Blogging is dead, RIP, blogging. I’ve known this for a few years, but I’ve resisted it because writing is my medium. I can say things in writing I can’t vocally and I’m much smoother in the delivery, as well. Obviously, it’s easier to form a coherent thought and I can go back and polish what I wrote. In person, I’m awkward and have the tendency to blurt things out that are better left unsaid after biting my tongue for hours.
For the new year, I’m contemplating podcasts or vlogging. I thought about it before my medical trauma, but I dismissed it for several reasons. One, I hated how I looked and sounded. Even though I know that others find me visually/aurally pleasing, I don’t. Back in the day, I would avoid having my picture taking because I hated my looks so much. When I was in college, my friends made it a game to see if they could catch me with their cameras (this was before phone cams were ubiquitous) and I’m pleased to say they never caught me.
After my medical experience, I suddenly didn’t care any longer. My voice was hoarse and raspy from having a tube shoved down it and I looked like hell, obviously, but I no longer cared. I had to buy new glasses because it’s been several years since I had my eyes examined. I was going to do it and then the pandemic hit. So my sight wasn’t great, anyway. Then, when I woke up from being unconscious, I made an eye appointment for a month later (because that’s how long it took to get an eye appointment). When I went to look for frames, I started by looking at my norm–black frames, either rectangle or oval. Or half-rims. I wasn’t hyped about any of them, but I wasn’t expecting to be blown away, either. I mean, they’re just glasses. But then, I saw a pair of frames that were black with white polka dots and the top bit was white with black polka dots. They were plastic and had cat eyes, and I instantly fell in love. I thought they were too outre, so I looked at other frames. But I kept ahold of them and couldn’t stop thinking about them. One arm was black with white polka dots and the other was white with black polka dots. Each arm has a little pink heart on the ‘hand’. After ten minutes, I gave up looking at other frames because this was the one I wanted. It’s Betsy Johnson, which I did not know beforehand. I loved them and they made me feel good about myself.
They are funky, but not too out there. They weren’t covered by insurance, so I got a free pair of computer glasses as well. Those have black frames and rectangle lenses. I love my new glasses. I have never loved a pair of glasses so much. I feel fresh and funky, eccentric, but not weird. Sassy is a good way to put it. I love them and I’m so happy I bought them. I’m not a looks person at all, but I’m starting to put more thought into it. If I do video, that is important, obviously. I wouldn’t mind making my glasses part of my signature look. I’ve been messing with my hair, having fun trying different hairstyles. Including French braids, a mid-pony that is then braided, and my personal favorite, two Chun-Li buns.
I have a long, complicated history with my gender. I applaud people exploring their gender identities, but it’s not at the top of the things I want to think about right now. I have decided that I’m nominally fine with people calling me she/her even though I prefer just to go by my name. I don’t care for they/them and I’m definitely not he/him. She/her is my default and the one that is least offensive to me. But it’s not me. I don’t feel like a she/her so when someone uses it for me, it makes me pause momentarily. It’s not enough to cause me agitas at the moment, but I have a hunch it’ll be something I want to think about more later on.
When I first woke up, I was thinking about a comic called “The Miracle Girl and Her Miracle Cat”, but, again, I don’t identify with the feminine. However, I don’t NOT identify with it, either. Meaning that the idea of going gender neutral doesn’t feel right, either. I think it’s because I’ve had to fight sexism all my life and the idea of sweeping that under the rug doesn’t sit well with me, either. I scan as female, mainly because of my long hair and my huge boobs. On the phone, I’m always called sir because of my deep voice. I don’t mind either of these things, but I don’t identify with either, either.
I have never liked any labels, honestly. I choose the one that is least alien to me. Such as bisexual (bi) for my sexuality even though I would prefer just to call myself sexual. Same with Taiwanese American. I don’t feel like either, but it’s the closest term to my ethnic identity. Agnostic will have to do for my religious leanings. And now, female-presenting is close enough, I guess, for my gender. I identify more with women than men, that’s for sure. And I’m thinking that I may try to redefine woman to make it more like me rather than just giving up the gender completely.
But, honestly, I want to just not think about it. The same that I don’t want to think about my sexual identity. I just wan to have sex with whomever I want to have sex and be done with it. I know there’s a privilege in not having to name what I am, but at the same time, there’s a freedom in it as well. When I was in the hospital, I had people of all different genders looking after me. Taking care of my most basic needs. I got over my body issues in a flash, I’ll tell you that much.
It showed me how much of a construct gender is, honestly. In the hospital, it didn’t matter what equipment I had. My ass needed to be wiped, so wiped it was. I did have my period while I was in the hospital, and they took care of that as well. I had pull-ups that I wore all the time, which made things much easier. When I couldn’t make it to the bathroom, I was taken care of like a baby, but with respect and dignity.
My medical trauma has changed my viewpoint on many things, my looks included. I just don’t care about it any longer. What I mean is that I don’t suddenly think I’m a hottie, but I also don’t hate how I look any longer. I’ve been taking selfies as I mess with new hairstyles, and I think I look quite cute! It’s really weird. Going from hating the way I look to thinking I’m quite cute. Just because I died and came back! Like, I wouldn’t fuck me, but I can see why someone would.
It’s scary, really. Or rather, it’s discombobulating how effortless I went from hating the way I look to thinking I’m rather cute. I went from not wanting to be identified as a woman to not really caring. I mean, I prefer not to have any gender associated with me, but I don’t hate it. It’s not first on my list of things to care about right now, to be honest. But I probably need to sort it out before I do a podcast or videos.