Posts Tagged ‘ otherness ’

"But it’s Christmas!" "But I don’t care!" (via Ideologically Impure)

It’s about vegetarians but could easily be adapted for various situations in which families and/or loved ones are being wankers. My childhood memories of Christmas are of the fighting. And the tears. This is why we visit my partners family for Christmas. They are nice and do not stress and actually tell me how awesome I am instead of telling me what an awful disappointment and failure I am. We can’t choose our family but we can choose who we spend time with.

[The following takes place between 12:00am and 1:00am, and also specifically focuses on individuals’ choices to be vegetarian and attend Christmas family gatherings.  Obviously the principles in question are not unique to vegetarianism or Christmas; and in other situations other considerations/context may apply.] I was at a loss for a post this evening, and went in search of any NZ media touting Christmas ZOMG OBESITYTURKEY panic.  I’ve always th … Read More

via Ideologically Impure

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Guy friends and stuff

I’m reading a lot of books at the moment.  There are quite a few personal essays by transmen that recall their childhoods playing with the other boys.  Until the boys learnt that they weren’t meant to play with them.  I’m so jealous.  I had one male friend as a kid.  I didn’t make any more till University and even then it quite often had the sexual undercurrent running through it.  I kind of have male friends now.  I’m nearly thirty and I’m only just getting mates.

 

My friend M. was my next door neighbour.  I have one photo of him playing tea party with me.  He looks pretty much how I remember him.  Overweight and blonde.  I’m in a many-ruffled pink monstrosity of a creation, but I’m pretty sure that I’m wearing it over something.  I’m in dress-up.  Drag Queen age 4.  For his fifth birthday he got a stamp with his name on it.  I took it (I was a rather dominating friend as a child.  My friends now would probably say that that hasn’t changed).  While I was at school I stamped his name on my hand.  It was red ink.  Such a masculine name too.  No gender ambiguity about it.  I stamped it a few more times on my hand then worked my way up my arm.  Then I stamped the next arm.  I got my face too.  I had tattooed myself with a boys name in red ink.  Only it was my name.  I had taken it.  It was mine now.  My teacher asked me where I had got the stamp from.  I said it was mine.  She kept on asking me till I finally said it was my brothers.  I didn’t get a brother for another four years.  We moved house.  No more M. to play tea party with, boss around and steal off.

 

I went to a Catholic primary school that had predominately Italian and Greek students which meant that playground was divided neatly in the middle with boys on one side and girls on the other.  Not an actually physical line, it was never enforced, but it was there.  I was obsessed with the boys.  The boys that I couldn’t play with.  So that meant that I was boy crazy.  If you have a vagina and you can’t stop thinking about the boys that’s what you are.

 

It took me a couple of years to make friends with girls.  They were really nice.  I’m still in contact with a few of them.  I used to try and gross out the other girls.  I’d put snails on my face so they could crawl around.  When I grazed my knee I’d sit down, bend my knee and lick the blood off gravel and all.  The girls would go ‘Eeewww!’ but the boys weren’t impressed, they just thought I was weird.

 

Towards the end of primary school there developed an intergender game of ‘kiss and catch’.  No actual kissing was involved because eww, germs!  So it involved chasing someone with the supposed opposite genitals down kissing your hand and then slapping them with it.  I loved it.  The boys were letting me play with them and we were playing rough.

 

I was sent to a girls only high-school so I didn’t learn any social skills with boys there.  Hell, I didn’t learn social skills with girls either.  But around that age I did learn something.  If you have a vagina the boys will want to hang around you.  They’ll actually think that you are pretty cool.

 

Introducing….. (drumroll please)… the girl in the little top and little cut-off jeans (so short that my ass was escaping slightly) who would do whatever you want!!  I thought I was so awesome.  Looking back I think I actually scared quite a few guys, I was so sexually aggressive.  If you have a vagina you’re not meant to be sexually aggressive.  It freaks them out.

 

I realised when I was fourteen that I liked girls sexually.  My sexual fantasies (based on T.V. shows) kept on morphing and I’d end up being the guy fucking the girl.  Again and again and again…  So that meant that I was a lesbian.  Right?  What else could it have meant?  There were no words in my adolescent mind for someone with a vagina who wants to fuck other people with their cock other than lesbian.  So that’s what I was.  I didn’t know how to tell anyone so I asked my mum to shave off my hair for me.  Because that’s what lesbians do right?  They have no hair?

 

I still did my thing with the boys.  Because, you know, I kind of like cock.  A girl who puts out and likes to fuck girls?  I was their wet dream.  You need to keep in mind that I mainly met these boys through Catholic Youth Group… They weren’t my friends though.

 

When I went to University I kind of made male friends.  I say kind of because there was always the sexual undercurrent.  I was awesome because I was so overtly sexual/laughed at dirty jokes/took my top off in public.  If I wasn’t fucking them I was flirting with them.

 

Now I’m in this weird situation where I have male friends who kind of respect me.  Some are actually a bit intimidated by me.  Which is kind of awesome.  When I told some of them that I was Genderqueer and was talking about clothes a couple of them actually offered to take me shopping.

 

It’s weird.  There’s this group of people that I desperately want to be a part of and I don’t know how to interact with them because nobody taught me how.

13 yr olds should probably not write songs. Unless of-course you are way better than me at songwriting

So, did you write songs when you were 13? Perhaps poems? Or, god forbid start work on a gigantic post-apocalyptic epic that you weren’t sure would turn into a five novel series or a movie?

Are you under 16? If so you should probably stop reading this post as it may make you all depressed and negative and stuff. Seriously. Stop reading kid.

Did you find that stuff when you were like two years older and look back and go ‘Holy shit! My God! Was I honestly that hideously naive and stupid?!? Like seriously, did I have learning difficulties two years ago?!?’

Now I horde all of my shit. I still have the diary that I wrote an entry in when Nelson Mandela got elected. It was all about how positive the world was and we actually have hope and how wonderful South Africa would be now. Ha. Ha ha. So every now and then I’d read something that I wrote a couple of years ago and I’d have my Holy Shit/learning difficulties/Naive Little Child moment.

So, when I started this blog I was all like ‘I’m genderqueer! Yay for me knowing what I am!’ Yeah, fucking right. You would have thought I would have learnt something by now.

When I was in my late teens (about a decade ago) I thought long and hard about whether I had the right gender. I decided that no, I would be as big a fail at being a man as I was at being a woman. I’ve evolved quite a lot since then. I was a reasonably sheltered teenager and my ideas about male/female/personhood have changed a hell of a lot. Heck, the worlds changed since then.

So, what I’m wondering now is, when I was so quick to label myself as qenderqueer why did I completely dismiss the possibility that I might be trans? I adopted the qenderqueer label before I’d even started properly investigating what being a transguy meant. I had rejected the trans label before I’d read any blogs, met any transguys or even formed any ideas about what being trans meant.

I’ve gotten to thinking, what were my ideas about transguys before starting this journey? What images/ideas have I absorbed from my surroundings about them that have formed the picture I have in my mind. I have two memories.
1) Boys Don’t Cry. I watched it while home alone (having moved back with mum) after a break up, when it was all stormy and dramatic outside, while suffering from PMS. Needless to say it was not a good experience. While I am glad I watched the movie there will never be a second time. Images that stuck with me: rednecks, violence, hiding, subterfuge, rape, murder and disaster.
2) Some Documentary Quite A While Ago. I think it was British. It was about several transgender people. The story I remember was about a couple that started out as two lesbians. One of them came to the conclusion that he was trans and started transitioning. His partner started transitioning too. With the hormones came a lot of fighting and they broke up. One of them regretted staring the transition process while the other one was quite happy with it. Images that stuck with me: doing something for someone you love because you’re too young/stupid to think for yourself, regret, heartache, hurting others, regret, unable to turn back.
3) L Word. I forget his name, but you know the one. Images that stuck with me: really bad dress sense, someone giving a blowjob to a prosthetic penis, heartache, black market T, breaking-up.

THREE INSTANCES. That was what I was basing my opinions about transguys on. I’m sure that there are more but those are the only ones that I can recall. THREE!!!!! So what made me think that I knew anything about transguys?

Oh, that’s right, I’m turning thirty next year and I’m still naive and stupid.

 

Update:  In full disclosure I feel that I should point out that while writing this post I went back and changed the word ‘retarded’ to ‘learning difficulties’.  While I felt slightly naff and overly PC doing so I did feel that it was necessary.  Changing a few words took me a few seconds and did not in anyway alter what I was trying to say in the post but leaving it as it was might have upset someone and ruined their day.

Raging

It was going really well. So well.

I have awesome friends. I got rid of most of the idiots a while ago.

But I swear, the next person who says to me ‘Oh, of-course! Gender is complete fluid. I’m gender-queer too.’ I am going to hit over THE FRICKEN HEAD.

Right, so those of you who know me, know that I will do no such thing. But seriously, I feel like screaming.

I’m really bloody happy for you that your in touch with your gender-queerness and enjoy being a feminine male or masculine female, really I am. But you manage to do it while still representing to the general public the gender that they expect you to display.

I am not a feminine male. Nor am I a masculine female.

I am a male/female, therefore I am both feminine/masculine.

I was so happy for a while there, I wasn’t getting angry at all. Shit.

Is the problem the definition, peoples understanding of the definition, or am I just being too precious?

Some days it almost feels that it would be worth changing my name (which I like and am comfortable with) and asking people to change pronouns just so they’ll take this shit seriously.

Damn it.

Cigars, men shopping and barriers

It’s scary making changes. Even though you know that they are good changes, they’re still scary. That first step can be a pretty big one.

I’m ao much happier though. I’ve been so angry for so very long. I’ve raged at the world and not really known why. I havn’t raged since I came to accept my gender-queerness though.

So far everyone that I’ve told has been really nice. I think some of them don’t really get it but they’ve nodded and said ‘Cool!’. One guy trying to get his head around it asked ‘So, it’s kind of like a makeover?’ and said we should smoke cigars when I was done!?! Because I’ve been asking about what kinds of shops they go to a couple of the guys have offered to take me shopping which puts that sexist myth to bed! The awesome thing about University is that even if people have problems with stuff like this they know that they shouldn’t and keep their mouths shut…

It’s not so nice in the real world though. One thing that makes me really sad is reading blogs and watching clips about how trans people are treated in our community. By community I don’t mean the whole wide world. I mean my community, my people. Trans people talking about non-acceptance from the queer community. Trans-women feeling shunned by feminists. Trans-people of colour feeling ignored by white trans-people. Queer trans-people feeling invisible and having to deal with everyone thinking they’re straight!

WHAT THE HELL PEOPLE!!!

The reason why I’m a dirty socialist leftie is because I believe with my whole heart that humanity needs to take care of itself. When we see someone no matter how different they are from us and no matter how little we understand about them we need to help them out.

What the heck is the point of breaking down barriers if we’re just going to put new ones up?

What Love Looks Like

So I told him. It took me longer than I thought it would to get down to it but I told him. He doesn’t really care about me being genderqueer and he cares even less about what other people think.

He doesn’t really get it though. He has such a sense of self and cares so little (if at all) about what other people think of him that he doesn’t really get what the issue is. He sees breast-binding as something that’s going to take up more time in the morning and doesn’t really get why I can’t just ignore them if I don’t like them.

It’s weird to think that there are guys out there who would be threatened by this. There are so many people who would freak at the idea of the person they love saying ‘You know that gender you thought I was? I don’t really think I am…’

Shit it must be crap being surrounded by people like that.

Yesterday I told a friend because I was freaking about telling my boyfriend. Her reply was ‘Oh, so you’ll be coming to university in a large guys hoodie and jeans then?’ (which is what I generally wear).

Something that I was stressing heaps about is a non-issue for those who care for me. I am so lucky.

The Magical Creature is Born!

When I was younger I created a blog. It was one of those ones full of crap that wasn’t that interesting. Just a place for me to let my friends know what was going on and put up interesting links. This ones different.

So recently I’ve been dealing with an issue. As most people in my age bracket do I turned to the interwebs. Surely in this day and age there will plenty of resources for me I asked? Not really. There’s a few but not a whole lot. So, I decided to blog my journey all the way from the beginning to drop just one more cupful of information into the puddle that will hopefully become a lake and one day a sea.

So what’s up? you ask. My gender is what. I had a haircut a couple of weeks ago and it’s started to trigger all sorts of emotions in me. Why I hadn’t gone back to short hair sooner, why I felt pressured to keep long hair that I hated, why I made excuses and lied to myself about wanting to keep it. I went out with my best friend last night and I wore a dress. It’s a dress that I wear a lot, I quite like it or I DID like it (past tense). That dress was fine with my longer hair but now that my hairs back to the way it should be, now that it’s RIGHT, that dress was just so very very wrong.

I’ve only been familar with the term genderqueer for less than a year but it’s SO ME! It explains why I’ve just never felt right in any of the other catogories/labels. I’m neither, I’m both, I’m all and nothing. I’m a biological female who displays feminine masculinity. I don’t care if you do a double take when I walk into the loo’s because out of the corner of your eye you couldn’t tell what I was. Actually, that’s a LIE. I do care. I’m a bit chuffed actually that you do a double take.

I’m going to do something that I’ve wanted to do since I was about 13. I wanted to get them to be like all the other girls, to fit in, because you were supposed to want them. Everyone, everything, every form of media told me that I should want them. When they came I didn’t hate them. They were just wrong. They were these lumps of meat on a part of my body that just didn’t seem to belong.

I’m going to start binding them.

Tonight I’m going to talk to my partner. I figure they deserve a heads up that I’m going to start looking different.

I’m a bit scared. I think I’ll have another shot before I go to bed to talk.

Tomorrow I’ll blog about how it went and where the title of the blog came from.

Toodles and take care!