Thursday, December 2, 2010

my pussy is not for you to maim, or claim. it belongs to me.

the past week, i could not stop thinking about gender, sexuality and me. i have been meaning to write about this in a more coherent way, but can't manage. i am sick of confessionals -- women, queers, transfolks, people of color, being expected to write out their heart, rewind back to past traumas, pains, and survival, just to make a point to an injurious, hurtful world. to say to this world that no, actually you did get it wrong and here's why. to claim, and reclaim my voice is important. but some things i want to forget and start anew on. some things i dont want to keep reliving cos they are painful. i am tired of flashbacks because each flashback actually brings me back and it's taken so long to forgive myself for hurting myself and allowing others to hurt me. so dear world, why do you insist on digging through years of scab, scraping dead skin, exposing these wounds, just to have them be raw, raw, raw to the elements?

last week i hung out with folks who once, had been a part of my community. they were a part of a community that i built with trusted friends. it was not an explicitly political community, deliberately so cos we shared many different politics, but it was a somewhat safe space. we relived immigrant experiences, family drama, and nostalgia for our pasts, miles and years away. we were a bunch of queers, lesbians and straight folks who laughed together, watched movies together, and got drunk and high together.

but since then 2 precious people in my life, with whom i shared this community, have left the city to pursue new dreams. what i did not know, was that the safety and joy i felt in this community we built together, left with them.

last week i hung out w some friends, and got introduced in an abrupt way, to the stockholm syndrome.

the stockholm syndrome refers to a psychological phenomenon where hostages (people who are oppressed) begin to identify with their kidnapper (the oppressor) and defends them. there is a lot of psychoanalysis on these hostages loss of their sense of self, becoming "protectionist" so to speak, of their oppressors.

K., who used to identify as queer but is now presumably a lesbian separatist, asked me;
K: How is your relationship with M going?
Me: Very good. I have been going through a hard time and he's been very supportive.
K: Have you heard of the Stockholm Syndrome?
Me: No, what is it?
K: You should read it. It explains a lot of things in all our lives.
                                                                 *M is my partner. He is cis male.
Seriously?

In addition to this, there was a whole lot of sarcasm and disdain of queers -- like: who would want to identify as a "bi-dyke? that's just weird!" or, "there are a lot of those queers around," followed by sniggers and laughter.

The totality of my experiences around gender identity and sexuality, of me coming to my own in my skin, of being born "woman" but not being of "Woman" in this patriarchal, gender-binaried society, of not knowing what to do with myself, with my body, in those angst-y teenage years when puberty seemed to pass me by, when i walked into stores with friends not knowing what to do cos those styles dont fit, neither do those sizes, of me struggling with being in love with a woman, almost stalking her, calling her, writing love notes to her and being told everyday that i would get over it but then even 3 years after that as a teenager, still wondering what this "phase" meant, of me wanting more but fearing where this 'more' would take me, of me coming out to myself on a plane-ride home, admitting to myself that those moments when i massaged her with thumb kneading into skin, those moments were love moments, desire-moments; and me coming to terms with love, that my loves do not fit into labels and boxes, that my love for this cisboy doesnt make me less, or more. it's just love that reciprocates, that is honest, that is desire, that is bodily and expansive, that is growth, that doesnt force me to deny the other loves and desires in my life. this is me. me, who is neither of the males, or of the females. me,  who is queer not because i wanna claim your lesbian experience, but because there is no other term that makes sense for me, no other term that lets the edges of me stick out of boxes, quirky but not awkward. just me. You call me, and my trials, my tribulations, a fucking "stockholm syndrome?"

who, the fuck, are you?

today, i have a pussy. i love the sensations i get through this body organ. but, i dont particularly identify with this organ. i definitely dont detest it! but neither am i absolutely crazy over it. it is not central to my gender expression, to my daily living. it is a bodily organ to me that brings me a lot of joy, and allows me to share with my lover. at other times, it prompts me to reflect and question myself cos it shuts down, for good reasons. and for a long time, witnessing and experiencing domestic violence made me think pussy-love=vulnerability=beatings/anger/violence and for a long time, this organ was not of reach, out of touch, out of sync. but today, i found myself and can reach deep down with less fear.

you, lesbian separatist, wants to tell me that you know where my pussy should be, more than i do.

i am sick of people politicizing my body, objectifying it like they know more than me how it should look like, which way it should be penetrated, which race it should breed.

whether they are nationalists, lesbian separatists, patriarchal men or transphobic shitheads. this is it:

get off me.
let me be me.
today i have a pussy, and maybe tomorrow i wont.
and you know what? i dont feel particularly distressed about this uncertainty.
neither should you.

2 comments:

  1. Oh my god lefty condescension is insufferable! My sympathies, for real. Stockolm Syndrome, what a jerk. Ugh.
    take care,
    Nate

    ReplyDelete
  2. ah i miss you. i feel your anger and pain deeply.

    ReplyDelete