This entry deserves its own category. Scandalous. All the taboo thoughts that I have and never dare to speak about, and especially not write about, because that would be admitting that I’m not asexual - which I’m afraid might be true. But really now, what is the point of this journal I keep pretending that certain aspects of my life don’t exist? Kids much younger than I are thinking about it, writing about it… so here’s my attempt to clear some space in my already over-stuffed head. By neatly shelving all thoughts that are potentially naughty and scandalous in a tidy little category. (If you’re new to this journal - welcome. And a caveat.. don’t expect long, steamy erotica - it’s amazing that I’m even writing the three-letter-word here.. heh. baby steps.)

Achilles and I were talking last night about something - I don’t remember what. But something he said really stuck with me. He said that when it comes to achievement, there are two fears. Fear of failure, and fear of success. When it comes to relationships, men, sex and sex appeal - I’m not really sure which kind of fear I have. I just know that it’s there.

If every little girl is a rosebud waiting to flower, then I would be the one that tried to spray paint the petals black, or dip myself in acrylic or some other haphazard scheme to remain closed off to the world. I’m really imbalanced in that way when it comes to personal growth. I can handle myself just fine in a boardroom, in front of journalists and CEO’s. I can rattle off more about geo-politics and finance than is probably healthy, but ask me about boundaries and relationships (in spite of impressions) I’m really clueless.

I got home ten minutes ago. I live in a seedy part of Brooklyn (and am looking to move out) where I am literally, the only Asian girl in a 10-mile radius. I get called “China doll” every single day that I’ve been here, among other things, and would love to walk down the block swinging my sword, but somehow.. I don’t think that’s going to help things.

I don’t understand men. Why is it, that the minute you turn 16, 18, or 21 (depends on where you are, and how old you look, I guess) men who are older than you suddenly find it acceptable to hit on you? A few months or a year or two previously, they would feel shame. Do they think (and perhaps, is it true) that every woman when she becomes of age, turns this attention into confidence boosters? I know a lot of women enjoy it. Then why do I feel this sense of outright fear, disgust and that I want to take a shower? How come instead of confidence, I feel cheapened?

Hollywood makes these scenarios seem like every high school dork’s dream. I was the most awkward, geeky, and socially inept kid in middle school. I improved a bit in high school, but it still wasn’t much better. But in a strange way, I loved it. I liked knowing that when a guy paid attention to me, it wasn’t because of my looks (couldn’t have been. Believe me.) I liked that I was well known for being quick-witted, and formidable in debate. I liked knowing that my peers respected me as one of the “smart kids” and that when I told people what I wanted to do with my life, they believed that I could do it, and do it well. Somehow this whole sex thing seemed to detract from the point. Or maybe I just liked to envision the playing field as a fair one. Equality all around. Beauty (or lack of it) didn’t matter - it’s what you did with yourself. School also perpetuated that. You passed an exam because you were competent - not because you were acne-free.

Somewhere in between, things changed. Whether I finally just grew out of the Calvin and Hobbes t-shirts and jeans (aka: “the uniform”) At first, i thought it was just being abroad. Italians are notorious, right? But then it seemed like everyone was changing. Friends that I’d known for ages (and hadn’t seen in a while), and stuff that only happens in movies - wolf-whistles, cat calls.. free drinks and food(!?!?!?) The first few times it happened, I had no idea what was going on - I kept insisting to pay the bartender, the cashier guy at Pret, Willy at the deli.. the cab driver.. When I caught on, I wasn’t sure whether I felt cheap, manipulative, or disbelief. To me, things hadn’t changed - not one bit. I still run around without a stitch of make up. I forget to brush my hair, and it’s usually in a ponytail. I don’t walk properly but with an odd bounce (ballet at 3 years.. never learned to walk properly) and typical of most Asians.. my eyes disappear when I smile or laugh (go ahead.. make fun of me. I dare you. :P)

I think part of me has always admired movie stars, and models - for their confidence. Even the skanky ones.. it still takes guts to plaster your image on a billboard or magazine. I’m a little awe-struck at women who are comfortable within their sexuality, and can confidently manage their sex appeal, understanding the full breadth of its influence.

Truth is, I’m not the awkward, gangly kid that I think I still am. My personality and interests have grown as my fishbowl has gotten bigger. Most people (nowadays.. heh) tell me that I’m warm, friendly and open and easy to talk to. I’d like to think so. I have a bit more fashion sense now, to know that sketchers don’t really go with everything, and wear heels on a regular basis and am comfortable (especially with the added height!) But the truth is, I’m still bewildered of the biggest and most obvious part about being Verity, age twenty-one. A female.