Underneath my yellow skin

Category Archives: Gender Issues

Stick your labels where the sun don’t shine (part three)

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I’m back to talk more about labels. I know they’re needed and useful, but I would prefer to do away with them. Here is the post from yesterday in which I veered hard into talking about horror games for a bit. Why? Why not. Because it was spooky season, and while I enjoy it, I don’t get scared by most pop media.

I have said this many times before, and I don’t quite no why. I want to emphasize that I don’t count jumpscares in that my body jerking involuntarily is not fear; it’s a startle response. Also, it’s the cheapest way to get a ‘scare’, and I don’t approve. Making my body jump is not the same as scaring me; I will die on that hill. I will also add that I don’t recoil; I don’t screech; and I don’t freak out in any way. In fact, sometimes, I don’t even externally jump.

It’s not a flex; I swear. I’m just born different. I always have had weird responses to things (again, probably a neurospicy thing) so I just don’t process things the same way other people do. I used to wonder why, and it wasn’t until I was in my thirties that I realized it was something with my brain. Not that it was broken, but maybe ADHD?

Side note: I’m glad we’re moving away from just citing the stereotypical symptoms that happen to white boys when talking about neurodiversity. I’m bitter that I might have clocked onto it sooner if I had known that the oft recited symptoms weren’t the only ones, by any mean.

I think that’s one of the reasons I’m chary about labels, too. They put you in a box, and they don’t allow for any wiggle room. It’s one of the reasons I want to opt out of all the usual labels. I’ve said this in terms of ‘woman’. It’s like wearing an ill-fitting raincoat when it’s pouring out. Sure, it’ll keep much of the water out, but I’m still going to get wet. And I’m not going to feel good about it, either. I can’t wait to get out of it and dry off.

In other word, it’ll do in a pinch, but I don’t love it.

That’s how I feel about most labels. They’yll do in a pinch, but I don’t love them. Even the ones I choose.

When I was in college, I loved having tests that had essay questions. I can bullshit my way out of anything because I am good with words. It’s a gift, and it’s something I’m grateful for. If it’s a multiple choice quiz, though, I do horribly. Why? Because I overthink it. I can see situations in which each of the answers would be correct. That’s because most multiple choice quizzes/tests are poorly written, but that’s neither here nor there.


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Labels have limited use, part two

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In yesterday’s post, I was listing all the labels I use that are close enough, but not quite. I acknowledge the need for labels, but I don’t like them. Not in the deceptive ‘no labels, but, really, labels, but no, we won’t call them labels’ way of certain billionaires in this country.

I pretty much listed all the labels that I have used reluctantly. I’m scanning to think if there are others. I will say that I call myself fat without reservation. I am not chubby, zaftig, plump, or fluffy. I am fat, and I have no issues with that. I don’t see it as a bad thing, and I have worked hard to reclaim it. I now see it as neutral, and it amuses me when people rush to assure me that I’m not fat. Yes, I am, and I am not upset about it.

I understand the need for labels, but I think that we have to remember that they are not still shots of a person. They are living, breathing things, and they can change over time. I think that’s another way people can get tripped up–in thinking that identity is static. Or that if one aspect of a person’s identity changes, the prior ones are null and void.

Now, of course, there are times when this is true. Or rather, when a person’s change in identity is permanent and complete. Like me and Christianity. Once I realized what a fraud it was (at least the version I was indoctrinated with), I wanted nothing more to do with it. I have not changed my mind at all about that, and I highly doubt I ever will.

When it comes to my gender identity, though, it’s squishier. I have always known that I’m not very womanly. Many of the things I prefer to do are coded male, as is the way I dress. However, my hair is down to my mid-thighs, and I would grow it longer if I could. I have huge boobs, and I definitely read as female. My voice, on the other hand, is masculine. Deep as fuck, and I constantly get called ‘sir’ on the phone.

In college, I used to cut my hair every four months or so. I would just go to my hair dresser and tell her to do whatever she wanted. She never steered me wrong, and she gave me some great haircuts. One time, I went for a super-short cut (think Rachel Maddow) and wore a long black trenchcoat when I walked around the campus. I got mistaken for a guy from the back, which never bothered me.


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Let’s talk about gender, part three

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One issue with being agender is that there are times when gender does need to be noted. I was having a conversation in the Discord I’m in about guys and their heights. For whatever reason, there are several guys who are very tall–like 6’4″ tall and taller. I wanted to say that as a non-male person of 5’6″, anything over 6′ tall is very tall to me. Except, that sounded weird, even to me.

I don’t mind if other people call me ‘she’, but I don’t want to apply it to myself–or woman. I thought that I was a weirdo in that, but I discovered that it’s not uncommon for someone who is agender to feel that way. Which makes sense, really. Oh, this is the post from yesterday, by the way.

I struggle to explain what agender means to me because it’s a lack of something rather than a pro-anything. It’s the same with areligious–the word focuses on what isn’t there rather than what is. With agender, it really is the right word, though, because I don’t feel gender strongly. Or even mediumly. I would say I don’t feel it hardly at all, but that isn’t possible in a highly gender-focused society as ours.

I still call myself she once in a while despite my best efforts, which I am not fond of or proud of. K mentioned that I was really good at pronouns–and I am. When someone has pronouns, that is. As I mentioned before, since gender is a loose construct to me, I don’t have a problem adapting to new pronouns. Or to put it another way, since I have very little clue what gender actually is/feels like, I can accept when people change their genders.

Every time I try to drill down what gender is, I come up empty. In the old days, there was a slew of characteristics that were designed male or female, and never the twain shall meet. I was called a tomboy because I ilked to climb trees, run around, and laugh too loudly. Until I was five or six. Then, a slew of things happened to crush that out of me until I was nothing but a depressed lump of flesh.

Though I did not know it then, that was the beginning of my dissatisfaction with my gender, even if I didn’t have the vocabulary to talk about it. Except. It wasn’t my gender I had an issue with–it was how I was treated because of it. When I learned about sexism in college (along with racism, oh, and that I was bi and didn’t want kids. Yes, this was all within a year or two. It was a very rough time), it was like a light bulb went off in my head. Well, kind of.


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Let’s talk about gender, part two

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If I could live in the ideal world when it comes to gender, I would not mind being a woman. I would be ok with being called ‘she/her’, and I would accept it as an incidental part of me. I would shrug and say, “Yeah, I’m a woman,” without it being fraught with so many hidden (and overt) messages. It would be an interesting tidbit without it having any deep meaning because that’s how I view my gender.

Even when I considered myself a woman, it wasn’t that big a deal to me. Not in a ‘I wish I weren’t one’ way, but in a ‘I don’t really think about it’ way. Of course, that’s not possible on a daily basis with how deeply sexist/gender-hyperaware this society is, but if I was left to my own devices, I would shove it in the smallest corner of my mind and go on with my life.

In yesterday’s post, I ruminated about how identity is not stagnant, and I have no isuse with mine changing over time. It’s hard in this society, though, because people are wedded to the static idea of who a person is. You see it in the celebrity world all the time. If someone declares something about themsleves, say that they are gay–then that is what they are forever and ever. And forget about being bi.

Cynthia Nixon got in some hot water a decade-and-a-half ago when she said that she chose to be in a gay relationship. She later clarified by saying she was bisexual by birth, but she had chosen to be with (and eventually marry when she could) another woman.

That’s how I feel about being bisexual, too. Yes, I was born into that, but it would be my choice who to date. The difference is that I’m aromantic and don’t really feel the need to be in a romantic relationship. Nor limit myself to just one. Which I don’t talk about, either, because it’s not really relevant to my life right now.

I felt empathy for Cynthia Nixon when she got shit for what she was saying, but I rejoiced when she elaborated by saying that she had chosen to be in a gay relationship, and why shouldn’t that be celebrated? I’m paraphrasing, obviously, but it’s how I feel as well. I get that back then, we did not want straight people to have any weapon to use against us, but I think it’s a folly to be so concerned about being acceptable that you cede too much territory.


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Let’s talk about gender

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In the last few posts, I’ve talked about how seemingly opposite ideas can be true at the same time. In the latest one, I wandered into the topic of gender, which is something I think about now and again. Why? Because it’s an anathema to me, yet it’s something many people take as a given. And, especially now, it’s being talked about, villified, and scrutinized under a very powerful lens.

I have checked in with myself from time to time to see how I feel about gender.

Oh! Before I get into that, I want to expand on something I mentioned in yesterday’s post–how identity is not static.

When I was in my twenties, I realized I was attracted to women as well as men (only two acknowledged gender identities thirty years ago). The emphasis back then was that sexual identity was not a lifestyle or a choice, but something you were born into. I didn’t agree with that entirely. I mean, I was born being attracted to people of various genders, but I could have chosen to go one way or the other.

Also, I didn’t like the narrative that we should be tolerated because we can’t help being non-straight. “It’s not a choice,” so the saying went. “I was born this way!” While I agree that this is true, I also hasten to add that I would have absolutely chosen to be this way. I love being bi because it means that I can romance/sex up anyone of any gender. Theoretically, that just opens up my possibilities, which I’m all for.

This leads me to my current tentative label of agender. I feel it’s the spiritual cousin to bisexual in that it’s about shedding gender labels or realizing they are just one of many different traits a person can have.

I want to be respectful of people whose genders are integral to who they are and who feel their gender in their very bones. I know that I have it easier than many others (trans, nonbinary, and genderqueer folk). It’s the same as being bi is easier than being gay, and being Asian is easier than being black.

But in both of the latter cases, there are ways in which it’s really hard precisely because of the lesser difficulty thing. What I mean is that racism against Asian is ignored, and biphobia is glossed over. Agender isn’t even a thing most people recognize. I would throw areligious in there, but that’s not a big deal at all. Mainly because I don’t ever have to mention it.

The few times I’ve talked about agender is mixed company, I’ve either gotten nothing in response (as in total silence) or a negative reaction. Like, a really outsized negative reaction. It shocked me, frankly, because to me, I was making a fairly tame comment and nothing to get upset about. But the reactions from these women (and, yes, it’s always been women) have been so over-the-top.


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Two seeming opposites can both be true (at the same time), part three

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I have one more post in me about opposites being true at the same time. Here was my second post about it yesterday, in which I wrote mostly about what it was like to grow up with an undiagnosed (likely) neurodivergency. Specifically, autism. It wasn’t even an acknowledged thing when I was a kid. In fact, I don’t think I heard about it until I was in my twenties. I know I knew it existed in my early thirties because I saw it in my nephew when he was young, and I noted to myself that his behavior was very similar to my brother’s, who I had pegged as autistic several years before.

Hm. which seems to mean that I knew about it in my late twenties. It was a very rudimentary knowledge, though. “Something that boys have. It means they can’t look people in the eye; can’t feel emotions; don’t want to be touch; and are very set in their ways.” Even though I was most of those things, the factt that it was only seen as a boy thing made it impossible for me to have. I also thought it meant that you were out of control with temper tantrums, really loved mechanical/technical things, and that you could not relate to people at all. These I could not relate to at all because I had all that drummed out of me at an early age.

What I mean is by the time I was ten, I knew better than to talk back, state my opnion, or do anything that was deemed unladylike. It didn’t always stop you, mind, but I was painfully aware of how short my leash was. I was not supposed to talk too loudly, shout, climb trees, run around, sit with my legs uncrossed, or showing any personality in any way.

Both American and Taiwanese cultures had definite ideas of how a girl should be, and while they weren’t completely the same, they were both pretty restrictive. This was my first remembered time when two opposite things were both true–though I did not recognize it at the time.

I prayed to a god I didn’t believe in to make me a boy, but I never wanted to be one or thought I was actutally one. I just didn’t want to be a girl because it seemed so unappealing to me. So I guess it’s not a question of two opposites being true, exactly, but that I learned at an early age that I didn’t want anything to do with gender.

I will do a post on that soon (more than one, probably), but this is not that post. This is just to say that I learned at an early age that while I did not feel like a boy or wanted to be one in particular, it seemed preferable to being a girl.


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It’s not easy being me

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I don’t want to be normal. I have gotten past that for the most part, and I know that I would be miserable trying to be a normie. I mean, I try to fit in as best as I can without making it uncomfortable for me, but at the heart of it and me, I would be so much happier if I could just let my freak flag fly.

But I know that I am too much for the gen pop. Even people who don’t consider themselves normies are, for the most part, more normal than I am. Except for the true freaks. I’m not enough on the  fringe for them. I’m a weirdo in so many ways, but I’m also straitlaced in that I don’t drink or do drugs. There are many reasons for that, but it makes it difficult for me to fit into the artistic scene.

Here’s the thing. Sometimes, when I’m really down,I wish I was normal. I wish I was not neurodivergent. I wish I was white, and one of the binary gender (cran’t go quite as far as to wish I were a man). I wish I wasn’t a night owl.

By the way, that is so hard to change. I remember being six or seven and stuffing a t-shirt or towel under my door so I could read until midnight. I taught myself to read around age four. I would read until around midnight and then fall asleep. It did not matter what time I went to bed–I just could not sleep until eleven or midnight.

I say this because I know that it’s hard on parents when their kids don’t want to go to bed at what is considered an appropriate time, but it’s no picnic for the kid, either. I will admit that I have shitty bedtime practices, but no matter what I do, I cannot go to bed before midnight. These days, it’s more like 4 or 5 a.m.

The only time I’ve been able to sleep on a normal schedule was after my medical crisis, and I was heavily drugged at the time. And recuperating from dying. When I went to bed a week after waking up, I was still extremely heavily drugged. And very tired. I had no problem going to bed at ten or so and getting up at six. This lasted until the drugs wore off and my parents went back to Taiwan.

Now, I’m back to an opposite-than-normal people sleep schedule, and I’m not happy about it. Mostly, though, because I’m very aware that it’s considered bad/deviant/lazy. Every time I manage to claw my sleep schedule to going to bed at one or so, I can’t keep it up.


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Even more about gender and martial arts

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Back again to talk more about gender and martial arts. I mentioned in yesterday’s post that I had to slow down the rate at which I was teaching myself because I was messing some things up. For example, I recently re-taught myself the Fan Form because I realized I had forgotten whole chunks of it. Now, I have found out there are a few places that I’m fudging things. In other words, I need to go watch the videos again.

There are two problems when it comes to me learning martial arts forms. One, my memory is shit since my medical crisis.so I forget that which I have already learn. Not all of it, obviously, but enough to make it disconcerting. Weirdly, though, I am not being hard on myself about it. In the old days, I would call myself names and silently (or not so silently) scold myself for being stupid. This is the pressure of being raised in a hypercritical family.

I feel free, light, and airy when I’m doing my weapon forms. Sometimes, though, I feel fierce, strong, and ready to beat the shit out of someone. Not in real life, but in my mind. I don’t want to get into a fight for real, but I want to be in fighting form.

Working on my weapon forms helps with my depression and anxiety. Both have spiked lately, in a large part because of the landscape of America right now. When I can focus my anixiety and anger on a specific target, even if it’s imaginary, it really helps.

I really groove with combining the karambit and the fan. They could not be more different as weapons.. The karambit is a fast, small dagger that is meant to be used in quick movements. It’s fast, and indeed, furious. It’s dangerous. It’s meant to kill quickly. Maximum damage in a minimal amount of time.

The fan, on the other hand, is languid, slow-moving, and stealthy. You’re not going to see it coming in part beacuse you’re not going to think to worry about a fan. That’s just something you use to cool yourself down when it’s too hot, isn’t it? It’s a weapon that will lower someone’s guard and then I can poke them in the throat with it while their attention is on the karambit.

It really is the yin and the yang of weapons. I picked them to go together because they were roughly the same size (very roughly), but that’s it. They just work well together. I can’t tell you why other than what I’ve already said and good vibes.


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Gender, martial arts, and me (and society)

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Am I really going to write more about gender and martial arts? Why, yes, yes I am. Why? Because I can. And because I have more to say about it. Here is my post from yesterday in which I talked about finding a therapist. Mostly, I focused on how diufficult it is for me to find a therapist, even when I whittle down my epectations. However, as I was writing about it yesterday, I did another quick (five minutes) Google and found someone who fit very well. Except.

E is not a psychologist. I touched on why this is an issue for me yesterday, but I wanted to expand on it more in this post.

Look. I’m going to sound snobby, but so be it. I have run rings around my therapists in the past except for the last one. She was a Jungian psychologist whereas the others were social workers. And it’s easy to see the clear difference in the training. At least it is for me. I was a psych major in college, and I’m very adept at reading people. This is both a good thing and a bad thing.

It can’t hurt to at least talk to E, though. E has a free consultation and does both online and in-person sessions. I would do the former, which is not ideal, but the best I can do at the moment. And it’s better than nothing.

I have been expanding my weapon time because there is so much I want to learn. I got my new fan–the frame is metallic rather than plastic or bamboo. I have to say, I’m disappointed in it because it does not flick open easily. Maybe it’s because of the cold and it’ll be better once it warms up, but I would not count on it.

In addition, it does not close without a hitch, either. So my shitty seven dollar cheapo fan is actually better for the Fan Form than my more expensive metal one. I guess it makes sense given the intricacy of the fan, but I can’t help being a bit disappointed.

I have to pace myself. I was practicing the Swimming Dragon Form (Bagua), and I reached a point where I totally forgot what was next. I had been doing the first few movements on the left side, and I think that was messing with my brain. I watched my teacher doing the form, and it came back to me. Plus, I had to adjust a few movements, too.

I also tried using two fans to do the Double Saber form. That was interesting, but it did not work that well. The vibes were off, and I didn’t gel with the feel of it. It was fun to do, though.


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Even more about gender and martial arts

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I’m still on that gender/martial arts tip. And on that mental health tip. Here is my post from yesterday about how I am smarter than most therapists. I know how that sounds, but it’s true. No, smarts aren’t everything, but they are something. And for me, I cannot respect someone I can manipulate. One of the best things about my last therapist was that she would call me out on my shit. She was a psychologist, which I vibe much better with than the social worker mindset.

Here’s my issue with finding a therapist. I need someone who understands being a person of East Asian descent living in Midwest America. Then, toss in grief and family dysfunction, and we are narrowing the field rapidly. If I dare say queer, well, we might as well shut this shit down now. I know that I can’t have everything I want in a therapist, but it’s really hard to pare it down to the essentials.

I am a firm believer in therapy. I think it can be so helpful, and I got a lot from my last thearpist. But I had to go through half-a-dozen mediocre therapists before that. They ranged from bad to blah. One was really bad, but it wasn’t completely her fault. Another was nice, but inept. Another I can’t remember at all. My last therapist was the best, but she had her blind spots as well. She was focused on mother issues, which meant at times she was  biased for mothers in a way that was not helpful to me.

But the one thing I appreciated the most about her was the she called me on my shit. As I said, I had the tendency to talk circles around my therapists, but she would not let me do that. She would listen to me talk for several minutes. Then, she would cut me of and say something pithy. Early in our relationship, after one of my long ramblings, she said, “Minna, thinking is what got you into your troubles; it’s not going to get you out of it.” I protested, but she was right. Or rather, she was not wrong. I had the tendency to talk myself in circles without actually getting anywhere. I could get deep in the weeds without even touching on the actual isue. Much like my writing, come to think of it.

My point is, while I believe in therapy, I have a hard time doing it myself. The last time I tried, I looked at a popular website that is pushed by content creators. I was horrified by how it was run, though, and when I did more research into it, I realized that it was not good. Not just for potential clients, but also for the therapists who were working for it.


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