So, I was talking yesterday about being outside the box in so many categories. K said that it gave me a unique perspective, which is true. But it’s also alienating. Most of the time, whatever I think/feel is outside the norm. Basic things like can people of different genders be friends? I have known so many people who say no. When I was in college, I was telling my then-boyfriend about my cool guy friends (he knew many of them). He looked at me and said, “They all want to get into your pants.”
I took it at face value back then because I assumed he knew guys betetr than I did. Looking back, I didn’t think he was right. HE wanted to get into my pants, which he eventually did, but that didn’t mean every guy felt that way.
I love dudes. I love dudes a lot. Dudes are great. I felt more drawn for guys at that time in my life because I had more in common with them. That in and of itself was not bad, but I definitely had the chill girl vibe–meaning, I’m not like the other chicks please don’t hate me.
I honestly don’t understand people who think people of different genders can’t be friends. Or, you can’t be friends with people of the gender(s) you’re attracted to. That would mean I can’t have any friends! This is also why I am leaning towards agender. Gender just dosn’t mean much to me. I was saying to K that I had the experiences of a woman because that was how I am perceived, so I felt a kinship there. But I don’t understand the sentiment, “my gender is so important to me”.
I don’t know what gender is. I’m saying this without snark, and I want to be very careful to say that this is just about me. I know gender is very important to other people, but when I think about gender for me, I just get confused. In part it’s because I have been told all my life that I’m not feminine. Not even that I wasn’tfeminine enough, but that I wasn’t feminine at all. I’ve been told things I think and do are not things women think and do. I’ve also been told that I have failed as a woman because I did not get married and have kids. Granted, the last is mostly by my mother, but still.
I do think if I were a youngin, I would just slap on the label agender and be done with it. I don’t know why I don’t do it now. I think it’s because I’m…just tired thinking about it. I was in the hospital after I died. Say it with me. Twice. Waking up, I had a new appreciation for life and for my body. I joked with K that it was partly because I was high on drugs, and man were those some good drugs, but I walked out of the hospital l-o-v-i-n-g my body.
The first month I was home, I was positively arrogant about my body. I felt my muscles with a smugness I had never felt before. I did my hair in different cute ‘dos just because I could. And my new glasses. I was cute AF, yo, and I told anyone who would listen that I was faaaaaaaahn. I was, as the kids say, feeling myself.
I don’t think I can overstate what a revolution this was–and a revelation. My mom put me on a diet when I was seven because I was sturdy. I have seen pictures. I wasn’t fat. I wasn’t even arguably chubby. I was just really sturdy. I come from peasant stock, and I’m a mesomorph. I have broad shoulders and thick calves. I have always been muscular.
BMI is bullshit, by the way.
My mother was from a country that frowned on a woman being anything more than 90 pounds. Didn’t matter how tall you were–you had to be so skinny, a strong wind could knock you over.
I have a theory about women’s weight and how making women hate their bodies was an effective way to keep them from thinking about inequality. Most women can be devastated by saying something cutting about their weight. My mother put me on my first diet when I was seven, and she was the impetus for me becoming anorexic and then bulimic. then, I struggled with overeating for decades. Now, I just don’t care.
Taiji took me from loathing my body (refused to look in the mirror) to studiedly neutral. I still didn’t want to look in the mirrior ,but I no longer wanted to rip hunks of my flesh off , either. I decided just to accept that I had to walk around in this meatsack because we could not be uploaded to the cloud yet.
Then, when I was in the hospital and high as a kite, the nurses took such good care of me. When I was finally able to get up and wobble to the bathroom with their help, they wiped my ass for me after I was done. Literally. It’s such a vulnerable moment, and they treated me with dignity and respect. In that moment, I lost all my hatred for my body, and I’ve been my body’s biggest fan ever since. It got me through death twice without even blinking.
Even when I had my issues with being a woman. Even when I questioned if I was one. I always loved my boobs and my hair. The latter is down to my mid-thigh. As to the former, I have had huge tits since I was young. I complained about it to my mother because we’re Asian! We’re not supposed to have big boobs. She said that her grandmother had what would be considered Double Ds (thirty years ago, which made it a abig deal). My mother was jealous of my boobs, but also wanted me to be skinny.
Mine are probably Double Fs, Triple Ds, or bigger. I have no clue. I haven’t worn a bra since before the pandemic, so I can’t hazard a guess. I will say that because of my boobs, I have a hard time getting sweatshirts to accommodate them comfortably. They got stared at all the time, so this was the reason I got my first tat. Not the only reason, but a big part of it. I decided that if guys were going to stare at my tits, I might as well give them something to stare at.
I’m tired. I’ll write more tomorrow. Until then, I’m ending this now.