"I was born a woman" - piece on Feminism

Written in June 2005.

I Was Born a Woman

I didn’t get into Feminism. There is no real moment in my life that I can say “that’s when I became a feminist”. I was born into it.

I was born a woman. I was going to be either a boy or a girl and I pulled the girl straw. No choice, no plan, no nothing. So there you go, you accept it and you live with it and you learn to be happy with what you’ve got. I never wished I were a boy. I never even dreamt about being a boy. I never wondered what it would be like to live as a boy for a day. I’m pure woman and I love it. Not only that, I’m damn proud to be a woman.

Feminism is not about being superior, or better, or worse. It’s not a closed discussion about how women are fighting against men. We all share this world, and it’s up to us to accept the fact that we are all different, to accept that everybody has different bodies, minds, faces and opinions. Feminism is about being a woman and being proud of whom you are. All humans are equal. It’s up to each and every one of us to fight for the consistency of this equality.

I can’t say how I “got into Feminism”. It’s always been a part of me. From a very early age both my mother and my father instilled deep in my heart the need to stand up for my rights and for my thoughts. Strong women constantly surrounded me. My whole family is full of strong women. We have not had it easy, but we have always managed to get over every mountain, build bridges over every river and make the most of every straight path. So I think it is right to say that I was born into a feminist family and make every effort to continue this line.

For me Feminism is not about ranting about how women are so much better than men, about how we should rule the world and about how we should stomp out men and male dominance.

No. Feminism is what you want it to be. In my opinion Feminism is regarded too often as something pejorative, and this is because of the way it is portrayed. Annoyingly, Feminism is looked down upon and challenged while, even today, male chauvinism is still accepted and seen as normal. This doesn’t mean that we are supposed to jump up and call all men pigs, but it means that it is up to us women to prove that we are not trying to show that we are better, but that we are trying to prove we are equal and therefore should have equal rights everywhere. We can get rid of the acceptance of chauvinism in society and move on to a new, more equal world where women don’t have to constantly fight.

Apart from the close female figures in my life; my grandmother who bought up her first three children on her own during the Second World War, who outlived her four husbands and still lives to tell her tales today; my mother who battled violent and addicted men and who has always been a role model and who shows everyone that they can accomplish anything in life; I also have a special woman in my life. She’s been by my side since I first came across her on my tenth birthday. I have never met her, but she has been a constant influence. Her name is Marge Piercy and she is a feminist and political poet and novelist. Her characters are always strong and rounded, but not without flaws. Real women who have to deal with the struggles of everyday life, who sometimes make the right choice, sometimes the wrong one, but they never let society pull them down. Whenever I feel that it is all getting too much, I pick up one of Marge Piercy’s writings and she helps me believe in myself again. We all have our own demons; it’s up to us to choose whether to fight or to flee.

We women have to deal with so much, learning to accept who we are and why we are, accepting our bodies, our wants and our needs, and learning to understand that although what we want might often be frowned upon, there is no need to not go out there and get it.

Feminism is all about being a woman and fighting for it. You want to have sex, have sex. You don’t want to sleep around? Then don’t! You want to have a career? Have one! You want to be a housewife, and stay at home to bring up your kids? Then do just that! We have to choose what is right for us, without letting pre-assigned unwritten and ancient social “laws” bring you down.

Feminism is not about fighting men, but about fighting for what’s right for YOU. This is what Feminism is to me. Being a woman is a right, and it’s up to us to make the most out of it.

We only live once, why not make the best of it, and be able to live to tell the tale to the next generations.

Be strong and be real. And never keep your mouth shut. Because once you have said it out loud someone is going to hear.

Rotten peaches and houseguests from hell

When you live in NYC you get used to people visiting. You also say that every time a visitor leaves you will never have another one again (except for a few who are always welcome back (Charlotte, Lynn, Bela, Nico). And then you forget and let someone else come. Until you get the real houseguest from hell, and that changes it all...

NYC is a prime tourist location and hotel rooms are expensive. This is why most tourists only come for a few days at a time. Or they sublet apartments/rooms found via Craigslist for a set per-night rate. Or if you are very very lucky you can sleep on a friend's couch for a few nights for free. Most New Yorkers are clear with their guests that apartments are small and if they are visiting they must respect the space. That means, don't make a mess, don't expect your host to figure out every moment of your stay for you and most of all, offer to help out with groceries, maybe throw some money towards a bill or two... I mean always treat others as you would like to be treated yourself. If you are generous enough to let me stay on your couch while I am visiting your city, then I will at least stock up your fridge with things YOU like to eat.

I was kind of dreading this one already and should have just gone with my gut feeling. Hadn't seen this guy for over 10 years, he reconnected via FB and we had a nice email discussion going. Then he got a little strange, maybe too personal, and I just stopped corresponding for a while. We got back in touch again, and he mentioned that he would like to come to NYC for a few days before going back to work work at the beginning of Sept, and asked if I would be able to lend him my couch. I said OK, glanced at the dates (glanced being the main word) and waited for him to get here. My roommate is out of town til the end of the month, and even said he could have her room, which is a major plus point. His own room!

Move forward to the day of arrival... I realised that the dates he had sent me equated to THIRTEEN days. I immediately started to invent different scenarios in my head...
1). Do I have any female friends who will fall madly in love with him and who he can stay with? (No)
2). Can I be the uber bitch from hell so he changes his flight to an earlier return date? (I tried, but felt bad).
3). Maybe he will miss his flight and not make it out of France?
4). Maybe Immigration won't let him in and will send him back to France??

To no avail. Houseguest made it safe and sound.
Turns out he speaks about 2 words of English.
Turns out he assumed I would organise his holiday for him.
Turns out he's an arrogant, narrow-minded guy who tends to think women are not as smart as him.
Turns out he assumed I would translate all conversations I had with my friends so he could understand them.
Turns out he thought it's normal that he could openly judge the life I live and even tell me how I should live it.

He bought some groceries, but only things HE liked. Never once asked me what I would like to eat, and if he offered me something and I said "No thanks", responded with "you don't like ANYTHING". Well you wouldn't say that if you had actually asked what I DID like.
Every time we had a conversation about something he belittled my arguments and wouldn't listen. Thing is, I hate being wrong when I know I'm right, and also have a major problem with arrogance and assholes, so I won't let things slide.
Last night he put Guns n Roses on. I said I hated GnR (not entirely true, but I was more in the mood for Tom Waits). Guess what he did?! PUT IT ON LOUDER.
I can't have people from my youth coming into my life and making me feel like shit. I like myself, I like my life and I am living it the way I feel is right for me.

This morning I cleaned the kitchen and found a rotten peach in the fruit bowl. I asked him if he was planning on eating rotten peaches, and he responded "No, do YOU eat rotten fruit Jade?". I tell you, he nearly got the rotten peach thrown at him, full force. No, I don't eat rotten fruit, I was just cleaning your effing mess up douchebag.

There are other things that I just don't have the space to mention. But I cannot wait to have my whole apartment to myself again.

Thankfully he leaves tonight. He will never be invited back again. NEVER.

If you are a guest in someone's home, please always treat it with respect. And don't forget - you are entering someone else's life, they are not on holiday like you. Please respect that.

Of natural disasters and changes in life... Part 2

I'm going to preface this by saying the following: I am NOT saying that Hurricane Irene was a non-event, or not assuming that a lot of damage occurred and people were hurt. Nobody wants to wish any type of devastation on anyone.

However, Irene was a little bit of a disappointment to a lot of New Yorkers. There we were bracing for a hurricane to hit is full blast, and it didn't really happen. A lot of heavy rain and wind, but that was it really. Maybe the media blew it up, or maybe Mother Nature decided to spare us this time... We will never know, but I do know now, that if we ever have a situation like this again, the city is more than prepared to handle it.
We were all stocked up with food, batteries, candles, water and books, but in the end we didn't really need it. I now have enough ziplock bags with ice cubes to last me a long time!
I have a strange attraction to violent weather, and I know I am not alone in feeling this way. Strong winds resemble what I feel freedom should really feel like... If you get my drift.

And referring to freedom, well, I have done something that I have been threatening to do for years. For the past six years my entire life has revolved around one main centre, and I am leaving this centre, for the unknown. I am doing it in a very abrupt, and maybe not very professional fashion, but after a lot of very long thinking sessions, including conversations with those closest to me, it's the only way. It would be too hard for me to say "NO" if I am confronted with a question about my decision, so I chose the silent way out. All I have to say is that I hope that whoever is left with finishing off anything I started doesn't hate me too much, or at least understand why.

I don't think I need explain my actions any further - but I think that this is the only way I can feel free again - and there is only one reason why I was feeling trapped here. It's a huge change and this is going to make a lot of things different moving forward.

I'm excited and completely terrified.

This song used to describe the way I felt every day - now I am making the change:

Of natural disasters and changes in life... Part 1

It's been a few months of many thoughts and ideas, sleepless nights and tossing and turning. And finally, of seemingly impulsive, but actually well thought-out decisions. More about that another time, as the thought of it all is making my stomach churn slightly, and I don't want to put anything in writing until it is done.
Moving back to what I initially wanted to write about... Change. Around this time ten years ago I was waiting to start my MA courses, looking for a thesis idea or 10, loving my apartment, my life, my friends and my teaching/tutoring job. And then 9/11 happened. One day I was going about my daily activities, and the next I was watching 2 planes fly straight into the World Trade Center towers, and subsequently see them fall to the ground, into a cloud of dust, with my own eyes. As we all know this triggered off a set of major events in the world, most of which are still going on today, with no real positive outcome in sight. At the same time my idealist view of the human being was shattered into a million pieces, and I fell into a deep state of despair, culminating into depression that I couldn't run away from.
Ultimately this state of depression lead to a positive outcome, leading me away from the dream-like world I had created for myself, which included blinkers to anything that didn't correspond to my vision of what the world should be, and, finally, culminating into me being able to consolidate my idealism with the real world, and now to move towards using my ideals to maybe make at least some kind of difference. But it was a long road to get here, from that feeling of utter helplessness to one of strength.

And now it's time for another chapter, hopefully it won't take ten years for this one to close.

All that to really say: this week I sat through a 5.8 earthquake on the 40th floor of a high rise in Manhattan, watched (via Al Jazeera) a dictator of 41 years be removed from power (Gaddafi in Libya of course) and am now waiting for Hurricane Irene to pass right over my head sometime tonight or tomorrow morning. If this doesn't say that a change is needed, then I don't know what does!

I shall update on Irene tomorrow (if we still have power), as right now it's just bouts of heavy rain and a little wind.

Me and Joy Division

And why it hurts me every time I listen to them.

I used to listen to Joy Division. I sometimes listen to Joy Division now. I usually find it hard to get through one song before I have to switch to something else. I love Joy Division, they will always be up there in my top 10 bands. Always.

Reverse back a few years, I wasn't in a very good place and would listen to Warsaw and Unknown Pleasures over and over again. I would dance drunk to "She's Lost Control" thinking how perfect the song was for me, that it was probably written for me and people like me. Just read the lyrics, you will understand.

Reverse back a lot longer, Ian Curtis killed himself. He was depressed, he couldn't deal with life, fine - terribly sad, but I was too young to actually have any real feelings about this. But Joy Division was one of my father's favourite bands, he adored them. I suppose they were perfect for him as they were for him, based on whatever he was going through at the time, just in the same way that I adored them a few years ago.

Move forward a few years to another death, mimicking Ian Curtis'. Someone who had adored him. And this wasn't just terribly sad, it was devastating, and it's only now, 23 years later, that I actually feel I can accept it, and maybe move past it.

That's why I choke up when I watch Joy Division footage, why I have trouble listening to them sober (and as I don't drink anymore that means at any given time), and that's why I can't revere Ian Curtis like so many people do. He was so talented, but in such a dark spot. In a way it just makes me feel so proud that I got away from that same dark place. I just wish that the other person had too.

I watched Control once and left the screening a wreck. I will never be able to watch it again. It's amazing how one band can be so devastatingly good, but leave such a trail of devastation in their wake.

Wanting to be somewhere else...

I always know when it's time to leave somewhere. Sometimes it happens gradually, sometimes I just open my eyes in the morning and realise I need to live somewhere else. The last time I felt this so strongly was during 2001 and 2002. Living in Grenoble, France, last year at university, my family had just moved to California, the Twin Towers had fallen to the ground in front of my eyes through my television, and my deep research on Sylvia Plath for my thesis was creating my own personal bell jar. I only left the house to go to my few classes, to teach and tutor my students and to get groceries. Tim Buckley (Anthology), Tom Waits (Used Songs) and Bob Dylan (Desire) were the only CDs in my 3 CD player, and I spent most of my days reading and watching inane crap on TV (mixed with documentaries on serial killers, old-fashioned god people and terrorism). My friends would stop by to see me, try to get me to go out with them, just like old times, and would leave me multiple messages on my answering machine every night telling me how much they missed me, singing to me (I wish I had saved the tape - some of those messages were pretty amazing).

All I wanted was to leave. Be somewhere else. Do something else. Be someone else.

I got through it, moved to the US for a while, and because I couldn't stay there longer than 3 months, went off to Israel for a little over a year and then to London for a little less than a year. And then arrived in NYC.

From the moment I moved here I never thought I would want to leave. I vividly remember getting off the plane at JFK, getting in a cab, and thinking to myself "this is what it feels like to come home". Six years later, and I am finally feeling that same sinking, gradual feeling of realisation that I am very much tired of living here. I'm tired of being unhappy at work, I'm tired of not doing something that really means something to me (and to the rest of the world), I'm tired of not having a quiet place to go to and relax, I'm tired of not being able to grow my own food, I'm tired of having to listen to my friends complain about everyone else, and about how they all want to change their lives but just end up doing the same thing over and over again (i.e. getting drunk in the same bar every night). I'm tired of giving people the same advice that I should be taking myself.

I can't just pick up and move this time around though.. I have debt to pay off, a need to sustain myself, rent and bills to pay, plans to make. I don't even know where I want to go! One day it's England, another France, another California and yet another day setting up my own commune on a tropical island where I can fully sustain my own life.

But the one certainty that I do have is that I don't want to be HERE anymore.

Helping at home VS Helping abroad

Something else that has been bothering me over the past few days... For any of you who read my blog and/or my Twitter feed know that I am very much aware of what is going on in this world, always strive to learn and understand more, and am pretty focused on what is happening in different African countries and want to help create a better life for people who literally have nothing right now, and whose children have nothing. There is a severe need for not only reactive response (emergency aid for war and famine victims), but also proactive response (education, political stability, safety etc etc). I'm not saying that throwing money to all different types of organisations is the answer, but there are many actions one can take to help, that don't actually cost money (or very little at all). I've posted a lot of links below.

I usually ask people the question "so what are YOU doing", and hope that this will raise some type of awareness. The other day I asked someone this same question and was given the response of "well if it's not happening right in front of me then it doesn't really exist". Cue frothing at the mouth with anger on my part (deep breaths before continuing), as this is a standard response that makes me want to bop people on the head. Then said individual went on to say that he is a strong believer in helping out at home before looking to help other countries. To which I gave my standard response of "well there aren't millions of people dying of starvation in this country though are there?!".

And then I started to think. Is he right? Should I spend more time looking at what is happening around me? Am I trying to help people who are beyond help when I could be helping people next door? Are there REALLY thousands of people dying of starvation in this country?

So let's do the research and a little comparison. Nothing really beats hard facts when faced with them:

Hunger:
MOWAAF survey in 2007: 750,000 seniors suffering from hunger ( I couldn't seem to find stats for non-seniors in the limited search that I just did on the internet)
WFP Stats: There are more hungry people in the world than the combined populations of the US, Canada and the European Union.

Child mortality:
US, 2006: 6.8 deaths per 1,000 live births
World Bank, 2009: 128.2 deaths per 1,000 live births

(Please don't hate me for my less than deep research - I would do a better job if I gave myself more time, but I think these stats just show what we all know anyway).

So, I'm still confused. Or maybe confused isn't the word... Thinking too much into this? Should I do something at home too? Work in a soup kitchen? Tutor young kids for free? I think that can never be a bad idea, right? In the end, the only reason that I keep thinking about this is that I now feel that I am not doing enough. But at least I am doing something.

UNHCR
Women for Women
Plan USA
UNICEF
War Child Canada
NYCCAH
MNP

Reprimanding a stranger in public?

This has been bothering me since last weekend, but I haven't had a chance to put all of my thoughts into words until now.

I was sitting on the 6 train, going to Grand Central quite early last Saturday morning, desperately trying to memorise my lines for the part I was playing in Miriam's short movie that day. A young girl and her brother were bickering beside me, when all of a sudden their mother (who was sitting across from us) yelled at the them to "shut the FUCK up!!". The young boy ran over to his mum, who shoved him onto the bench while grabbing the smaller infant she had by her side in a pushchair as he had began to cry. She then proceeded to curse at all three children and then check her phone and type something on it.

I know it wasn't only me who was uncomfortable in the train car - there was silence all around and people were trying their hardest to pretend to look elsewhere.
Granted, I know that being a mum is very stressful, especially with 3 kids below the age of 8, but it really didn't sit right with me.

Should I have said something? I mean I would if she had been physically abusing the children in public of course, but this was nothing like that. It just wasn't very nice.

What do you do, just walk away and hope that the mother was just having a bad morning and that the kids really are loved and cherished? Ugh - this is going to continue bothering me for a while.

England... I forgot you somehow...

I left London 6 years ago, and landed in New York with a couple of suitcases, a new job and what appeared to be a sea of new experiences to have, people to meet and a new life to explore. I never really looked back... I wasn't really happy in London. I didn't enjoy my job that much (especially not the pittance it paid), I didn't really know anyone, and didn't know how to meet people, couldn't afford to do much more than work and eat. I did live in a great house, with wonderful people, but at the same time I missed my mum, sister and brother who were in California, my on/off boyfriend who was back in Colombia (is boyfriend really the word? I don't know anymore), and all my friends in France and Israel. I missed the sunshine and the desert, the "real" coffee, the long nights... I was lucky to have the rest of my family in England, and made regular trips up to Empingham to be with my Nana and Aunt, but I was too restless for London at the time, too full of anger at not being able to live in the US, too full of not knowing what I wanted to do with my life.

New York swallowed me up. A lot happened over the space of 6 years, some of it covered very openly, or more discreetly, in this blog. But now I feel like it has spit me out, the same person, a little older, a little wiser, but with a lot more hindsight, and also, foresight.

I finally went back to England last week for 6 days. 3 days for work, 3 days for myself. It was quite a revelation, in a sense. Everything is still in segmented phrases in my head for now, so that is how I am going to portray it here...


I love London. The buildings, the Tube, the smell of the soap, the parks... The politeness of living in England. Yes, people DO stand to the right on elevators, and wait for people to get off the train before they get on, however busy the platform is. Fruit pastilles. Chips and mushy peas late in the evening.
The countryside... Rutland. The green of the land, thatched roofs, The White Horse and Sunday Lunch. Jacket Potatoes and long conversations with Auntie Louise. Home.
The proximity of the rest of Europe and the idea that Paris IS only a short flight or train ride away.
Charlie and Cristi and Lynn not far - why were we not all such close friends before I moved? Would I have moved if we had been? (Probably, but I still wonder).
QUIET. The ability to actually sit in a pub and have a conversation with people who are not off their faces on something.
People who have known me since I was born. Family. REAL news on television. Really, really old things. Israel being only a 5 hour flight away.

There are more. Just let me get my thoughts together properly. Sometimes I see everything through the opposite of rose-tinted glasses, and I feel like I spent my time in London looking through grey-tinted glasses 6 years ago. Now I have more perspective...

Back later.

I Love You.

I spend a lot of time talking to people about their relationships, listening to them, trying to give out advice that will help them. I also spend a lot of time wondering why it always has to be so hard. Why does every relationship that my friends embark on have to always be full of pitfalls and questions? I don't even want to refer to myself in this post, just because I never listen to my own advice and to be brutally honest, I feel like I am a lost cause. I'd rather focus on making sure my friends and family are happy and in love and smiling... It's easier that way.

Back to the main point of these thoughts that constantly flow through my mind: if you love someone, and someone loves you back, why does it need to be so hard? Is it fear? Are we so worried that we will get hurt that we push the other away? Is it because we are too scared to commit to one person, to be part of a couple? Is it because we feel that if we open up completely to another we will lose part of what we hold secret inside? Do we think that it's just not worth it? Are we not willing to fight for something that could ultimately end up being the best thing we would ever accomplish in our lives?

I don't have the answers, and every question I ask opens up another question, and another, and another. Why does something so simple have to be so hard? How many times are we all going to regret holding back from saying I love you just because we were scared of the consequences?

One day I would like to be able to look back at these days with all my friends and say "I am so glad that we said those words when we did" and "I am so glad we fought to stay together" and "I am so glad we got through that rough patch together". I don't want to hear any phrases beginning with the following: "I regret..." or "I wish things had been different..." or "I guess the timing wasn't right..." or "I wish I had said that..."

Wishful thinking?


Just say it. Can't be THAT hard can it?