Underneath my yellow skin

Category Archives: Gender Issues

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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More about gender, martial arts, and life in general

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My brother stopped by today to drop off my Premium Elite 2 Xbox Controller or whatever it’s called. I’m being flippant, but it’s by far the best controller I’ve ever had. I was wavering because it’s not cheap, but Ian swayed me because he has it and loves it. Once I got my hands on it, I realized that it was truly several cuts above the rest. Now that I have it back, I’m so happy. I tried it out, and it just felt so right in my hands. My one gripe is the reason my brother had it for a month–the left bumper stopped working all the time. It worked maybe a third of the time, which was even more infuriating than if it didn’t happen at all.

I looked it up, and it was a known problem for this expensive controller. Apparently, they cheaped out on the bumper buttons, which means that people have issues with them. This is, frankly, unacceptable for the amount of money we’re paying for them. Well, I say it’s unacceptable, but clearly it’s not. Would I buy it again? Sadly, yes. Because it’s just that much better than any other controller (expect for that one issue). I will say that it’s somewhat on me because I’ve dropped it several times. Still. I’ve dropped all my controllers several times, and this is the first time I’ve broken a bumper.

The other thing my brother wanted to do was to natter on about his newest obsession–espresso-making. He was not a drinker of coffee for all of his life. Then, his GF inherited an espresso machine, and now my brother is hooked. True to his nature, he bought an expensive machine and an app that monitors it from his phone. Plus other accessories that added up to a prettty penny.

I joked that of course he went hard on it once he got interested because that was how he do. I was also laughing beacuse that’s how I do as well. For me, it’s the weapons. I am so obsessed by them. Right now, I am learning the Cane Form with my saber after watching my teacher’s teacher do it. I have learned three of the four rows, and as I’ve said before, doing the Cane Form with the saber made both forms really click for me.

Here’s yesterday’s post about gender, martial arts, and more.

Listening to my teacher’s teacher talk about the cane and the saber made something go off in my brain. Before, I was struggling with both. Not the forms per se, but with how I felt about them. This is where the arts part comes in for me. The weapons need precision, yes, and it’s definitely martial, but the arts part is all about the feel for me. I’ve talked about how I relate to each weapon–and about how I’m vibing with them.

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Health, gender, and kung-fu fighting

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I have still more to say about gender and martial arts. That should not surprise anyone because once I get stuck on something, I go on and on and on about it. Yesterday, I talked about gender and what I think of it (not much). I’m so tired of talking about it, but it’s a big deal right now given the state of my country at the moment.

I have been voting for thirty years. I have voted Democratic almost every time*. I have not been happy about it most of the time because it’s just the least worst of two evils. The only times I’ve felt joyful about voting was for Barack Obama and Kamala Harris. Take from that what you will. I dutifully voted for whoever had the D by his (and yes, it was overwhelmingly male which says a lot about the Democratic Party, but taht is not what this post is about) name, but I never felt good about it. Or rather, rarely.

I know that I don’t belong to this time or place, but I also don’t think I would have fit in any time or place. And I don’t know how much fight I have in me to try to change the world for the better. I realize that I’m slipping back to where I used to be, more and more each day.

I know it’s because of inertia and because we tend to go back to homeostasis. In other words, we don’t move in a positive direction without being deliberate about it. Some people like my brother do it almost effortlessly. I envy that about him, by the way. If he thinks something sounds fun, he just does it.

When he was here a few days ago, he was telling me about his adventures in Taiwan and Thailand with his GF. Each day, they had a plan, but then they changed it on a whim if something else looked better. I remembered that from when we went to Taiwan together, and it was a nightmare for me.

I digress.

I tend to stick to my routines, and they work until they don’t. One big example is my sleep. I have always had shitty sleep, starting from when I was a kid. When I was six or seven, my mother would put me to bed at seven or eight, and I would put a t-shirt in the crack under the door so I could read until midnight. I have always liked the night better than the day.

When I went to college, I could not go to bed until 3:30 a.m, even though I had a class that was a quarter to eight in the morning. I would get up at 7:30 a.m. and race to class. I was so sleep-deprived that I could not find my portable alarm clock one morning. I looked for it for five minutes, and it was nowhere to be found.


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