watching every sunset and sunrise is a
    testimony to your struggle.

    let us beat down
    those spoiled summer

    suns with our smiles, for to
    laugh is to live and love again.

    and again, we shall be whole.


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    Workshop: Lies About Love
    Themes: Women Empowerment, Domestic Violence, Partner Abuse, Health, Gender Inequality

    When we hear about cases of domestic violence, sometimes called partner abuse, the public is quick to ask the same question: "Why didn't s/he leave?" There are many misconceptions about domestic violence that lead people to unknowingly revictimize the survivors of this ordeal. It is a hidden problem that causes those affected to suffer in silence and isolation within our communities. In an effort to educate college students on how to handle relationships affected by domestic violence, Lies About Love will include a review of typical batterer/victim profiles; the cycles and the nature of domestic violence; the difference between domestic violence and behaviors found in anger management/sustance abuse; local and national resources available; and the lies about love that force those to stay. The workshop will bear witness to the face of domestic violence, and the deconstruction of the ultimate lie about love in order to understand the truth, injustice, and society’s veil of denial around this issue.

    Upon request, this workshop can incorporate issues specifically experienced within the APIA community.










    Workshop: The Universe in My Palm (WOMEN ONLY)
    Themes: Arts, Creative Writing, Women Empowerment, Race, Class, Gender Inequality, Mental Health

    People fail to accept that our society is still upheld to a standard that perpetuates the gender inequality of women. To promote critical discussion, The Universe in My Palm encourages its women participants to develop their own idea of womanhood and reclaim its meaning in their own terms through creative writing exercises. Many of the best elements of womanhood, such as the art of being loving and nurturing, have been warped by society as signs of weakness. Such acts make girls grow up into women who are ashamed of having these innate qualities in a male dominated society. This writing workshop provides a safe space for women to relay their experiences in finding the delicate balance between one's "inward" and " outward" being, in examining one's definition of a “strong woman,” and in questioning the identities women have meticulously carved for themselves in order to survive.










    Workshop: Me Write Pretty Someday...*
    Themes: Beginner, Creative Writing

    Good writing has a lot to do with reading a lot of good writing. BUT (when you don't neccessssssarrrrily have a background in the humanities) WHO HAS TIME FOR THAT?! Me Write Pretty Someday... embraces that we are all unbridled artists, and is a great creative writing workshop designed for first-time writers! This workshop is a cheatsheet on "fudging it"; teaches you every method producers of "good writing" frown upon. BUT WHO CARES? It'll be fun! Through various writing exercises, participants will be taught how to quickly accent writing with figurative language, creative formatting, collaborative process, sound staging, etc. Participants will also be given the option of performing their works. When provided access to a copying machine, this workshop will be able to publish its own chapbook by the end of the session. THIS WORKSHOP IS HIGHLY RECOMMENDED FOR MIXED VENUES.

    *by no means is this encouragement to produce terrible writing or minimizing the art of good writing! this is just a jum start for first-time writers.


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