Underneath my yellow skin

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One more post about labels, part six

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I still have one more post about labels in me s so let’s go! I’ve been planning on writing about labels when it comes to dating for the past two posts, but, well, that’s not what I ended up writing about. In the last post, I talked about labels I use for myself that I’m mostly fine with, including bi, Taiwanese American, and areligious. I don’t love two of them (bi, and areligious0, but they do the job. The other one (Taiwanese American) is factual, which makes it fine*.

I was going to say that in writing a dating profile, I would like to be able to avoid labels completely and not include a picture–but then I realized that’s not exactly true. What I want to do is avoid the people (ahem, men) who loooooooooooove Asian women and send me pics of their dicks unasked for, and, indeed, unwanted.

This was my experience the last time I tried to use the dating apps, and it was really dispiriting. I explicitly said that I did not want anyone who had an Asian fetish and DO NOT SEND DICK PICS. The  vast majority of responses I got ignored both of these edicts.

In a twisted way, it’s a blessing because they are just self-selecting out. If I didn’t have to actually see the dick pics, I would be ok with that. This was decades ago, so I don’t know if there are strictures in place on apps now that do not allow unsolicited dick picks to go through. I would think there should be a way to do that, but I’m not a tech person.

PSA: Guys. My dudes. I rarely make blanket statements, but this is one I’m more than comfortable in making . Do not send unsolicited dick pics. Period. There is no exception to this, and you are certainly not it. (I know there are guys out there who think their dicks are just that special; trust me, they aren’t.)

PSA II: Your dick really really isn’t that special. For many people who are not dudes but like dicks, it’s a specific dick that is attractive and not just dicks in general. I know for many straight dudes, any tits and/or pussy will do. But even then, I think more of them would be weirded out by random pic of them out of the blue. It can be disconcerting, and especially when you were not asking for it nor especially in the mood for it.

Again, I don’t know how common or acceptable that is now, but back in the Wild West days of PlentyofFish, it was rampant. I would hazard that I got a dick pic for at least one out of four responses I got. And the “I loooooooove Oriental girls” response ratio was much higher.

I was talking about this with my brother when he started dating again. Not the specifics of my travails, but how now that we were in our mid-fifties, we were much more certain about what we wanted and didn’t.

When I talked about this with my Taiji teacher today, I mentioned how as she knew, I liked being alone. So anyone I dated needed to add something to my life and not make it more stressful. When I was in my twenties, I was told that I needed to settle. Basically, that any man was better than none, and the worst fate that could befall me was ending up alone.

After several disastrous relationships, I would have to disagree with that. It’s much worse being with someone who is disdainful of/tired of you than being by myself. In fact, I love being by myself. It’s the only time I can relax and be me. I miss my Shadow (still) more than I can say, but that’s not the same as living with another human.


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The last post about labels (for now), part five

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I’m back for one last post about gender identity and labels.

Ha! We all know that’s not true. It may be the last one for now as I put in the title, but it’s certainly not going to be the last time I talk about gender, as much as I would like it to be. Yes, I could try never to think of it again, but that’s nearly impossible in this world.

Oh, here’s the post from yesterday. We’ll see if  I actually write about what I intend to write about.

When I was talking to K about gender identity, I said that it’s easy for me to accept gender changes in people because gender didn’t mean anything to me. If you remove the socio-political meaning from gender (which, I know, is impossible to do), then in really has no meaning in and of itself.

I mean, that’s pretty simplistic because you could say that about any word, really. A term has a basic meaning, and then it has the meaning that a society infuses it with. But in this case, I really am lost at sea with the word.

Side note: It’s interesting. I do not have the same struggle with other labels I use. I mean, I don’t like bisexual as a term, but it does at least come close to describing what I consider myself. I and many other bis think of it as people like me and people not like me (the bi part) rather than two genders. Of course, there are other people who use pansexual or omnisexual, but as I have said before, I don’t like either of those.

Damn. I Googled, and there are some really bad terms like ambisexual, switch-hitter (uggggggh), hermaphrodite?!? and androgynous. I like the last word, but it’s not a synonym for bisexual. Someone was complaining about there not being another word so you have to say ‘sexual’ in the label. Uh, no. I call myself bi. Many bis I know do it as well. Bis looks weird to me, but bi is fine.

I’ve made my peace with bi. It’s fine, though I would prefer just to say sexual. But, again, it sends the wrong message. Sigh. It is what it is, and it’s fine.

Taiwanese American? Also fine. I am American with Taiwanese heritage. That’s pretty straightforward, and it doesn’t really need much explanation. It’s also the one I think the least about now. It gave me a lot of drama/trauma when I was younger, but I’m mor e than fine with it now.

Areligious? Yeah, I fully embrace that one. I do not know if there is a god, multiple gods, or no gods, and I don’t care. That’s why I choose areligious rather than atheistic. God can do what god is or isn’t going to do if there is a god or isn’t. It doesn’t really affect my life…yeah, I’m not going to get into that because it’s not the point of this post.

I’ve embraced fat, too. It flusters people when I say cheerfully that I’m fat. I know it’s because it’s considered a horrible negative in this society, but it’s another thing that makes me snicker. There’s something truly magical in not giving a shit. I highly suggest it to everyone.


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Let’s talk more about labeling (part four)

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I was talking to K today, and we were talking about gender identity. It’s something we’ve talked about quite a bit, and we’ve been on the same page about the concept for our whole lives. She once said to me that she admired the way I easily adapted to people’s genders. We talked a bit about that, and I said it was because gender was unfathomable to me (just like it’s hard to describe the color blue to a blind person), so I accepted people’s genders without a murmur.

When you drilled right down to it, why did gender matter? Not in a sociopolitical sense because it matters a great deal in that way (and as a way to show solidarity/fight the patriarchy), and, yes, I can see why it’s important to individuals as part of their identity, but as a way of gatekeeping who can call themselves what gender, I am not a big fan of it. At all.

I have  thought about this so much, it makes me tired. If I were going to be totally real–oh, here’s my post from yesterday in which I said I was going to talk about labels and dating, but then didn’t. If I were going to be totally real, I would just like to never have to think or talk about gender again. Just let me beeeeeeeeeee. There’s nothing I can or can’t do based on my gender, really, so why should I care?

This is where I get tripped up every time. I can do what I need to do regardless of my gender, so why do I need to have one? No one can explain this to me to my satisfaction, which is how I feel about a lot of things. There are times when I just have to accept that I will never truly get it. The only reason I think about it is because it’s so important in this world.

I’m saying this with zero snark–I don’t understand why the heavy emphasis on it. I know it’s me beacuse most people do care about it a lot. I would not care that other people cared so much about it if it was just for themselves. I’m very big on live and let live, but the ‘let live’ part has to go both ways.

Which it doesn’t. At all.

It’s really depressing that all the progress we’ve made is getting torn up in this presidency. I can’t even get angry because I’m just so drained and exhausted. I know that’s the whole point of this spate of terrible laws, but it’s working. And this is one reason I will never date a Republican.

See how I did that?

I had that in a dating ad thirty years ago. I said I would date any gender, race, religion, creed, but not a Republican. I wasn’t joking, even though I put it in a jovial tone. I’m even more not joking about it now. If someone is a Republican in this time and age, that’s all I need to know about them.

As I’ve said, it’s funny when people who don’t give a shit about discrimination in general (or covertly/overtly support it) want to bleat about discrimination in dating when it’s against them. People are allowed to discriminate in their dating lives, and it’s especially true when the discrimination is based on something like ‘this person doesn’t believe I should exist’. Or ‘this person is a racist sexist piece of shit’.


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Labels, labels, labels everywhere (part three)

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I want to talk more about gender identity, sexual orientation, and dating. And labels. Maybe. It’s been at the forefront of my mind for several reasons. I mentioned in the last post a few times when it was helpful to have labels (mostly with health issues), and I am not going to muse whether or not it’s helpful in dating.

I will say I don’t like the labels I’ve chosen for my sexual and gender identities. They are both the least worst of the bad, and I’m not satisfied with either. Bisexual and agender, by the way. I’ve had the former label for over thirty years, and it has never sat right with me. I like queer the best, but it now is synonymous with gay. I’m not happy about it, but it’s not a fight I’m up for fighting.

Same with genderqueer. I really like it as a descriptor for not being on the binary in the fullest sense of the term. But now it means nonbinary in the same way queer means gay.

Sigh.

I’m irritated with myself for always making life so difficult. This is part of being neurodivergent, too, though. I’ve read that people who are neurodivergent often feel the need to be really explicit and on point with their words. I can attest that this is me, and it’s annoying as fuck. Even to me when it’s me doing it.

I overexplain things and belabor the point until the other person is ready to scream. I can see the shift on their face (or hear it in their message), and yet, it takes a Herculean effort for me to shut the fuck up. The person I’m talking to doesn’t need a twenty-page backstory to every idea I want to present. When I found out this was a thing with autistic people, I felt validated.

Another thing is that everything is related in my brain. I can’t tell a story without bringing in what others would consider extraneous information and tidbits. When I talked to my autistic friend about it, she was in enthusiastic agreement that her brain worked that way, too. It’s one reason we can have comfortable conversations (in messages). We can pepper in as many non sequiturs as we want without worrying. And if one of us goes really far down a weird road, the other will bring the first person back again.

Or not. Sometimes, I join her on the side path to nowhere (and vice-versa), which can lead to some wild journeys. And once in a great while, I don’t know where she’s going. I can usually figure it out, but if I can’t, I just ask questions until I get the gist of what she was trying to say.

Knowing that this is a thing for neurodivergent people is such a relief to me. It doesn’t mean that I just let myself ramble all I want whenever I want, but it does mean that I can be a bit kinder to myself when I can’t seem to stop utter nonsense from coming out of my mouth.


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When labels are actually useful, part two

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This is part two about when labels are actually helpful and necessary. Here is my post from yesterday in which I was musing about the times when a label actually helped rather than hurt (or just annoyed me). In general, it’s in the medical field when I find useful. If there’s something wrong  with my body or my brain, it’s a relief to know what that is. It’s easier to treat something if you actually know what that something is (and you don’t think it’s all in the patient’s mind).

It’s also helpful when it’s something like autism that marks me as different (though not ‘defective’ as health issues might). I cannot tell you the relief I felt when I realized that much of what I thought was wrong with my brain was in fact something medical (as autism is). It didn’t mean that I wouldn’t have to deal with it (because of course I would still have to do that), but it meant that it was something that was just different–not necessarily wrong.

I think if there’s one thing I could convey to other people who are different for various reasons that have nothing to do with good and bad as defined by Christians, you are glorious the way you are. That’s not to say that you won’t have to mask at times or that you’ll never have to smooth your edges to get along with society, but it is saying that much of that is arbitrary and there may never be a legit reason for it.

One thing I think people who are neurodivergent often have to do is  calculate how much of the weirdness they want to let out and at wwhat cost. This is especially true at work, which, by the way. I have a gripe (because of course I do).

There’s been a movement to bring your whole/authentic self to work. It was supposed to mean that people who were minorities and (including neurodivergent) should be able to be more themselves at work. Meaning that they should not have to heavily mask all the time. Or, as a very basic example, black women should be able to wear hairstyles that are a part of their culture without getting punished for it.

It was not nor has it ever been a way to say that everyone should let it all hang out at work. I am so frustrated that this is what people now think it means. “No one wants to see someone’s ugly side at work!” Well, no, but that’s never what it meant in the first place. It was supposed to be a way for minorities to feel less burdened at work for being so different than the norm.

I know that’s how these things work on the internet, though. The least-generous interpretation of a term (read, the one that the majority fixates on) is the one that eventually wins out and becomes the definition of that term.

Sigh.

Anyway.

I realize it’s still difficult for me to really let my guard down with people because I have had negative reactions to the real me more often than not. I’m not just a little different–I’m a lot different.


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When labels are actually useful

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I’ve made it pretty well known that I do not like labels for the most part. I find them restrictive, reductive, and sometimes, misleading. However, there is one time when I find labels useful. That’s when it comes to health, physical and mental. Let me explain.

When I was in my twenties, I had what I thought was really bad carpal tunnel syndrome in my right wrist. It was logical to think that was what it was because I typed a lot (and I mean excessively), and I didn’t always pracice good typing posture (and by that, I mean I never use good typing posture. I let my wrists collapse more often than I should. I did have a wrist rest, but I relied on it too much).

I had a soft cast for months, but it did not help. Nothing else helped, etiher. None of the exercises that the doctors recommended did one bit of good. After my GP could not find what was wrong with me, she sent me to a specialist. I don’t remember what kind of specialist, but I do remember what happened.  He listened to my tale of woe without saying anything. Without a word, he grabbed my thumb and yanked it backwards; I jumped about ten feet into the air.

“You don’t have carpal tunnel,” he announced as he wrote something down. “You have ______.” I don’t remember the name of it beacuse it was long, and I had never heard of it before. I don’t remember what he did for it, either, but whatever it was did the trick. I no longer had pain in my wrist, and I still don’t to this day.

Another time was when whichever doctor/therapist told me I had depression. or did I realize it on my own? Either way, being able to have a name for what I was feeling was such a relief. It wasn’t just all in my head! I mean, it was, but it was an actual thing–not me just making shit up.

Same with a friend gently suggesting that maybe I had autism. Suddenly, so many things made sense. Like me being too sensitive, me having sensory issues, me not being able to look people in the eyes. For me, putting a name to a bunch of disparate issues and being able to realize they were actually A Thing and, again, not just something I made up in my head was invaluable.

K and I had an argument about mental health. Not about the fact that it matters or the fact that we both have issues with our own mental health. It was about how far should we as a society go when it comes to mental health issues. She was uncomfortable with how much medication was happening these days.

She said that when we were kids, we just dealt with our issues because we had to. I pointed out in a less-than-calm manner that some of us didn’t deal with it well–and, indeed, that somepeople did not deal with it at all (meaning, we have lost so many people to mental health issues). I also said that if I had known more about my issues when I was a kid and how to deal with them, I would be in a better place now.

We got heated. Voices were raised. It’s the closest we’ve gotten to a fight in our thirty years of friendship. Once we calmed down, we found the common ground as we always do.

Her concern was that people with mental health issues still had to get through each day and go about their lives. If they focused too much on the mental health issues themselves, they might get stuck. I saw her point. There’s a thin line between focusing on your issues in order to work on them and obsessing over them.

On the other hand, if you don’t know what the problem is, you can’t deal with it. I lost decades because I didn’t know I was neurodivergent. I mean, I had a hunch, but all the outside signs ponited to it not being true. Because I was heavily emotionally punished if I dared think my own feelings and emotions mattered, and I was castigated for being too sensitive, I don’t act autistic–whatever that means.

In addition, the stereotypical view of an autistic person is based on male traits, and I never thought that there might be any other portrayal of autism. Once I was told to look traits of autistic women and other nonmale people, things started falling into place.

Just as I changed my bother’s life by casually mentioning his autism (assuming that he already knew about it), a friend of mine did the same for me. My brother immediately accpted what I said to him, looked it up, and told me a few months later that it made total sense. He has the classic (and stereotypical) traits of autism–and I’ve known it for several decades.

Me, on the other hand, I have none of the stereotypical traits–at least on the surface. I am told I’m too empathic, if anything; too sensitive; too emotional; and just too much in general.

All of that is a cover and learned behavior, though. Well, not the too sensitive thing. That’s just me, but that’s actually a symptom of autism–hypersensitivity, I mean. I just read that 90% of children with autism experience sensory hypersensitivity. Most of the research on autism has been done on kids, which is unfortunate. And on men. But that’s not unusual in, well, anything.

Once my friend brought up the possibility that I might be autistic, so many things made sense. So. Many. Damn. Things. And once things slid into place, I became so goddamn angry at society for not giving me a fucking clue that I might be autistic. The problem is that I’ve been masking so hard and for so long, it’s nearly impossible for me to unmask. It’s one reason I prefer being alone. That’s the only time I can just be me.

Well, one of the only times. When I’m with my closest friends, I can let down the mask somewhat. But that’s it. Otherwise, it’s on 100% of the time. And part of that is, apparently, people tell me shit about their lives that I would prefer not to know. I have one of those faces that say, “Tell me everything about you, starting with when you were five years old.”

Even when I tried to cut people off, it didn’t seem to matter. Now, I just roll with it since I don’t go out much any more.

More tomorrow.

Brain, brain, go away….

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Yes, I’m writing more about my brain and how I’ve thought it was broken for most of my life. When I was talking to my autistic friend (endless gratitude to her for making me realize that I miiiiiight be on the spectrum) about my childhood, I used the phrase, “felt like an alien”. She said that was exactly how she felt as a child and so many autistic people felt the same way. I also said that I always felt as if I was never given the manual for humanning. I really thought everyone else got some kind of instruction on how to be a human being.

“Turn to page 54 for complete instructions as to how to interact with humans at a party.” “And here on page 90, we see how to make small talk when you’re picking up your medicine.”

What I really wanted was David Attenborough to guide me through human life as if he was watching a rare species of, say, wild cat and describing their daily life to people who have never seen them before. I could have really used someone telling me how to be human before I was released into the general public. I used to joke that I was raised by wolves, but it was not really a joke. What I mean is that my parents had no idea what life in America was like, so they weren’t able to guide me. More to the point, they had no desire to integrate themselves into American culture, so they had no interest in teaching me about it.

It was the perfect storm of several negative things that made it so my entry into American society (school) scarred me. 1. I wsa a weirdo. I just was. Now I know there’s a reason for it, but back then, I just thought I was a sad and broken human being who should not have been born. And I was deeply depressed by the time I was seven. 2. My parents had no interest in American society and passed that down to me. We did not watch TV or go to movies or listen to the radio. I like to the apocryphal story of how the first pop song I heard was Electric Avenue by Eddy Grant in 1983 when I was 12. That’s pretty late in life, but it was indicative of how little my family cared about such things.

My parents were very conservative/traditional, which meant I was raised with a lot of restrictive ideas. I’m talking religious rather than politically, but I would not be surprised if the latter was true as well.


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Accepting my brain as it is

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I’m fifty-five years old.

Waits and thinks.

Yes, that’s right. I tend to add a year to my age on January 1st every year so by the time I make it to my actual birthday, I’m confused as to hold old I am. I think it’s because it’s an Asian thing? I’m not sure, but I’m sticking to it as my reason for doing it. I don’t care about my actual age because it’s always seem so random to me to celebrate one day for being a year older.

I mean, I get it on the basic level of it’s the day you were born, so yay for you! And then the next year on the same day, you add a year to that number. In reality, though, we’re aging every day. It’s not like aging is put on hold for 364 days and then you suddenly get a year older on one day. Oh, by the way, here’s my post from yesterday.

I know I’m thinking too literally about it, but that’s how my brain works. I am very literal in most ways and then I’ll be theoretical in some random sudden circumstance. I am terrible with people who are deadpan jokers beacuse I can’t read their tone properly. This is ten times worse over text/email because I can’t get any verbal/visual cues as to how I should react.

Here is how I react to any comment.

Other person (OP): Comments on something happening in their life.

Neurotypical person: Immediately responds.


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More about my brain and if it’s broken

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Let’s talk more about my brain. In the last post, I talked about how a friend helped me realize that maybe my brain wasn’t broken–rather, that I had autism. When she suggested it to me, it was as if a fog cleared up in my head. I have mentioned that I was the one who clued my brother in about his autism a few months before I ended up in the hospital.

About eigt months ago, I was talking to a friend of mine. She’s very frank about herself, so I knew she was autistic. What’s more, she has no problem with talking about it. She will answer any questions I have about it, just as I will answer any questions she has about anything about me. We met in a Discord for a content creator we both watch, but oun friendship quickly progressed past that.

We’re both queer (bisexual for lack of a better term), genderqueer, poly/ENM, and, apparently, autistic. She’s also ADHD, which I may have as well. Neither of us are religious, either. She’s a math person whereas I am not, but that’s probably the biggest difference between us. I like math and I’m good at it, but it’s not a passion for me as it is for her.

We bonded over the fact that we were both magicks-based in Elden Ring (FromSoft), though she was a sorceress, andI was into faith-based magicks. We laughed over having 18 Vigor for the first 100 hours of the game (which means getting one-shot). To put it in perspective, it’s suggested that you have 60 Vigor as soon as you can. I had 38 by the end of the game.

We quickly took our friendship offline (as it were. We took it to DMs), and we sent long messages back and forth. It has been a delight getting to know her, and I would call her a true friend now. I really appreciate that she brought up the possibility that I might have autism because I never would have thought of it myself.

I took an online test, and it was borderline. My friend told me to try to take off the mask, as it were, as I took the test. In other words, she wanted me to ansnwer on impulse rather than think about it at all. Because if I thought about it, then I got trapped. Why? Because I have been heavily masking since I was a young kid. My mother made me her emotional support person when I was eleven, but she had trained me for the job for several years prior.


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Trying to be gentle with myself

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For most of my life, I’ve thought that my brain was broken. I’ve referred to it as such for quite some time. I would say it jokingly, but I actually meant it. I didn’t think like other people, and I always assumed it was my fault. It wasn’t until a friend of mine pointed out gently that maybe I was autistic that I really dug deep into it. Here’s my post from yesterday which is about how I’ve struggeld with my brain all my life.

Before that, I had thought a while ago that maybe I had ADHD. I knew that the most  well-known symptoms were more male-coded than female-coded/non-gendered coded. I could see some of the symptoms fitting me, but not others. The big one, though, hyperactivity, most emphatically did not describe me. When I found out that it wasn’t an essential part of having ADHD, I did not know what to do with that. I mean, it’s in the name. I did not know then that you can have ADD rather than ADHD.

I knew I had the hyperfocus part down pat. When I am into something, you cannot tear me away from it. It might be weeks or months or in rare cases years, but I’m 100% into it. Some of them are just meaningless hobbies such as jigsaw puzzles or black cubic zirconia rings. I would say Taiji didn’t start as an obsession, but once I got into weapons, it became a long-term obsession. It’s an interesting exception to my all-or-nothing mentality, and I’ll get back to that in a bit.

FromSoft games are also one of my obsessions that consumes me, but also in a weird way. I’ll talk about this one right now. When I have a new FromSoft game that is the game in my life at the moment, it’s all-consuming. I can play it for hours every day until I finish it. That’s what happened with Elden Ring. I played it for hours every day until I finished my first playthrough (well over 200 hours). That continued as I went for the platinum (about another 125 hours). Once I was done with that, I still played it every day, but not with anything close to the same intensity.

I play a From game nearly every day–or at least I did up until about three or four months ago. I can tell you why. I found another obsession to fill my time, yes, but also, I feel FromSoft games moving away from me. I did not get along at all with the last two games (Elden Ring: Nightreign and Armored Core VI Fires of the Rubicon. I did not expect to like/be able to play either game, but I’m sad I was not wrong.


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