Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Day 18 – the person that you wish you could be

Future me,

You've changed so much, varied so much, I don't really know what you look like now.
I got to try so many of them, but they were allvery flat and one-dimensional, wth very little understanding of the depth me. 

housewife - check
property - check
grrl - check
mac artist - check
boi - check
scholar - check
teacher - check
devout xtian - check
radical atheist - check
sick/disabled person - check

I tried to hard to be these things, and the messiness of the rest of "me" kept spilling out.  Kind of the way that when one cleans one's house there's all those extraneous, unquantifiable things, that have no place, but can't be goodwilled or thrown out. They just  keep showing up and getting piled around:
wristwarmers: are they accessories or mittens
hoodies: jackets or sweaters
sleeping bags: camping or blankets
the parts for the scanner
extra headphones
a spare flowerpot
some soil
that card i wanted to keep to call that guy
some things i wanted to send my cousin
the travel cosmetics bag

I want to offer you a framework to be all these messy things, to flow outside the space defined, define new space, close off old space, and change and grow as need be without feeling like there is a need to fit into anything.

I'm aiming there.  It's part of why I'm blank in terms of fashion right now. I have the long hair because it feels wrong to cut it. That's all. It's no statement. The other default option is bald - shave it off. I just know I'm going to want it long again - and the in-between parts are so much horror - the military cuts aren't bad, but I've had enough bobs, and I could do without another puff-head phase.

I hope you're happy when I'm finished being in this chrysalis. It's been a safe place, but it's getting kind of small.

-me

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Day 17 – someone from your childhood

A,

You blamed me. For being molested by your brother. For being sexually precocious when I was, in fact only curious. Heaped on me the rage and shame and anger that I can only presume you felt about your own daughter's sexual activity.

I know you were a friend of my mother's, and she left me with you when she was feeling overwhelmed.  Being trapped and then interrogated by you, until I invented stories of sexual sins sufficient to satisfy the fevered imaginings of you and your husband was a regular part of my life, and I do not remember much from that time beyond perplexity, guilt, shame, and fear.

Why you felt a need to terrorize me was, and is, unknown.

In the story of my life, there is much that is incomprehensible.  Being held hostage by evangelicals while forced to confess to sexual depravities when I had never done so much as kiss a boy is one of the more difficult ones to explain.

I wished you dead for many years.  Dreamed it. Hoped it. Prayed it when I still held to a belief in god.

You saw nothing wrong, still do not, I imagine.  I pity your children. And your grandchildren. Can only imagine the shame and fear and self-hate that you passed on to them. 

L.

Friday, October 07, 2011

Personal Intersectionality

I identify myself as Estonian, or Finno-Ugric, or a member of the Baltic diaspora.  I haven't often identified myself as mixed-race, or especially as black, or Jamaican, moreso as "my father is from Jamaica".  Or "I am Estonian/Jamiacan".

It's a strange thing, realizing that I have conveniently forgotten this half of my identity, in the same way that so many people of my community "forget" that portion of my identity in the way that they see me.  It's not difficult to do. 

I look white. Not perfectly white, the way that most Estos are, with their blonde hair and blue eyes, but euro-white, certainly, maybe Med?

People do ask, not so much anymore, but they used to:
Where are you from?
Are you Greek/Spanish/Portuguese/Native/South American/Mexican?

You're not black.
You're lucky you don't look black, don't have the nose, the hair, etc...

I do have fine, dark, wavy hair, unlike anyone else in my Mom's family, all of whom have fine light brown or blonde hair.

My half-sisters have slightly darker skin than me, but they look like me, and we all look a lot more like the indigenous people of Jamaica than like African people.

Last week I went to a film showing here of Reel Injun.  It's a great movie. Go see it. Seriously, go see it!  But, afterwards, the director of our Indigenous studies department and I got to talking, as I wanted to ask him about some interesting comments he had made:
An idea about the creator having given to Europeans the gift of travelling to places outside of their lands.  I can't wait to read the work it's from.  But, we were talking, and I was talking about the difficulties I was having resolving my Western way of thinking and approaching academic thought with Indigenous knowledge, and my inherent understanding of that, which for me connects to something outside of an educational context. 

His response was to ask me about my background, and to inquire about where in Jamaica my father was from, and whether I had heard of Carib Indians? 

I had, tangentially, but never as anything connected to me.  The idea has been making my head fall apart for a few days now, and I am still not really ready to fully connect with it. 

I feel like an impostor.  Much as I always have when confronted with issues of racialization in my life.  I have functioned as white, and been situated as white, with the only realization of difference being the "othering" behaviours that happen when people notice things that have to be explained away - Random frizzy hairs that sprout suddenly after a bath; my propensity to tan and not burn; the fact that I don't look like other Estos; my slightly darker skin.

Before all this I went through an experiment in oiling my hair. It felt amazing. It was curly, and shiny, and hung perfectly, except that it was taking effort to get it right, and white friends and relatives told me it was "oily" and felt nasty.

I just have to find out how to get it right.  I'm sure there's a balance.  Now it's dry and terrible.

Identity politics, racialization, hair, all this stuff goes together.

Day 16 – someone that’s not in your state/country

R,

We haven't talked in 18 years almost.  I have no idea what you're doing.  I wrote you the other day on 'the face'.  I hope you write back.  I hope you are well, and happy.  It sounds like you are somewhere nice at least. 

I feel like I am maybe settling into who I am supposed to be, which is a strange thing to be accomplishing at 38, but I'm glad to be here, and I'm happy.

I missed such a lot of your life.  So much seemed unreal to me, and because of the relatedness to D, I let my anger at him get in the way of getting to know you. I'm sorry for that.  I could have been someone useful to you, and I wasn't.

All the best,

me

Day 15 – the person you miss the most

M,

We talk a lot, but it's not enough, and I miss you.  The companionable silences, getting to hang out, and be around, getting to just do stuff together.  I'd like to live near you again someday, so that it's not so hard.  Skype isn't something I can just call you up and knit at you on, yanno?

I'd like to be able to go for coffee, or come round and see the kids, or take them somewhere.  I miss that easy familiarity of being nearby.  I've missed a big pile of your life, because of being broken, and from being crazy, not that that's going to change much, but healing is something that changes, right?

It was so nice to see you this summer.  I have missed you. I'm glad to be around you again, and I'm looking forward to more time like that. 

Love you,

me.