Saturday, March 13, 2010

Bitch

I have been thinking about the word Bitch a lot lately. In general, I see it as a negative word- even when used playfully, I feel it is rooted in anger. More specifically, rooted in anger towards women.
So I've spent a few hours tracing my own personal history with the word. I can not remember the first time I heard the word, but I remember it becoming a familiar part of my vocabulary in the 7th grade. It seems like that was the age and time for cursing to become popular, and I started saying words that didn't feel comfortable in my mouth because, well, everyone else was saying them. As I sought to sound like my peers, I was also practicing the common teenage act of defiance. Saying "Fuck this shit," in reference to my algebra homework seemed to defy something, something that remained ambiguous, but I think it had to do with the feeling of obligation that pre-teens become aware of and instinctively resent. Obligation to do well in school, obligation to make our parents proud, obligation to take certain classes we have no interest in, obligation to fit in- so much overwhelming obligation, coupled with an equally overwhelming desire for independence, and suddenly rebellion seems extremely appealing. Since most of us were not about to drop out of one of Latin America's most expensive schools or run away from our parent's mansions, cursing seemed like a small way of showing the world, and ourselves, that at least we were in charge of our language usage.
I had a click of girlfriends at that time, and we used the word bitch quite often, usually lightly, but sometimes in reference to some girl who was dating a guy we had a crush on (How dare she! Bitch.). But eventually, as we got closer, I think we all sensed it was too heavy a word to use with each other and, although we never talked about why, we sought to make up a word that would sound more playful so that we could use it loosely with each other. We came up with "Slitch", a combination of Slut and Bitch, and eventually created our catch phrase: "Slitches Rule!". The word felt truly playful, and because it was ours, it felt rooted in love, not hate.

But Bitch would come back to me, in college. I think I really learned to curse comfortably in college, actually. It seemed like everyone at Sarah Lawrence was angry about something, and since we were a bunch of hippies who weren't going to go around punching each other, cursing was a particularly delicious- and necessary- outlet. I was doing so many things that felt outside of my comfort zone, cursing seemed like just another to add to the list. At one point I even bought t-shirts for me and my housemates that had the word BITCH printed on them- thinking, I imagine, that if we wore the word, it was ours, and no one could do us harm. It seemed to work for a while. I thought I had the word under control, I thought it was my weapon.

Then my little brother became a man, and went to college and bonded with other men. And in their world, which I have been exposed to only a few times, all women are referred to as "bitches". Even in casual conversation, "Tell the bitch we'll be right there." They are comfortable with it, and it seems to be integral to their male bonding time. Such conversations are probably not meant for me to hear, but I have heard them, and their use of the word Bitch, over and over again, in reference to any woman in any situation, started to make the word feel like their weapon, and started to make me feel like I didn't have Bitch under control at all. My reasoning for this is that their use of the word is stemming from hatred and anger towards women, making the word a violent gesture that is capable of doing great damage, and this is frightening to me. I don't want men hating women.
I talked about this with a friend last night, and he kept asking me why I don't want men hating women. It forced me to think about it, and I realized I don't want men hating women because it kills the possibility for beautiful, rewarding, and fulfilling relationships, where both parties' visions of life are expanded. When men are supportive and understanding of feminist points of view (and when women, too, are willing to take in men's perspectives), an opportunity is born where two people can really communicate, learn, and grow.
I realize that my being bothered by their use of the word Bitch has more to do with me than with them, but, and I also said this to my friend last night, I don't want to not be bothered by men calling women bitches. Aside from the fact that I can't help it- it bothers me, period.- I want these young men, and all men, to respect women and to be open to women's worlds. While it's important to acknowledge the hatred that may live inside us, I'm a believer of doing so with consciousness, so that others are not harmed. Being open to another person's view of the world has usually opened up my own understanding of myself and, on the same token, when someone else is willing to see my perspective, I also grow. So when I hear young men calling all women bitches, it breaks my heart, because as far as I know, there are no possibilities for real communication when hatred and anger are present. Love and respect create space, whereas hate and disdain, without awareness, create only limitations.
As always, I am an advocate for love and awareness. My request today is this- Please, to anyone this reaches, think twice before you use the word Bitch again, know that it is a weapon, and while a weapon can be vital for survival, it can also do a lot of unnecessary harm.

Monday, March 8, 2010

A Tribute to Women

I am blessed to have had many powerful, talented, incredible, generous, beautiful, intelligent, and loving women in my life. What better day to honor them than today, International Women's Day? Since there is too much to say of each one, I will write about only one thing they've each contributed to my life, though I am sure they know their values are immeasurable.

Thank you to....
My mother, for forgiving me for being a completely impossible teenager who hated her, and thus allowing us to become best friends as adults.

My godmother, Valderez, for watching all of my plays and coming to all of my major events, even when she couldn't understand a word of it.

My Aunt Susie, for never questioning and always supporting my dreams, sharing my love for literature and art, and helping me to believe I am worth everything I dream of.

My Aunt Vera, for holding me when, at 13, my mom caught me kissing a boy 7 years older than me in front of a church, and telling me I hadn't committed a sin.

My much-more-than a cousin Gugs, for all the times I made her act out little plays with me for our parents, even though she didn't want to- and for making up countless imaginary worlds with me, over and over again.

My cousin Ju, who took me to watch plays and movies- gestures that made an unbelievable difference in my life.

My cousin Fer, for pulling me aside when I turned 15 to tell me the truth about drugs and sex.

My cousin Grazi, for making me watch "Free Willy" every time she babysat me and therefore helping me develop empathy for whales.

My paternal grandmother, Baba, for letting me do her make-up when I was a child, and then for never washing it off afterwards but rather wearing purple eyeshadow on her nose when she went to the grocery store and proudly saying, "My granddaughter did my make-up today."

My maternal grandmother, Alzira, who I never met, for raising my incredible mother.

Marina, for a 20-year-friendship, for reminding me of who I really am, and for letting me love her.

Melissa, for 16 years of letters.

Tati, for my childhood. I'm sad we've lost touch.

The BSG's (BackStreet Girls), you know who you are, my middle-school "click", for holding my hand through the hardest years of a girl's life.

Marina B., Diana, and Manu, for sitting with me in lunch for four years of high-school.

Gabi, for my first back-packing through Europe experience, an unforgettable trip.

Maria, for nights of chocolate milk and french fries with mayo at the pub in college, and for all the times you took care of me when I was sick.

Starsha, for your contagious smile.

The women at Brebner, for a year that taught me more than I was prepared to handle.

Divya, Preetha, and Andrea, for a summer through Turkey and Greece that I will never forget.

Olivia, A.J., Kate, And Kioko, for being wonderful housemates in Andrew's Court 10 and teaching me that women CAN live in harmony.

Laura, for Top Girls.

Fan, for being my mother in college.

Gina, for the times we did share. I'll forever regret losing your friendship.

Moe, for reminding me of my roots.

Ker and Ash- I have to put you two together, because the three of us are like a trio of beauty and talent, for so many conversations at starbucks' around new york that simply changed my life.

Deema, for your talent and drive.

Rena, for unforgettable memories in Extremities.

Thesa, for your grace and courage.

Susan M., my teacher and friend, for being a brilliant teacher, and for seeing me.

Susan A., for, quite simply, teaching me to act.

Regi, my Italian love, for bringing out the feminist in me and for teaching me to cook.

Sal, for never judging me.

Whitney, for trusting me.

Julia W., my internet friend, for being so open and friendly with someone you've never met.

Ellen Burstyn, for giving me the book "Forgiving your Parents".

And to some women I've never really met, but who have had a huge impact on my life,

Gloria Steinem, for writing "Revolution From Within", and for making it ok for 'beautiful' women to be feminists.

Meryl Streep, Kate Winslet, and Cate Blanchett, for inspiring me over and over again.

Eve Ensler, for writing "The Vagina Monologues".

Ruth, my diary, whoever you are, for hearing my soul's cries all of my life.


And for every woman who has touched my life in any way, I am grateful.














Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Love is Everything

While crying with a broken heart, I think, "I'd take a root canal while getting a brazilian wax on a cold day and then maybe even give birth with no drugs and fall inside a frozen pond naked- over this pain. I would take anything over this pain." And then my next thought, bumping in right behind that one, practically crashing with it, is, "No, no I wouldn't. This pain means I have a working loving open heart. This pain means I'm alive. The magnitude of this pain equals the magnitude of the love I lived. I'll take this over the alternative of never having lived through so much love." And I cry even harder.
And every time it's worse (or better?). Every time the love is greater, and the crashing pain of loss greater still. And what hurts, exactly? Pablo Neruda, that eternal romantic, wrote,
"We, we who were, we are the same no longer. ...
Love is so short and oblivion so long."
How many times have I gone through this? Apparently not enough times, because my heart is still perfectly willing to love, it is yearning to love again, it is ready to fall in love with the guy with long hair and a guitar in the subway. It is hoping to look at someone and see in their face all of humanity's perfections and all of humanity's imperfections and love them so much, so deeply, so entirely, so tremendously, that there is nothing to do but kiss them as passionately as possible, forever.
I'm bottomlessly romantic, boundlessly sensitive, overly poetic, and a tad bit dramatic, I know. But I can't help it! I love loving! And love loves finding me, it always has. No matter how much it hurts me, it seems love and I and have a life-long date this time around. Bring it on Cupid, this heart ain't done lovin' yet.

I remember when I was in the 9th grade, I was with a group of people chatting about what love is, and one girl said, "Romantic love is completely unnecessary and we can be perfectly fine without it." I responded immediately and viscerally- it's possible that I even jumped up to standing- I said, "How can you say that? How can you possibly say that? It's the whole point! There's nothing better! There's nothing greater! Love is everything!" I think she rolled her eyes at me, I don't really remember. But you see my point- even at 14, in the hell of high school, I already had the suspicion that love is life. And now, ten years later, with a desperate broken heart that has been mended over and over again, that is full of a kind of pain that is capable of taking over my whole being and paralyzing me for days, I believe that still.

But (ugly icky stubborn but), something has changed.

I know now that, in the same space that passionate crazy beautiful pure love inhabits, also lives the possibility of a deadly painful merciless end. In that first kiss where love plants its seeds it also plants the possibility that those two people may hurt each other brutally and irreparably. The greater the love, the greater the possibility of that pain. (I should say probability rather than possibility, because I have not yet lived a great love that was not accompanied by a hurricane of pain, but who knows- maybe it's out there.)
And because I know this, I understand something I absolutely rejected and ran away from for a long time. I understand now why people settle. I don't mean settle down, I mean settle for something that is less than what they wanted, settle for an adult life of "should's" and "at least's" and "good enough's". I understand choosing stability and companionship over passion and mind-blowing love. I understand choosing a life that minimizes the possibility of suffering a great loss.
I understand it so much that today I even said, "I could do it. I could settle." And I meant it. I started to think I could be ok with having just the certainty that the person I'm with will be there the next day over explosive, soul-connected, blinding love where no such certainty exists. Flames, by definition, burn out or fade away. So enough flames, I've been thinking, I'm done with flames. Let flames go to hell where they belong. Give me luke-warm. Give me boring. Give me less than I have always wanted.
Alas, says the romantic day-dreamer, such thoughts are real but fleeting. I no sooner have them than I am ready to fall madly in love again.
But, as a dear friend said to me today, I don't have to decide or choose anything right now, maybe even for a while. I can decide to not decide. It's every empowering, actually. I don't have to narrow down what I want right away- or ever. How great that I know love and love's pains, how great that I understand the sentiment behind settling, how great that I have no idea what will suit my life! I am ever-changing, ever-growing, and ever-learning. That is wonderful and I better get used to it because I can not control it. It just so happens that I can't click a switch in my heart and go, Ok, I'm done falling in love, now just give me something safe.
It is comforting to know that I am in pain, but I am not done loving yet.

As my 14-year-old self would say, I better not be done with love yet, because then really, what would be the point? Love is everything.

And isn't it?
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