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You can't really see it but secretly, there are flaws within the design. Tiny fissures underneath the glaze, unnoticeable to the untrained eye, but structurally I am fragile, and the under strategic pressure, I will unfailingly break.
It is the unfinished porcelin – taken too early out of the kiln. Fired just long enough for the high-gloss sheen, but not long enough to gain the truth strength of fine china. I have the apperance of togetherness, but none of the actual properties that set porcelin apart from stoneware.
And my one fatal flaw? The decision of a man, whoe eleven years ago decided to walk away. For the longest time, I failed to see how his actions affected mine. Biology or otherwise, each choses his own path. Except in my interaction, I can see the patterns. My need for a fatherly figure, which leaves me vulnerable to sacrifices – anything to maintain the bonds formed that are in reality, a shoddy imitation of parent and child. And though to the untrained eye, the surface is beautiful and strong – it is preciesly to the trained eye – that I am so vulnerable to. The experts, who see each crack and crevice and can exploit it to their own ends. And I, in my naievity and desperation – pretend that I am the real deal – true china – that can withstand blow after blow.
But who am I kidding? I am the mug at a fine tea party. Masqurading along with the beautiful and strong. Pretending that I can withstand more than I really can. Pretending always – to be more than I really am.
In the past two years, I've learned some difficult lessons. A combination of growing up a severe tomboy without much guidance on womanhood has left me floundering and trying to figure out the fundamental tango that goes on between men and women. And especially – how to dance the dance in a manner that demands respect – without being a killjoy.
Perhaps it is human nature to err on the side of caution. Some would rather be publically known as a prude - than deal with the complex subtleties and inuendos of relationships in the 21st century. For others, the fear is in being labled a prude – and so, swing on the other end of the spectrum.
For years, I've played the holier-than-thou role. Simply safer to adhere to a strict guideline of moral code and behavior – than master nuance and subtlety. Better to be known as prudish and idealistic, than hardened and wanton. Better to be safe than sorry.
Perhaps the difference is college. And New York. And being in a relationship. Perhaps it is the first-hand experience, the knowledge of having ventured off the moral high ground – and found a comfortable plateau not so far away. Perhaps it is the culmination of so many experiences that makes me brave enough to want to learn the skills to be womanly – to be able to balance worldliness with moral fiber. In short, to have – grace.
While I try to avoid over-sweeping generalizations, I have come to accept that there are hard truths (at least, true for the present conditions.) The process of me writing them in here – is not so much to crystalize or codify them as a concrete set of principles – so much as a dialogue with mysef, as I try to figure out how to grow up and mature as a lady.
1. You will only attain the level of respect that you demand – including what you demand of yourself.
2. No matter what "the guy" (or anyone you have a relationship with) says, it's you who sets the standards.
By that, it includes everything from what is appropriate to touch, or to teasing and joking about. Until standards are mutually respected, you're not going to get anywhere.
3. Reputation is important. But the only way to really safeguard it is not to do stupid stuff – rather than preventing people from finding out.
4. Once you set a standard, you can't back down. You can't expect someone else to uphold the rules you set – unfortunately, you're going to be the one policing them.
5. Don't assume all men are gentlemen. Let them bloody earn that title.
6. To a guy, age doesn't matter. Even though it could be the farthest thing in your mind, paternal or fraternal relationships can easily go to being lecherous and have entirely different intentions. "Platonic" means a variety of things in different vocabularies.
7. Don't feel obligated to return phone calls, text messages, or emails. Sometimes silence can be your best means of communicating a message – when used effectively.
8. Take yourself seriously – but not so serious that you forget to have fun, and enjoy being who you are.
I missed the bus but walked to work this morning. Winter has finally broke, and in the north east, we are having the most gorgeous weather. And not just "oh, that's nice" weather – I mean the stuff The Carpenters would write songs about. Skirt-wearing, skipping-down-the-street, "celestial blue skies" – weather.
I walked up to a little breakfast cart to get a snapple – and this head pops out greeting me with "Good morning my beautiful sunshine. What can I do for you today?"
Sometimes being in New York City is so freakin' awesome.
Seems to be something that I continually wrestle with. It's not that I have an unhealthy self image. On the contrary, I really don't spend a whole lot of time fretting about myself – either physical looks or emotionally. In the past few years, I've become a lot more easy-going, happy-go-lucky and on the whole, a heck of a lot more competant.
Instead what I've noticed – is my self-image is simply, outdated. Perhaps it's the way I had perceptions reinforced during high school, or maybe because there were certain things I never though I could have – and therefore, a person I could not ultimately be – that has shaped the way I see the world and my place in it.
So instead, I find myself at 21, completely bewildered by how people are reacting to me. It's like I woke up, and over night, the world ceased to be platonic. Fatherly figures can just as easily become leacherous old men, brother-like friendships can easily be attraction under disguise. Nothing is really simple, or face-value any more. Every relationship needs to be carefully managed – and watched with a weary smile – because no matter what they say, you have to stick to your gut instinct.
The strange thing is – I shouldn't even be complaining. How many girls actually worry about being dealt a favorable hand? What's worse – to forever want to be found attractive, or to be the ugly duckling grown up, and without a clue?
What concerns me isn't so much as whether I'm attractive or not – but simply how terribly naieve I am in situations. I've never thought of myself as ditzy, silly – anything other than sharp and a keen observer. Now I just feel like some pee-wee in the major league and everyone knows just what's coming, except me.
A man I respect and look up to today told me that I have great legs. No one has ever said that to me before. Of course, naturally – being me, my first thought was "now what the heck were you doing looking at those?" He laughed and seeing the perplex-distress on my face – told me to relax and to enjoy it. Enjoy the cards that fate has dealt me, rather than wondering what to do and whether I was deserving.
Growing up, I never was comfortable being female. I looked at periods, cramps, and pregnancy as the blight on my many ambitions. I was told that being female had its advantages (to my knowledge, there are only 3 biological reasons in favor of females, and they are shoddy at best.) But I think I'm begining to discover them. On our way back from Cuba, Melissa and I joked that we "flirted" our way back (through the borders). And perhaps to a certain respect, we did. The reality is, there are advantages to being 21, and female – the problem is, I'm a little uneasy with the advantages.
And so, the tension continues. My seemingly never unending struggle to understand what it means for me to be a female in the 21st century, and to be idealistic (and perhaps, a little old-fashioned) and worldly. Heh. And you thought the teenage-agnst was over.
Dawn in Havana,
Cuba is a land of passion, dance and brazen beauty. Visiting is like stepping back in time, and you’re never quite sure what to make of it.
It’s been about a month since Diary-X failed and I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that it’s gone. Not to say I’ve been in mourning, so much as the compulsion to write has finally overcome the exhaustion of having to start yet again from scratch.
And yet so much has happened that I am hardly able to come to terms with it. This time last year, I was (not to sound melodramatic) but lost, alone and wondering what would happen. Not even a year later, I’m working two jobs, involved on-campus in two awesome clubs. I’ve traveled to Laos and Cuba. I will be in Asia working as an analyst for the head of Economic Strategy in a huge corporation, and have plans to travel to the Philippines. Today I was accepted in the the Order of Omega, an international honor society. I’m being considered for an AST scholarship (fingers crossed!) I’m not quite sure how these things happen to me, but I hope they don’t stop.
Sometimes, it’s just good to be alive. I guess too good to leave unwritten.
