Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: labels

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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More about labels because I can, part two

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I’m still on the label trip because that’s the way my hyperfocus works, and by the way, can I say that for all the bashing hyperfocus gets, it can be really useful, too. I have over 10,000 words on my NaNoWriMo project, and we’re barely into day four. I give all credit to hyperfocus. When I first started learning Taiji weapons, I fell in love with the sword. Once my Taiji teacher placed it in my hand, I knew it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I pushed her to teach me the Sword Form as quickly as possible as I was obsessed with it. Once again, hyperfocus did me a solid.

What? I’m not supposed to be appreciative of hyperfocus? I’m supposed to say it’s bad and makes me lose time when I should be doing something else? That’s not wrong, of course. There are times when I’ve put hours into something I shouldn’t have. Such as FromSoft games. I have made a rule that I can’t start playing one after midnight because there is no way in hell that I will only play for an hour.

On the other hand, it’s a good thing when I use the pressure of something exterior to me to get shit done, such as NaNoWriMo. I have not been able to write (except here) for several months. Many months. So many months. NaNoWriMo was coming up, and a few weeks ago, I thought, “What if I use it to jumpstart my flagging writing?” I decided that was a good thing and started planning what I wanted to do in NaNoWriMo. In the past several years, I had been doing NaNoRebel because that was more my style and I was bored with NaNoWriMo.

Interjection: In yesterday’s post, I wrote about why I don’t date and what labels I could affix to that. It made sense when I wrote it. That’s all I can say in my defense. Back to my musings.

This year, I decided to go back to my roots precisely because I had not written in months. As the old saying goes, writing at all is better than not writing. It was time to go for the basic ‘write 50,000 words in a month’ and call it a day. I had all these ideas of what I wanted to write about with my NaNoWriMo project, but I wasn’t sure how to do it gracefully.

I had planned on doing two simultaneous projects, but now I’ve smashed it into one. A quick description of it would be mystical/surreal, murder mystery, autofiction (memoir because I like alliteration). To put it in friendly vernacular, I threw everything including the kitchen sink. Why? Because I wanted to. Also because I can. Also because why not? Wthi a healthy dose of ‘you can’t tell me what not to do’.


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Let’s talk about labels, shall we?

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I was reading an advice column for queer people, and I have to admit, I rolled my eyes a bit at all the labels the person applied to themself. Yes, I know we need heuristics in order to talk with each other (and, yes, heuristics is the word for the week. I’m seeing how many times I can cram it into my posts this week. Deal), but at least for me, there’s a limit as to how useful they are. Also, the more granular we get, the less useful the labels/groupings become.

What do I mean by that? I’ll use myself as an example as related to sexual identity. Let’s say that I identify as queer. That’s pretty broad and, sadly, has come to mean gay. I’ve fought against it for twenty years, but now, I’ve just accepted it. I don’t make the rules, but I have to follow them, begrudgingly, to a certain extent. I still call myself queer, but I have to clarify that I don’t mean gay.

Thirty years ago, I discovered that I was attracted to men and women. Yes, those two categories was what we talked about back in the day. I went through all the different available labels of the day (bisexual, pansexual, omnisexual) and decided with great reluctance that bisexual would do. I wasn’t happy about it, mind, but it was the best of the worst. Which is pretty much how I feel about most labels. The least worst rather than the best.

Then, we have to talk about sex v. love. I can sex with just about anyone I’m attracted to (or not, as it turns out. I would not suggest it, but it is possible). Sex is easy. I’m really good at that. When it comes to sex, I would say that I’m aro in that I can easily hook up without romantic feelings. In fact, I prefer that because sex is much less messy than romance. And because I have enough mental health issues that I don’t want to have a romantic relationship. Romance brings out the worst in me, and I don’t want it enough to fight that particular battle.

I explained it to my friends is this fashion. I love being alone. It’s my preferred state of being. Well, I wish Shadow was still with me, but beyond that, I don’t want a human being in my space 24/7. I have my issues; don’t we all? But I’m happy with myself overall. I like what I like, and I don’t like what I don’t like. I wear what I wear, and I eat what I eat. I mention that because there was a thread an Ask A Manager about clothing. A teacher wrote in and said that after she got home from work, she liked to change into her pajamas. Her husband, a CEO-type, came home later and while he would change into comfier clothes, he did not like that she wore her pajamas.


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Living my life as best I can

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Labels. It’s not the main thing I want to talk about, but it’s important. Why? Because as much as I’d love to be free of labels, it’s not going to happen any time soon. More importantly, as long as we live in a society that thrives on slapping labels on people. We must know who is in and who is out, musn’t we?

(Which is my issue with the Democrats hammering on the ‘weird’ meme. I get it, but I’m still not happy about it.

In my last post, I mentioned that I had some empathy for my mother when she was younger beacuse she basically was a single parent of three children (the third being my father) in a foreign country when she was in her late twenties. She worked forty hours a week (taking the bus back and forth, which was half an hour to forty-five minutes each way, depending on traffic), then came home to cook for my brother and me. My father was never home before ten p.m. because of the affairs he was having. Yes, that was the reason, and my mother barely kept it from me.

In fact, as I have mentioned, she started using me as an emotional support person when I was eleven.

She did all the chores around the house, too. Except for mowing the lawn and a few other ‘manly’ chores (like taking out the garbage). I’m sure she helped with shoveling the snow, though, because we lived in Minnesota. We got a LOT of snow.

It really wasn’t fair.

My mother worked forty-plus hours a week (plus commute), then had to do the cooking, the cleaning, the sewing, and anything else around the house. Plus, my father had all these unspoken rules that my mother (and my brother and I) had to follow. the biggest one was that no one other than my father was allowed to show any negative emotions. If I got upset, angry, or scared at all, I got yelled at.

I distintcly remember when I was a teenager, my father and I had a huge fight. I don’t remember what it was about, but it was loud and angry. On both sides. I ran to my room and slammed the door. A minute later, my father flung open the door and screamed about how I was not allowed to do that in his house.

That was the day I knew that I could never ever have an honest moment with my father. Should I have yelled at him? No. Should I have slammed the door to my room? Also, no. But I was a teenager. Acting out is a very teenaged thing to do. What he should have done, I don’t know. but acting like a more out-of-control teenager in return was not it.


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Down with gatekeeping, part four

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In the last post about gatekeeping, I went on a wild tangent about my mother and how she did not accept any part of my being so I stopped telling her anything of importance. It relates to gatekeeping because when I was in my early thirties, I finally realized that I would never be what she wanted me to be. Bear with me because this is related to gatekeeping–at least in my brain.

Every time I told her something personal about me, I expected more support than I got. Which, to be clear, was no support. Jvery major announcement I made to her was met with negativity. And, since I was a slow learner, I kept telling my mother things I really should have kept to myself.

They include: Being bi; getting my first tattoo (I have four now, including one to cover my shitty first one); losing my religion (I never reallly told my mother untilc she would not shut up about her God and I blurted out, “I don’t give a fuck about your God!” Do not recommend; not wanting children; not wanting to get married; and studying Taiji. You would think the last one would be innocuous, but she said, “That will let the devil dance on your spine.” Which sounds intriguing, btw, but I have no idea why she said that. She tried to defend it, but it made no sense at all. It hurt just like her reaction to me telling her I was bi hurt. Oh, I don’t think I said–after saying that I had always been so boy crazy, the next thing she said was, “What’s next, animals?”

By the way, I don’t understand that at all. Why is the go-to for homophobes animals? I don’t understand the logic of thinking cross-species interaction is even on the table, let alone the first thing to cross your mind–well, technically second, but still.

Nowadays, I’m not keen about the word ‘bi’, but it’s still the best of the insufficient words. The current thought behind bi is ‘people who are like me and people who aren’t’ in terms of gender. So, for me, that means agender and every other gender. I have considered and rejected pansexual, omnisexual, and anything else of that ilk. I’m a plainspoken person, though very verbose, so I like every day vernacular.

I tried to use queer for a while, but people just assume that means gay. This is is the issue with many of the labels, by the way. POC means black even though supposedly, it’s person of color. Same with BIPOC. It all means black because other colors don’t exist.


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The limits of labels

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I wanted to do a post on labels, so I looked up ‘No Labels’ to se ewhat they were up to these days. Unfortunately, they’re deciding to be assholes as usual. Basically, they are a bunch of rich people who want to rule America. So, per yooz, but without being principled enough to choose a political party. Because they would not suceeed in that party. So they took their balls to make another party. In other words, they are exceedingly egotistical people who think it should be all about them.

If you are a power-hungry asshole, just SAY you’re a power-hungry asshole. I do think that only having two political parties is bullshit. Most of my life, I’ve voted for the lesser of two evils, and it’s not great. It gives too much power to those two groups and disenfranchises many people. The solution is not to tave a bunch of gazillionaires declare themselves as de facto rulers of the land. that’s way too much like an oligarchy.

That is not the point of this post, though! I’m talking about personal labels. Back when I realized I was bi (thirty years ago), the common refrain in the queer community was to rebuff the ‘its a choice’ or ‘it’s a lifestyle’ phrasing when it came to being queer. And I get it. Straight people didn’t waake up one day and think, “Hey, I’ve decided i’m going to be straight today.” So, yeah, I was born this way to quote Lady Gaga. But. And this is the important part. I would have chosen to be this way if I had a choice in the matter. I ilke being attracted to people of all genders. Or no gender like me. I’m greedy. Why limit myself to just one? It’s broaden my horizons, and while I do see gender, it’s not the most important factor in my attraction to someone.

I didn’t like the ‘I can’t help being queer’ mentality because there was always a tinge of…negativity to it? Not negativity, exactly,  but….

Look. Let me put it this way. When I was in my later twenties, women started asking me if I had children/was plainning on having them/wanted them. I was young and naive, and I said no. Just no. Not “hell fucking no!” or “No, I don’t want them.” Just no.

I thought it was a decision that only affected me, but I was so wrong. Everyone had something to say about it, which boggled my mind. For whatever reason, the content of my womb was fair game to other women. I hadn’t got the memo, so I was gobsmacked with the outsized reactions I recieved.

Then, because I was feeling like an outcast, I looked for a book that might have stories from other women* about not wanting children. This was before the internet was as ubiquitous as it is now, so I was looking for an actual anthology. As in a book. I found one, and I was elated to get it. Imagine my disappointment when I realized that almost all the stories (and I mean all but one or two) were by women who wanted children, but chose not to have them for one reason or the other. Or who decided to not have children because of medical issues in their family.

All of them bent over backwards to say how much they loved children and how they were so disappointed not to be able to have them. More than one made sure to mention how they were aunts or had other children in their lives.


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Free to be me?

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I’ve been talking about gender a lot lately. Why? Because I don’t get it. I say this with zero snark. Every time I hear people talk about gender, I feel like I’m listening to a foreign language. Follow the way my brain works. I’m going to be as honest as I can be here. Which means that it might be uncomfortable to read.

Other people say that they feel their gender deep in their soul. That being a man or woman (in this case, the binary) is a core part of their identity. People who are nonbinary also feel this deep in their souls. I have heard so many people talk about their gender and how important it is to them.

Whenever I think about my gender, I try to concentrate on what it is, and I get–nothing. I know I’m NOT a man, but as for woman or nonbinary, I mostly just shrug and say, eh, maybe? I’ve used this analogy several times. Being called a woman is like wearing an ill-fitting raincoat. It’s going to keep the rain out, mostly, and it fits, mostly. But it’s uncomfortable, and I’m going to take it off as soon as I can with a sigh of relief.

I don’t mind if other people call me a woman or want to connect on that level (we women, we’re sisters, etc.), but it’s becasue I’ve had similar expenciees. I am coded as a woman and I look very much like a woman is expected to look. I have hair down to my hips and I’m very curvy. VERY booby. And I love my body (now). I’ve never hated my curves, even when I hated my body in general.

I’m very comfortable in my body now. In a large part because it saved me from dying. Twice. Literally. But even at my most “I loathe my body” time of my life, I never hated the boobs, pussy, hips, or ass. Well, mourned the lack of ass, but that’s different than hating my body in general. Also, I can thank Taiji for giving me an ass! Ian has confirmed (very diffidently) that I do have one now.

Other people calling me she doesn’t bother me. Being called sir on the phone (which ALWAYS happens because I have a double alto voice. About as low as possible for someone who is AFAB) does not bother me. I used to be called sir when viewed from behind because I wore a black trench coat and had very short hair (this was on campus for college), and that did not bother me, either.

To be clear, I am not a guy. But I don’t care if someone calls me sir. It doesn’t bother me, even though I don’t identify with it. I am fine (sort of) being called she/her, but I would rather not be. And I will not call myself that. Though I have by mistake.

If I had my druthers, I would just ignore gender. It doesn’t matter at all to me except as to how others treat me. That’s the biggest thing about gender for me–it causes people to view me through a certain lens. Because I’m AFAB and LOOK like a woman, that’s how I get treated.


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I don’t care…much

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Back in my twenties, there was a big discussion in the community* about emphasizing that sexual orientation was not a choice. “After all,” they said. “Straight people don’t choose to be straight.” which, true. But. And this is where my brain gets weird. I’m bisexual, for lack of a better word. Which in theory means I DO choose who I want to date/fuck. And, I prefer sex with penetration, but relationships with people without the hardware. This was back in the day of binaries, remember. I had a more simplistic idea of things.

Anyway, I do think it’s a choice to an extent or a preference. I like people of all genders, but back in the day, I prefered sex with men. I haven’t been with someone in a decade, so I’m not sure where I would stand on the subject these days. I will say that the last person  I was eying on Bumble was a woman. Bumble is sadly limited, though, gender-wise.

I have the same feeling with gender identity. I don’t have a strong affinity for any. Yes, I know I’m not a man, but other than that, I feel mostly meh about it. I can’t fully understand peolpe who are rigidly set on their gender, but I respect it. I mean, if someone says their gender is important to them, then I accept that as true. I don’t have to feel something to believe that other people feel that way.

I do wonder if there was no sexism, would I feel the same way? I think if there wasn’t abject sexism in our country, I would be fine with being a woman. Again, I don’t have much affinity for it, but I don’t have animosity, either. I just don’t…care. Much. I think I would be more comfortable with ‘woman’ if it wasn’t so laden with bullshit and impossible expectations.

Story of my life, really. I wouldn’t care so much if not for the gross implications. “A woman is what you want it to be”. Except if you don’t like ANYTHING earmarked as traditionally feminine. This is where I get stuck with people who feel a deep affinity to their gender. I don’t know how to ask without it sounding snarky, condescending, or nasty: Why do you care about your gender? I certainly would not ask someone who is trans because that would be beyond insensitivity.

I really don’t get it, though. It’s not genitalia. But then people with misaligned genitalia can feel body dysphoria. I get both those statements, but not together. And, granted, it’s usually one or the other, but it can be both. That’s what I don’t get. I don’t have to get it, I know, but I would like to when it comes to me.

I like my body. I fucking LOVE my body now. It took a licking and kept on ticking. I like my boobs and my pussy, my thigh-length hair, and all my curves. I love the soft folds of my flesh, and I love that I look the way I do.


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Compassion and reciprocity

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For most of my life, I have been resigned to being ignored. I live in the in-between because I am not one of the two dominant groups in any category. I am Asian–not black or white. I am bi–not gay or straight. More recently, I am areligious–not a believer or an atheist. And, sigh, finally, I am agender, not man nor woman. Oh, and also not cis or trans. By the way, I have never related to cis–even when I reluctantly accepted the label ‘woman’.

I am resigned to the fact that I don’t fit anywhere. I will also say that while I’m a creative person, I don’t live that lifestyle. I don’t drink or do drugs, and  Idon’t want to be around people who do. There are times, though, that I just snap (internally) at a situation in which I normally would try to be compassionate. Why? Because I feel as if I’m always asked to be the one with empathy and I don’t get the same courtesy in response. Nobody gives a shit about Asian people, for example. It never comes up when racism is talked about. It’s currently Asian-Pacific Islander month, and no one gives a shit about that.

As a result, I have a slight chip on my shoulder when I hear calls for empathy. Where is my empathy, I ask? I have eaten a lot of shit on identity issues because I don’t want to make waves/others have it worse/I don’t care THAT much. But, the cumulative effect is wearying.

I try to be respectful of other people, and it bothers me when I don’t get that respect in return. Like when gender/pronoun issues are brought up. The current way of thinking is to offer pronouns and encourage others to do the same. Which I’m fine with. It crosses the line for me when it’s required. Some people are questioning and others of us don’t want pronouns. I don’t like any of them. My Taiji teacher asked if I wanted to use a neopronoun. Nope. Don’t like those, either. I don’t want any, which makes things much more difficult. I acknowledge that. The way we speak English is predicated on pronouns. I accept that and am resigned to the fact that people will use some really awkward sentences for me if they need to avoid pronouns. Someone on the Ask A Manager website explained that those of us who identified as agender and did not want to use pronouns knew that people were going to make awkward statements. That was a tradeoff we were willing to take. Which I agree is true.

But, here’s the thing for me. I try to be empathetic most of the time. I think about others and how they might be feeling. I don’t feel I get the same respect in return, so I’m not happy about being asked to do even more. I recognize that’s a me-thing, but at some point, there has to be reciprocity. If someone is asking me to be thoughtful of their identity, then they need to be respcetful of mine as well.

I’m tired of feeling it’s a one-way street. That I have to be endlessly understanding whereas I don’t deserve it in response. I know that’s partly my upbringing and partly my training as an emotional support person, but I do have a breaking point.

I have said for quite some time that you can be both a minority and an asshole. They are not mutually exclusive. And while I respect people’s identities, that does not mean that they are good people. I think there needs to be a line drawn somewhere. I’m not sure where or how, but we have to have a discussion about respecting people’s identities but acknowledging that they can still be assholes.

For example. Caitlin Jenner. I respect that  she is a woman. However, she is a shitty woman who wants to deny other women their rights. That’s shitty.


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