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Hey there. We here at The Moth have an exciting opportunity for high school sophomores, juniors, and seniors who love to tell stories. Join The Moth Story Lab this fall. Whether for an aspiring writer, a budding filmmaker, or simply someone who loves to spin a good yarn, this workshop is a chance to refine the craft of storytelling. From brainstorming to that final mic drop moment, we've got students covered.
Plus, they'll make new friends, build skills that shine in school and beyond, and have a blast along the way. These workshops are free and held in person in New York City or virtually anywhere in the U.S. Space is limited. Apply now through September 22nd at themoth.org slash students. That's themoth.org slash students.
Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Sarah Austin-Ginesse, executive producer of The Moth and your host for this episode. Halloween is a time for a lot of things. It's a time for candy, scary movies, and spooky lawn decorations. It's a time for kids trick-or-treating door-to-door and adults going to parties in perhaps hastily thrown-together costumes.
If you're in New Orleans, you may be headed to the Witch's Ball, or maybe you're happy to just stay at home and hand out candy.
Halloween can also be a time of exploration or declaration, adorning yourself in a way to better show the world who you really are. In this episode, we've got two stories about Halloween that bite a little deeper than plastic vampire fangs. First up is Sophia Tamarkin. She told this at a Philadelphia story slam where the theme of the night was, appropriately, spooky. Here's Sophia live at the Moth.
So, born in the Soviet Union, Soviet Union was criticized for many things. I personally criticize it for the lack of sweets, candy and bubble gum. So when I arrived in 1989 in November, I was really amazed how every office we went to had bowls of candy with amazing wrappers. And every time I asked what's going on, why there's candies everywhere, I was told it's Halloween. So I'm thinking, is this a person that just runs around?
and distributes candies, it's like Santa Claus. I don't know what everybody's saying. Then somebody had pity on me and explained that there is a holiday in America where you're given candy. I mean, this is like better than winning a million dollars today, for sure.
So I'm thinking, when is this going to happen? So it's in November. So they're saying October 31st. Are you kidding me? I have to wait 11 months, a deprived child from Soviet Union? Can they give it to me now? No, apparently it's only one day. So I say, okay, how do I go about it?
So I'm explained. You have to have a costume. That's a problem. And you have to have a special word that you say. So we don't speak English. So somebody explains to me, you have to say trick or treat. Well, I don't know what anyone's saying. So I thought, T.O.T.? Okay, whatever works as long as I get free candy. So I'm waiting and waiting. Like by June, I'm thinking maybe I should try this special phrase. The mailman comes. I go, T.O.T.?
He looks at me like, "What is wrong with you?" And I'm thinking, "Okay, maybe July." I go to school and there's a teacher that seems kind. I go, "Tea or tea?" Again, nothing. So I keep on waiting. September comes and I ask my mom, "Do we have a costume for me?" Because I am going to go and collect literally 2,000 pounds of candies.
So my mom is like, you know, you could be a red riding hood because we have a red hat from Russia. I'm thinking, OK, maybe this could work. So I put on a red hat. I'm really dressed up. And so I still don't know what I'm saying. But, you know, I knock on the door and a friendly neighbor, I say, T.O.T.?
And they're like, "Oh, good, happy Halloween." And she gives me like a miracle. She gives me like three candies in my bag. I'm thinking, "Oh my God, it's working." So I start moving really fast from house to house. This is my chance. The next one is in 365 days and I counted. So it takes a while.
I run around the block and then I'm so preoccupied because I don't know what the holiday is about. I'm getting free candies. Like, who cares what the holiday is about? So like, oh, there is a graveyard and a coffin in the middle. Oh, that's not a problem. I'm on a mission to collect candies.
And I'm still thinking to myself, I probably should have stopped and like, hey, there's like a dead person in a coffin. I mean, I didn't know he's wearing a mask. And I just tiptoe about the graveyard and knock on the door. You know, no one's opening. And I keep on knocking. You know, the night is still young. And next thing I know, there's this person that was in the coffin who's wearing a mask. He's tiptoeing and he's like standing behind me.
I have never experienced such terror in my entire life. And I've seen communism. Tell you guys. Did not know that this is a game and it's Halloween and the whole thing.
I'm clutching to my, by this time probably 90 pounds of candy in my ShopRite bags and my red Riding Hood hat and I'm starting to run screaming. My parents heard me scream from two miles away.
They also don't know what this is about, but this dead person was probably a teenager and he's really having fun. Like no one has ever reacted to his prank like I did. So he's really chasing me. We're like marathon runners. I am not a runner. So my father could not catch up with me. So he tries to meet me the other way. He tries to go around the block the other way trying to catch me.
So he's going towards me, and I'm, like, hysterical. I'm just clutching to my candy, and he's telling the dead guy, stop, stop, that's enough. Please stop. And, you know, finally he had to pull his mask and, like, show me he's a real person. And, you know, that was it for the night, I must admit. I needed some homeopathic remedy to calm down. I just sat there counting my candies, like, till morning. It was, like, 450.
315 and three bubblegums. But I had a dilemma I had to deal with for the next 364 days. Am I going to do it again or not? You know, it was like, oh, free candy, fear, real terror. But then, you know what? It takes much more to scare a Soviet Union girl from collecting candy. So I still put on my red riding hood hat and I still went. But now I did not visit the houses that had graveyards.
And to be honest with you, I still didn't give up the tradition. So if someone knocks on your door and they have a red riding hood hat and a shop-ride bag, please open the door and give me candy. That was Sofia Tamarkin. Sofia was born in the former Soviet Union and enjoys sharing her family's immigration stories. She loves to travel the world and appreciates learning about different cultures and people.
Sophia believes in bringing light to the world by making people laugh, performing acts of kindness, and breaking boundaries between people. If you'd like to see a photo of grown-up Sophia dressed for Halloween with her family, you'll find it on our website, themoth.org/extras.
Halloween can be fun and exciting, but sometimes the pretend fright can turn into something real. Our next storyteller is Trisha Ho with a more serious story they told when we partnered with UN Women Asia and the Pacific for an event in Bangkok, Thailand, featuring diverse stories from across the region. The theme of the night was Standing Up, Stories of Courage and Resilience. Here's Trisha live at the Moth.
Halloween is one of my favorite times of the year because it was the only day that I could express my gender identity without having to face a raised eyebrow or a weird look. So when my activist friends and I heard that the authorities had signed off on a Halloween event that had drag queens and queer artists on the lineup, despite the rising anti-LGBT sentiment due to the recent elections, we were shocked.
We were cautious, but ultimately we were hopeful because perhaps after many years of fighting for equality and human rights that it is starting to make progress. About a thousand people from around the city, even familiar faces from the activist scene, came together for a night of celebration, for freedom of expression, and to reclaim
our place in a conservative country that sought to criminalize, to discredit and demonize the queer community. We had just spent the night getting ready in our costumes. Our outfits consist of gender non-conforming features and bright rainbow colors to match the performance that night. For myself, I wore a floral shirt, slacks and a hand-drawn beard that took two attempts and many hours to perfect.
I looked over to my friend, a queer non-binary Muslim female, dressed in a black lacy top, a leather skirt, and a red cape. And beside them was a trans woman friend wearing a beautiful summer dress and makeup. We were so excited. It was a warm night in Chinatown as my friends and I arrived at the venue. We had been anticipating this for weeks. As I look out to see a large crowd of people through the sea of color,
I thought to myself, this is it. This is the night that I could finally take a break, a well-deserved break. I was no longer the eldest child of a divorced Asian family that had to face violence on a regular basis. I could also take a break from being a community leader fighting against a broken arbitrary system. As a queer person in this conservative country, I found myself invisibilized by the system, but somehow just visible enough
to be scapegoated by their political agenda. That somehow my identity was a tool for their gain. Many people in my community, myself included, often face violence and discrimination from family members, friends, and even the very authorities that ought to protect us. Queer Muslim folks are often targeted and sent to conversion therapy camps to "fix" them. There was no place for someone like me. But tonight,
Tonight I could be carefree and enjoy the company of my community and my friends. And so as we start to ascend the steps going up to the venue, I started to notice a lot of hushed voices in the corners. The lights were unusually bright and intense. But before I could take another step, a voice rang out. "Stop! Don't go upstairs, the police are raiding."
The whiplash of emotion sent my body into a paralysis as my heart rate quickened. And I flashback to all the times I felt so vulnerable in my own home and when I had to face abuse, I was met with, "Why did you make him mad? You know that he gets angry. This is your fault." I made myself take a deep breath. My instincts honed by years of having to manage conflict and to step in kicked in. And I took stock of my situation.
and the risks of the people that were with me. On one hand, a queer non-binary Muslim woman would be charged and sent to conversion therapy camp. The other, a trans woman who would be at risk of brutality and sexual violence. I could not let that happen. And so I sprung into action and let them out of the venue. While doing so, I was trying to book a taxi to get out of the area as quickly as possible.
But I soon realized that the police had closed all the roads in the area and there was nowhere in or out. It was almost as if they signed off on the event just to trap us here. "Let's go this way," I said as I led them through the back alley. Every corner we turn, we catch a glimpse of blue flashing lights and we had to pivot and run. Round another corner and I see a police officer's uniform and we had to pivot and run.
In my only attempt of resistance in that moment, I tried to use my body as a shield to protect my friends so they wouldn't be as visible. But I forgot that I myself had a beard and I stood out just as much. As we passed by some bystanders, we would stare at them. There were whispers. But no one said anything. No one did anything. And I was praying that even if they don't want to help us,
at the very least, to not report this to the police. After an hour of running as far away as we could, we finally got a taxi and we got to a safe place. I slumped onto the couch and waves of exhaustion and my adrenaline crash washed over my body. All of the pent-up emotions of anger, frustration, even relief erupted from me and I sobbed into my pillows. I hated it.
that the authorities could raid the event they signed off on. I hated that passersby could only gawk at us as we're trying to run for our lives. On a night when I was supposed to be vibrant and colorful, I had to make myself invisible. I felt foolish for believing that change was happening. And I realize now there is more work to be done, and I'll be there every step of the way. Thank you.
That was Trisha Ho. Trisha is a queer rights activist and feminist that works closely with organizational system design, project management, and community building based in Southeast Asia. And a big thank you to UN Women in Asia and the Pacific and their support of the Moths Global Program. This collaboration brought forward women's stories of bravery and resilience from survivors, creators, and activists.
That's all for this episode. From all of us here at The Moth, thank you for listening. And remember, you can always pitch us one of your stories right on our site, themoth.org. Sarah Austin-Ginness is a director, The Moth's executive producer, and a co-author of the best-selling How to Tell a Story, the essential guide to memorable storytelling from The Moth, which is available now wherever you get your books. Trisha Ho's story was directed by Sarah Austin-Ginness.
This episode of the Moth Podcast was produced by Sarah Austin-Ginesse, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Sollinger. The rest of the Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Marina Cloutier, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant Walker, Leanne Gulley, and Aldi Casa. All Moth stories are true, as remembered by the storytellers. For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.
The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the public radio exchange, helping make public radio more public at PRX.org.
