Picture this:

*The following is an exercise in descriptive writing. It is only as true as you chose it to be.*

Picture this: A young woman sits on a bed. She’s leaning back against the wall behind her with a laptop on her lap. It’s clearly an apple laptop but the back of it has been coated by a mass of vibrant acrylic paints arranged in a crude replica which, with little imagination bears resemblance to Van Gough’s Stary Night. Her finger’s skim the dull keyboard, above the mousepad and to the right of the mousepad is a crude sketch on a well worn blue post-it, attached onto the metal of the laptop with bits of duct tape fraying at the edges. The post-it has a hastily but skillfully sketched picture of a young woman with curly hair and glasses. It bears more than a passing resemblance to the young woman on the bed. 

The first thing you would notice about the young woman on the bed would be her hair. Her mass of thick, black hair, some curling politely in ringlets, some in waves beneath the smaller curls, held down by the sheer volume of hair. The young woman wears rectangular glasses through which she stares intently at the computer screen. A blanket rests on her lap, between the computer and her folded knees and she wears a thick blue fleecy robe. 

Balanced on the bedpost flush with the wall behind the young woman sits a brown ceramic mug filled with hard cider and above the young woman on the shelf sits another empty mug that once held water but has been left, forgotten to gather dust. The room about the young woman is messy. There is an old, dark dresser to her right with clothes on the floor and spilling out an open drawer. Next to the clothes there are three pairs of shoes and two bags. The shoes belong on the floor but the bags have hooks they wait to return to. A shelf of books lies half tipped over the paints that hold it as a book end on one side. Another shelf holds the young woman’s personals: deodorant, tampons, pain killer, hydrogen peroxide. The only make-up visible are three different colored tubes of glitter but these look well used. An outlet at the foot of the bed hosts a tangle of cords and on side of the room opposite to the dresser sits another shelf with a spare sheet set and some folded dresses. Another dress hangs from a hook, all the dresses are still neatly folded and have a fine coating of dust above their bright colors. Tacked to the wall is a hand written list of dates and checked boxes and other than that the walls are unadorned. Next to the bed, a bedside table holds the single light in the room and open notebook with a pen resting diagonally on top. The light from the lamp is harsh and bright but under it the young woman’s hair seems to sparkle.

Let’s talk about patriarchy

*Note: I use two songs in this post and neither of them belong to me. Also, the entire lyrics to both songs are listed below*

Let’s talk about teaching women not to be confident. Let’s talk about teaching women to value themselves and let’s talk about the only way women are taught they can be valued. Let’s talk about the song ‘You Don’t Know You're Beautiful’ sung by One Direction. Let’s talk about the lyrics ‘You don't know you're beautiful/ That’s what makes you beautiful!’ Let’s unpack that lyric for a moment, shall we? Let’s take the idea that the woman, the ‘you’ in the song is beautiful because she fucking lacks self confidence. Let’s put aside, for a moment, the fact that the singer  invalidates the ‘you’s choice to wear make up (‘Don’t need make up/ To cover up’). Let’s put aside the fact that the only trait ‘you’ has is being beautiful and self conscious, and let’s talk for a second about women’s lack of confidence. 

Let’s talk about the song ‘Love yourself’ sung by Justin Beiber wherein the crimes brought against ‘you’ are numbered. For one thing, the narrator’s mother never liked ‘you’ (‘My momma don’t like you/ And she likes everyone’), for another ‘you’ still calls the narrator (‘You still hit my phone up’), ‘you’ rained on the narrator’s parade, ‘you’ told the narrator she didn’t like his friends. But (here comes the crux of the song) the real crime of ‘you’ comes in the chorus: ‘Cause if you like the way you look that much/ Oh, baby, you should go and love yourself/ And if you think that I'm still holdin' on to somethin’/ You should go and love yourself’. So ‘you’ likes the way she looks and that’s her crime? She should go love herself because she’s vain? Because self love is punishment for a woman? Let’s talk about the fact that even though the narrator is saying ‘love yourself’ it pretty clearly means, go fuck yourself. Because this woman likes how she looks. Among other things, her self confidence (or vanity, if you prefer, they’re really two names for the same thing) is the only crime in the song repeated (five times actually) and the last verse talks about ‘all the times that you made me feel small’. Sure, this could be a legitimate issue, it is unhealthy to be with a partner who makes you feel small. But in the context of ‘you’ liking the way she looks, it seems like ‘you’ has just made the narrator feel small by having self confidence.

Moral of the story: If you’re a woman, don’t have self confidence if you want to find a man which is the only way you can value yourself anyway. 

[Subtext to the above statement: AAHHAHAHAHAH FUCK THE PATRIARCHY! I HATE THAT I EVEN HAVE TO EXPLAIN THAT THIS IS SARCASTIC BUT IT’S HARD TO TELL SARCASM IN PRINT AND I’M TERRIFIED THAT THERE’S EVEN A CHANCE THAT ANYONE WOULD TAKE THAT SERIOUSLY BUT THERE IS AND I’M SO ANGRY]

Today’s rage fueled rant is brought to you by me listening to the presidential debates and screaming at the radio. Please vote for Hilary.

Lyrics:

‘You Don’t Know You're Beautiful’ sung by One Direction

You don’t know 

You're insecure,

Don't know what for,

You're turning heads when you walk through the do-o-or,

Don't need make up

To cover up,

Being the way that you are is eno-o-ough,

Everyone else in the room can see it,

Everyone else but you

Chorus:

Baby you light up my world like nobody else,

The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed,

But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell,

You don't know oh-oh!

You don't know you're beautiful!

If only you saw what I can see

You'll understand why I want you so desperately

Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe

You don't know oh-oh!

You don't know you're beautiful oh-oh!

That's what makes you beautiful!

So c-come on

You got it wrong

To prove I'm right I put it in a so-o-ong

I don't know why

You're being shy

And turn away when I look into your ey-ey-eyes

Everyone else in the room can see it

Everyone else but you

[chorus again several times]

‘Love yourself’ sung by Justin Beiber

For all the times that you rain on my parade

And all the clubs you get in using my name

You think you broke my heart, oh, girl for goodness' sake

You think I'm crying on my own. Well, I ain't

And I didn't wanna write a song

'Cause I didn't want anyone thinking I still care. I don't,

But you still hit my phone up

And, baby, I be movin' on

And I think you should be somethin' I don't wanna hold back,

Maybe you should know that

My mama don't like you and she likes everyone

And I never like to admit that I was wrong

And I've been so caught up in my job,

Didn't see what's going on

But now I know,

I'm better sleeping on my own

Chorus:

'Cause if you like the way you look that much

Oh, baby, you should go and love yourself

And if you think that I'm still holdin' on to somethin'

You should go and love yourself

And when you told me that you hated my friends

The only problem was with you and not them

And every time you told me my opinion was wrong

And tried to make me forget where I came from

[Chorus]

For all the times that you made me feel small

I fell in love. Now I feel nothin' at all

And never felt so low when I was vulnerable

Was I a fool to let you break down my walls?

[Chorus repeated several time]

Thankfulness

A list of (some of the) things that make my life better, easier, or more pleasant:

Out of season fruit

A clean, dry bed

Pillows

Electricity

Some wifi and phone reception

Hot showers

Fluffy towels

Clean clothes

Hot chocolate

Tea

A car

Youth

Health

Strength

People I love

People who love me

People I can talk to

People who talk to me

Not being persecuted because of who I love or have sex with

Not being persecuted because I have sex

A vibrator

My own room

A kitchen I can use

Days off when I sleep in

White privilege

Cis privilege

The privilege that comes with being straight passing

Not having to wear a bra to work

The fact that all of Europe once declared war on the individual Napoleon 

Update on gender and contra

*Skip this paragraph if you don’t want my ramblings but are instead only interested in gender and contra.* So, after contra dancing in New York City all weekend I learned a few new things. One is: even though I did learn a ton of fancy new flourishes that I can do, I don’t have to do them, particularly if there isn’t time. Two is that although I’m pretty good at contra and moderately good at waltz, I’m still not as good as I think I am. Two is: I learned the beginning of blues dancing. Three is: I’m downright bad at blues dancing. And finally, four is that I learned more about gendered language and contra. Most of this information is from a young queer, politically active caller and a young gender queer dancer who’s been dancing for a quantifiably long time. Any information that seems wrong is probably my fault, and not theirs. 

In the previous post I remarked that I didn’t understand why ladies and gents was preferable to lead and follow. The reasoning behind this is because there isn’t really a lead and follow in contra. All the moves in contra are called (the caller tells all the dancers when to do what) and any flourishes that aren’t called are at the discretion of either party dancing, not simply the lead or follow. The caller I was talking to uses ‘ladies’ and ‘gents’ because she doesn’t want to give the people dancing the ladies’ role the idea that they can’t initiate a move. Once ladies and gents have been established, however she uses terms that are as gender neutral as she can make them. ‘Swing your partner’ ‘Swing your neighbor’ ‘pass the next person by the left’. The caller also talked about the importance of using the they/them pronouns. For example, using ‘ladies chain and gents courtesy turn them’ instead of ‘courtesy turn her’. Both the caller and the dancer stated a fondness of the terms ‘larks’ (the person on the left, I think) and ‘ravens’ (who I’m pretty sure is the person on the right). In an ideal world, all dances would be taught with ‘larks’ and ‘ravens’ but since most new dancers are easily confused and already used to the the ‘ladies’ and ‘gents’ terminology, so ‘ladies’ and ‘gents’ are more beginner friendly. 

The sun, the moon and the stars

*Author’s note: This is a piece of fiction and it’s only as true as you believe it to be*

In my life I have loved three people. Well, that’s untrue. I have loved countless people as friends, teachers, parents; I loved every single kid in my summer camp cabin. I love my paternal family and my found family fiercely. And I understand this love. I give it abundantly if not freely and in return I receive a lot back. Probably more than I know. But what I meant to say was that I have only been in love romantically with three people in my life. 

The first time I fell in love I was fourteen and she was the Sun. I was a freshman in high school before I realized it although looking back on it now, it seems clear that the infatuation started in seventh grade. That’s always how it is, right? Hindsight’s 20/20 and all that. Of course at that age I had contemplated the idea of love before, and of course I knew about sex, although not through any first hand experience. Sun rode horses at the same barn as me. In seventh grade I learned that she was dressing up as a banana for halloween. That immediately became my favorite halloween costume I had ever heard. In October of eight grade I could’t get Sun’s white-blonde hair out of my head. I put it down to envy, I imaged running my hands through it and how soft it must be. Of course it wan’t envy, it was the beginnings of something far bigger and scarier. In January, I learned Sun’s parents were from the UK, something I found inanely attractive. In May, I noticed how piercingly blue Sun’s eyes were.

Freshman year of high school Sun and I had earth science class together. And in the middle of learning the difference between igneous and sedimentary rock, I found myself staring at Sun’s nose. And thinking I wonder what it would be like to kiss someone with a nose like that. And then, vividly, in my head I wonder what it would be like to kiss Sun. And then, just as clearly, Well, I’m probably not straight then. 

The summer after freshman year I worked part time on an organic farm and, amongst the dirt and potatoes I met Clarice, a gay transgender woman and Jillian, a cisgender pansexual woman. Although I had met a few queer identifying teenagers, I had never met an openly queer adult, let alone a non-cisgender one. Jillian was the first person I came out to and with their support I became comfortable in my queer identity. I discovered I was pansexual, for the moment and I slowly became more confident. The plants I grew flourished and with them, my self-worth. I felt strong, sun kissed and newly sexual.

Sun and I had biology together sophomore year. This time, I leaned in when I talked to her. This time I recited broken Shakespeare to her and I told her I loved her. And even though I knew it was true we both laughed like it was a joke.

December of my sophomore year we both went to the birthday party of a mutual friend. Sun laughed as we played Dance Dance Revolution and that game with the guitar and pushing buttons and I swear on any sacred symbol that the sun came out of her laugh. We shared a twin mattress and before we were asleep I turned over, and found her staring into my eyes. 

I looked her back in the eyes and started leaning towards her. 

She leaned back and giggled. “Monya, stop it! I’m trying to go to sleep.”

Junior year Sun and I fell out of touch. And I fell out of love. Slowly and painfully, I forgot her. There was less time to think about her with my three extra curriculum, two volunteer positions and my part time nanny gig. I decided to go away to college early and as adulthood loomed, the Sun was shaded by the possibilities of my future.

Moon was British and glamorously older to my seventeen year-old eyes. He was nineteen and about to go to Oxford University. I was about to go to my own college and my whole life stretched before me in long, hot summer days. I met him July third on a weekend both where our parents had dragged us (not unwillingly). Together with the rest of the gang of teenagers that ended up there, we swam and ate and talked angrily about queer rights. We stayed out of the way of the children and grown ups. We owned the in-between places. We played among the weeds and on the beach and on the boat and in the water and piled into the hot tub together as the cool of evening fell. 

Moon was bisexual, had an upper class British accent, liked hot dogs, disliked British parliment, and liked women who didn’t shave their armpits and angrily shouted their opinions. Or at least, Moon liked me. 

The night fell and we made a fire. The moon was the biggest and brightest I had ever seen. The games and jokes and stories got raunchier. I thought, or at least I hoped that some of his jokes were directed at me. We fed each other s’mores and then, one by one the rest of the gang went to bed. We were all staying in the same tent. I have no idea how the grown ups let that one slip by but eventually Moon and I were the only two left sitting up by the fire. We talked and I thought about kissing him and I didn’t but we kept talking. Maybe hours passed, and maybe it was only minutes but when we kissed the only thing I could see was the light of his pale eyes.

Moon and I didn’t get a proper goodbye under the watchful eyes of our parents. He went back to England. I knew I would never see him again, other than as a post on my Facebook feed. The entire car ride home I listened to the song ‘This Too Shall Pass’ on repeat. Nearly one hundred times. And in time, Moon faded away too.

Stars I met in April, of last year. My sophomore year of college. Stars and I were at an all weekend contra dance. Stars is twenty six. Stars contra dances in New York City, and is the friend of a friend. Stars calls in New York city and does English Country dancing and traditional Israeli dance. Stars is polyamorous. So am I. Stars is an employed and brilliant computer engineer. I am not. Stars is confident and enjoyed the flirting I aimed at her without subtlety but with plenty of passion. I batted my glittery eyelids and thought about what that glitter would look like rubbed of on Star's own delicate face. 

The night that I met her I wanted to kiss her. I told her so. Stars said I was too young for her. I told her age was just a number. Stars told me she hoped I would call her in a year. I see Stars scattered throughout my year and my now roving life. Mostly at contra dances I go to when I visit New York City. Sometimes at other dances and sometimes through our mutual friend. Every time I see her, Stars dances with me. And insists that I am too young for her to kiss. Every time I see her I insist that I am old enough. And pretty enough. And charming enough. Not that this is heathy, to pine for the Stars. I know she's up in the sky and that's pretty far away from where I'm standing on earth. But I'd like to get close enough to see the constellations some day. 

Gender and Contra Dancing

One thing about me is that I go contra dancing. For those of you not involved in the weirdly specific niche that is contra dancing, allow me to explain: Contra dancing is what would happen if swing dancing, Appalachian line dancing, and country square dancing had a passionate three way one night and then the strange bastard child that came of their union went off to college and decided to become a traveling musician. If that doesn’t help, this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YtE2lRhjUI&ab_channel=komaid) might not either but it’s worth a try. So the thing about contra dancing, as with most forms of social dancing (think ballroom, swing, latin dance, english dance, anything with a partner) is that it has two roles. The role of lead and the role of follow. And traditionally (again, as with most forms of partner dance) the lead is danced by a male-identifying person and the follow is danced by a female-identifying person. But there’s nothing about the lead role that demands a male identifying person dance in that role and nothing about the follow that demands a female identifying person. The lead and follow roles are also referred to as the gents and ladies, or jets and rubies, or the person coming out of the swing on the left and the person coming out of the swing on the right (all these titles are respective to the original ‘lead’ and ‘follow’—you figure it out). I’m certain there are more titles but that’s the extent of my knowledge. 

Another thing about conta is that depending on where and when you dance, the dancers are of varying ages. This seems self evident but the truth is dances in more socially liberally climates tend have more female presenting people dancing lead roles and vice versa (not that there are only two genders and people who don’t fall into the gender binary also dance contra, but there are genders that are societally pressured to correspond with the dance role of lead and follow). Statistically, people in socially liberal climates tend to deviate more from societal gender roles as a whole and unsurprisingly this extends to dance. But even within those socially liberal climates folks in the older age bracket tend to dance the role that corresponds with their gender identity. That said, I’ve met plenty of women of an older generation than me (a female identifying person) who are happy to dance with me as long as I dance in the ‘lead’ role. From what I have noticed the same pertains to older male identifying people although they tend to make a bigger deal out of it. Like ‘look at me! I’m so liberal for accepting this man in the follow role’ which seems to be the equivalent of giving men a recognition for not being sexist. Also, in my expierience it gives older or more conservative minded people (most of the world is more conservative minded than me) more pause when a female presenting person is leading and a male presenting person is following than if two female presenting people or two male presenting people are dancing.

The caller (the person teaching the contra dance) may use any of the terminologies for lead or follow. I find it interesting that at many of the ‘gender neutral contas’ that I’ve been to (of which there are surprisingly many including a weekly dance in Brooklyn which you, dear reader, should check out if you’re ever in the area) the popular terminology tends towards ‘rubies’ and ‘jets’ which I think is weird, given the original names for the roles ‘lead’ and ‘follow’ are gender neutral.

Sequal coming (although maybe not next post): Contra and consent

Later: Monya