the Detachable Pussy

I love wanda sykes, except when she gets into her islamophobia, anti-Muslim, American chauvinsim diatribes.
she needs a lesson in Malcom X pan-Africanism and Black Power.

that said, I love love love this skit: The Detachable Pussy.

watching it earlier this year reminded me of my early consciousness of my body.

my first inkling and knowledge of my sexual organs came not from joy, or knowledge of their pleasure, but from the what had been drummed into me from a young age, that they would be taken away from me, without my permission.

age 10, my first awareness of women's particular oppression as a group, came from my knowledge of comfort women and the history of japanese militarism and rape in southeast asia, rape as ethnic genocide, rape as torture. so much so i would rehearse this scenario in my mind, where i would be forced to choose between being raped and not snitching, or snitching to rescue my pussy, and my body, and betraying my people.

now, i realize it was a false choice to begin with. women never not get raped in war. women never have a choice under a patriarchal militaristic invasion.

but i rehearsed this choice in my head every time i watched these 9pm drama series, which ended promptly at 10pm, so i could be tucked nicely into bed, ready for school the next day. ready to belt out our national anthem at 7.20am sharp with my other country mates.

"i will accept rape, and survive rape before i will ever let the japanese military murder my people."

this was often what i told myself, echoing the messages these nationalist dramas conveyed.

but the nation betrayed me.

it never sought my liberation. in nationalist feminist drama, the woman always dies. the woman always becomes a martyr, leaving the good sturdy men to continue the legacy of the nation.

i dont wanna be a martyr. i want to be a survivor and a builder. there is no long-term process of learning, growth, challenges in sensationalized grand moments of martyrdom and sacrifice. i want to live to learn, to build relationships, to endure and pick myself up after the fall, not die grandly to be part of a forgotten memory. i want my liberation to be part of all of our liberations. i dont want to sacrifice. enough of that self-negating bullshit.

i dont want to be loyal for the sake of an image of the preservation of "my people," "my nation," especially not when they dont reciprocate the love and trust.

this post is a little abstract.a lot of stuff is happening in my life these days. i am trying to externalize, not internalize and let pain, anger and suffering monopolize my mental space. i want to be free as i struggle, i want to save room and make space for self-transformation as i struggle, not let past pains, betrayals and anger engulf me, capture me, suffocate me, so much so that i can't grasp and appreciate the beauty of the invading socialist society i feel i experience everyday at work.

i dont know how or why, but these were some of the feelings that came to me when i first watched wanda syke's skit.

if you feel comfortable sharing, i wanna know what came up for you too.

enjoy: