Hello, all!
I'm not sure what to write about today. This is my 99th post and all I can think about is how today was just a good day. Not a memorable day, but just a good day-- or at least good enough that I feel good right now.
I have a confession to make. Nothing bad.
Tomorrow, I have to turn in the title to an essay I have to write for my Shakespeare class that is due in 4th quarter. I only had one idea-- the role of women in Shakespeare, particularly Ophelia in Hamlet and Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing. They're two VERY different characters, and it's kind of along the lines of feminism (which I've been thinking about MORE lately since I joined FFB). However, over the course of a quick conversation with my teacher, my new topic will be Sociology in Shakespeare, as in how does Shakespeare represent societal issues, stereotypes, and ideas in his works? Like antisemitism in the Merchant of Venice, religion in Hamlet, women in any of his plays (but particularly Taming of the Shrew), racism in Othello... I'm already really excited about writing it, though I wonder how I will fit all that I could find to say into a four or five page paper.
I'm sure it's obvious by now, my confession is that I'm a bit of a Shakespeare nerd. It's completely unsurprising, actually; I've talked about my Shakespeare class a lot over many posts, and I love spending time at the bookstore looking for books that are inspired by some of his works. I find his sonnets to be beautiful, his plays to be wonderfully complex, and his language to be enchanting. I love his characters, and they're written so well that I can't help but marvel at his mastery. I mean, granted, some of his characters annoy me to no end, but I think that's a good thing-- they're so real, enough that I respond emotionally to their stories.
Earlier this year, I had never read Shakespeare before (my education has been lacking; usually freshmen read Romeo and Juliet but my class didn't). I had only heard about the class from some of my friends over the years (all positive reviews), but I've also heard bad things about Shakespeare's works-- how it's confusing and complicated and overwhelming and the language is dull or hard to understand. My mom is particularly fond of informing me that she couldn't make it through three weeks of Shakespeare in high school and she thinks I'm insane because I love it.
The thing is, I wanted to learn Shakespeare. I wanted to take this class, if anything just to read classic literature (I love most classics); as a writer, I figured learning the stories that are ingrained into our culture would only help me. But taking this class has been one of the best decisions I've made in high school. I doubt that I could have started reading Shakespeare on my own, and I doubt that I would have loved it as much if I had just read that one play as a freshman; I fear that my view of it would be skewed by the opinions of my classmates and a general reluctance to understand. But as I spent time in France (and had to read a bit of Shakespeare to French class... in English...), I thought about how sad it was that I had never read anything of his. How sad it was that I was missing out on such an important part of English literature. So I signed up for Shakespeare 101 and 102, which turns a semester class into a two-semester class and I have enjoyed every second of it.
At the beginning of the year, my teacher asked us if we had read Shakespeare before-- most had read Romeo and Juliet-- and if we had a favorite. The answer was no, we didn't have a favorite, due to lack of exposure.
I still don't know what my favorite would be. I still can't choose. I love his comedies (we read the Taming of the Shrew and Much Ado about Nothing)-- the puns and insults are hilarious! The Tempest (one of his romances) was powerful and there's that one speech... The Merchant of Venice forced me to think and sparked incredibly interesting debates in my class. Henry V is a history, but the tale transcends generations (also, comparing the movies was fun). We spent too much time on Hamlet, but I really didn't mind because I still love it despite the fact that I spent 9 weeks working on it in English and in Shakespeare 101. And now we're reading Othello and there are mysteries to be solved in each character of the play. I'm intrigued. The point is, I don't know if I will ever be able to choose a favorite.
Anyway, now you know. I'm a Shakespeare nerd.
Confession time is fun. Any confessions about nerdy pursuits? I'd love to hear them, especially if you share my love for Shakespeare!
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Highway
Hello, all!
I was looking for unused journals the other day--- I have loads of those-- and I found the writing notebook I was keeping in 2009. It's a notebook from a friend; every so often a quote or lyrics from a song interrupt the still-blank pages, but this notebook holds poems (I don't remember what they're about) and the list I was keeping of Things I Learned in 2009. I never completed the list, mostly because I forgot the notebook at home when I went to France, which bothered me while I was there. Anyway, I apparently wrote this poem on January 18th of 2009 while riding in a car. (Because travel inspires me.) I'm going to type it up as it's written; nothing is altered.
The fading light
turns the dried dead
treetops
into branches
of red
reaching for the sky.
The indigo and peach
clouds
hover just
out of range,
untouchable
to me.
I so love
the pink hue
joining the two-tone
condensation rainbow.
Framed by shadowed
mountains
in this grassy valley
split by grey lanes
and yellow lines.
Trapeze wires
above suffocating
caged people
too distracted
to notice the
winged creatures
waiting for the
sunset.
The line of trees
sit
so bare
on the highest ridge
and a path
cuts in between
unwalked
by bared feet
in cold winter
mud deepened
by two days of
shadows and snow.
(Side note... unwalked? Not a word.)
Also, this is post number 98. The 100th post has already been written, and it's set up to publish on the 25th.
What do you think of my early 2009 poetry?
... I just found a different poem that works perfectly with a story idea I had in 2010. Wow. That's exciting!
A demain!
-Aly
P.S. Thank you for all the comments lately! I wish that blogger had threaded comments so that I could reply to each and it still make sense!
I was looking for unused journals the other day--- I have loads of those-- and I found the writing notebook I was keeping in 2009. It's a notebook from a friend; every so often a quote or lyrics from a song interrupt the still-blank pages, but this notebook holds poems (I don't remember what they're about) and the list I was keeping of Things I Learned in 2009. I never completed the list, mostly because I forgot the notebook at home when I went to France, which bothered me while I was there. Anyway, I apparently wrote this poem on January 18th of 2009 while riding in a car. (Because travel inspires me.) I'm going to type it up as it's written; nothing is altered.
The fading light
turns the dried dead
treetops
into branches
of red
reaching for the sky.
The indigo and peach
clouds
hover just
out of range,
untouchable
to me.
I so love
the pink hue
joining the two-tone
condensation rainbow.
Framed by shadowed
mountains
in this grassy valley
split by grey lanes
and yellow lines.
Trapeze wires
above suffocating
caged people
too distracted
to notice the
winged creatures
waiting for the
sunset.
The line of trees
sit
so bare
on the highest ridge
and a path
cuts in between
unwalked
by bared feet
in cold winter
mud deepened
by two days of
shadows and snow.
(Side note... unwalked? Not a word.)
Also, this is post number 98. The 100th post has already been written, and it's set up to publish on the 25th.
What do you think of my early 2009 poetry?
... I just found a different poem that works perfectly with a story idea I had in 2010. Wow. That's exciting!
A demain!
-Aly
P.S. Thank you for all the comments lately! I wish that blogger had threaded comments so that I could reply to each and it still make sense!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
The Senses
Hello, all!
I went to the hospital today to visit a friend that was recently in a car crash and is now recovering. He's partially blind in one eye now, and I can't help but think about sight. Not just the physical ability to see, but to "see" as in to understand, and of course the different ways in which we see each other.
Has anybody ever asked you which you would prefer-- to be blind or to be unable to hear? What about speaking? I still don't know how to answer that. I rely on my eyes; beautiful images inspire me, but I love music and the sound of voices. And honestly, I talk too much.
It's weird though, to think about how we take such things for granted-- the senses that build our world. I can't imagine living without one or the other; it is hard to imagine how my vision of the world would change with my ability to experience it in so many different ways. How would it be to be deprived of one of those senses? Would the world change dramatically? Would you miss the sense that you lost? Would your perception of yourself change?
That's the other question I have about sight. We all see the world differently, of course, but literally-- what is the difference? We don't have a way to tell. Do you ever wonder about how other people see you? Or the ways that you see other people? Do you see them clearly? Are the colors the same, the faces? How does that differ from how we see ourselves? I mean, not just physically-- when we are looking at others, do we perceive them as their physical selves or as something else? Do we see them through rose-tinted glass?
Are we capable of viewing people objectively?
I always wonder how people see me. I know well enough how I see myself and though I shouldn't care about what others think, I'm honestly curious about the way they perceive me. What am I to the people around me? To friends, acquaintances, family...?
Are our perceptions of people locked or do they change?
I think our perceptions can change, as our eyesight does. But as our eyes grow weaker with age, do we see better or worse than we did when we were younger, at least in the figurative sense? How would we perceive others if we could only "see" them through a certain sense?
Do we associate particular senses with particular people? Like, when we think of friends, or we notice something about somebody that is customary to somebody else, how do we associate it? (That didn't make sense. ... ha, punny.) For example, do you associate the scent of a person most with them or their voice? How do all of the senses come into play when we "see" somebody?
I wonder sometimes if I am seeing the world in a way that is clear-- do I see the people around me as blurry lines, or do I see them like I would characters in a novel? How does my perception of people interact with their reality and their perception of me?
I guess I'm trying to say that sight is complicated. "Seeing" physically and perceiving are different from each other, and even then, everything is skewed. Our senses allow us to "see" people, but we could be misunderstanding.
Sorry about the fifty million questions in this. If you have your own answer for any of them, I'd love to hear! (HA.)
Also, sorry about all the puns. :)
A demain!
-Aly
I went to the hospital today to visit a friend that was recently in a car crash and is now recovering. He's partially blind in one eye now, and I can't help but think about sight. Not just the physical ability to see, but to "see" as in to understand, and of course the different ways in which we see each other.
Has anybody ever asked you which you would prefer-- to be blind or to be unable to hear? What about speaking? I still don't know how to answer that. I rely on my eyes; beautiful images inspire me, but I love music and the sound of voices. And honestly, I talk too much.
It's weird though, to think about how we take such things for granted-- the senses that build our world. I can't imagine living without one or the other; it is hard to imagine how my vision of the world would change with my ability to experience it in so many different ways. How would it be to be deprived of one of those senses? Would the world change dramatically? Would you miss the sense that you lost? Would your perception of yourself change?
That's the other question I have about sight. We all see the world differently, of course, but literally-- what is the difference? We don't have a way to tell. Do you ever wonder about how other people see you? Or the ways that you see other people? Do you see them clearly? Are the colors the same, the faces? How does that differ from how we see ourselves? I mean, not just physically-- when we are looking at others, do we perceive them as their physical selves or as something else? Do we see them through rose-tinted glass?
Are we capable of viewing people objectively?
I always wonder how people see me. I know well enough how I see myself and though I shouldn't care about what others think, I'm honestly curious about the way they perceive me. What am I to the people around me? To friends, acquaintances, family...?
Are our perceptions of people locked or do they change?
I think our perceptions can change, as our eyesight does. But as our eyes grow weaker with age, do we see better or worse than we did when we were younger, at least in the figurative sense? How would we perceive others if we could only "see" them through a certain sense?
Do we associate particular senses with particular people? Like, when we think of friends, or we notice something about somebody that is customary to somebody else, how do we associate it? (That didn't make sense. ... ha, punny.) For example, do you associate the scent of a person most with them or their voice? How do all of the senses come into play when we "see" somebody?
I wonder sometimes if I am seeing the world in a way that is clear-- do I see the people around me as blurry lines, or do I see them like I would characters in a novel? How does my perception of people interact with their reality and their perception of me?
I guess I'm trying to say that sight is complicated. "Seeing" physically and perceiving are different from each other, and even then, everything is skewed. Our senses allow us to "see" people, but we could be misunderstanding.
Sorry about the fifty million questions in this. If you have your own answer for any of them, I'd love to hear! (HA.)
Also, sorry about all the puns. :)
A demain!
-Aly
Monday, February 21, 2011
The Inevitability of Death
Hello, all!
I have lots of thoughts in my head again today. I have songs that are reminding me of emotions and provoking thoughts, images that are causing me to dream, videos that are making me think, words that are spilling from crevices in my brain.
Did you ever realize how many poems and books are dedicated to the message that death is inevitable? Why is it?
I can only imagine that our fascination with death comes from our fear of it. Death is terrifying, the idea that all things end is an unpleasant truth. It's hard to think of loss, the void created by losing friends or losing yourself-- of everything you are familiar with coming to an end. There are so many things about death to be afraid of and to wonder about. The afterlife or lack thereof; what is it like, if it exists? How will we each die? What will our legacy be?
The other day my friend Kimm said, "In the end, the dates on your headstone will not be what matters-- the dash between them will be." If you take that literally, then it really says nothing important, but I understand what Kimm is trying to say: it isn't our death that matters, but the span of our lives. Even if our lives are cut short by one thing or another (there are far too many possibilities), what matters most is what we did with that life.
I think we're foolish to dwell on death the way we do. Death is coming, yes; everything is in the process of dying. It's depressing and overwhelming, but true. I think our problem (if it's even a problem at all) is that we only KNOW life. I mean, we know it as much as something unpredictable and illogical, but we enjoy LIVING.
I keep thinking about how many characters in literature seem to have this same fascination with death and dying. Think of Hamlet and Frankenstein. Voldemort. Classics and modern literature alike, characters frequently seem preoccupied with death-- or how to avoid it. How to become immortal in some way. Immortality is our poison, our addiction: the idea of living forever. Maybe it is because we think immortality is the same as power, or maybe we are just obsessed with the idea that we can avoid the Great Perhaps of death. (Looking for Alaska reference)
Maybe when we think about death, we think of how we aren't ready for death. What if we're NEVER ready? What then? Will we be okay with letting go of life?
I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing-- to be frightened by death. I think the reason it's so present in literature is because we can all relate; we know what it is like to think about it and to want to avoid it or to wonder about the value of our own lives. It's humbling and it's terrifying, but it reminds us to live-- to seek out whatever it is in life that will make us feel like our time here is valuable. One day we will seek a Great Perhaps, even if we're reluctant. But life is our first adventure.
Once again, I deviated from my point. I'm getting really bad about that...
(On the bright side, it's sort of relevant to the theme of character! :) )
A demain!
-Aly
I have lots of thoughts in my head again today. I have songs that are reminding me of emotions and provoking thoughts, images that are causing me to dream, videos that are making me think, words that are spilling from crevices in my brain.
Did you ever realize how many poems and books are dedicated to the message that death is inevitable? Why is it?
I can only imagine that our fascination with death comes from our fear of it. Death is terrifying, the idea that all things end is an unpleasant truth. It's hard to think of loss, the void created by losing friends or losing yourself-- of everything you are familiar with coming to an end. There are so many things about death to be afraid of and to wonder about. The afterlife or lack thereof; what is it like, if it exists? How will we each die? What will our legacy be?
The other day my friend Kimm said, "In the end, the dates on your headstone will not be what matters-- the dash between them will be." If you take that literally, then it really says nothing important, but I understand what Kimm is trying to say: it isn't our death that matters, but the span of our lives. Even if our lives are cut short by one thing or another (there are far too many possibilities), what matters most is what we did with that life.
I think we're foolish to dwell on death the way we do. Death is coming, yes; everything is in the process of dying. It's depressing and overwhelming, but true. I think our problem (if it's even a problem at all) is that we only KNOW life. I mean, we know it as much as something unpredictable and illogical, but we enjoy LIVING.
I keep thinking about how many characters in literature seem to have this same fascination with death and dying. Think of Hamlet and Frankenstein. Voldemort. Classics and modern literature alike, characters frequently seem preoccupied with death-- or how to avoid it. How to become immortal in some way. Immortality is our poison, our addiction: the idea of living forever. Maybe it is because we think immortality is the same as power, or maybe we are just obsessed with the idea that we can avoid the Great Perhaps of death. (Looking for Alaska reference)
Maybe when we think about death, we think of how we aren't ready for death. What if we're NEVER ready? What then? Will we be okay with letting go of life?
I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing-- to be frightened by death. I think the reason it's so present in literature is because we can all relate; we know what it is like to think about it and to want to avoid it or to wonder about the value of our own lives. It's humbling and it's terrifying, but it reminds us to live-- to seek out whatever it is in life that will make us feel like our time here is valuable. One day we will seek a Great Perhaps, even if we're reluctant. But life is our first adventure.
Once again, I deviated from my point. I'm getting really bad about that...
(On the bright side, it's sort of relevant to the theme of character! :) )
A demain!
-Aly
Sunday, February 20, 2011
To New Readers & Old
Hello, all!
So... I really didn't know what to say today. Last week was a week of posts with quite a bit of content. That's exhausting to do, and honestly, for most of this weekend, I have been insanely busy. Nonetheless, I thought about my blog for a lot of the weekend.
For those of you new readers/followers (hello! Thank you, Olivia, for sending so many people over!), thank you SO MUCH for reading and commenting! Seeing so many views and comments on my post about Feminism was fantastic. I just wanted to acknowledge that I read all of your comments and I hope you find something here worth sticking around for!
The thing is, this blog is called "Aly en France" because I am obsessed with France, and I went there for 7 months last year. It used to be a blog about that experience and France-related things. Kind of like a journal of my thoughts and adventures while I was there, and I expected that when I came back, it would be largely France-related. Well, last NaBloPoMo (that really occurred over 4 weeks rather than one month), I just wrote food-named posts that were largely related to what was going on in my life at the time, with the exception of this post about a vacation I took in June while in France. None of it was really of high quality, but this time around, when I'm actually blogging every day for one month, my posts are changing quite a bit.
I'd like to think they're much better quality now. They're longer, but they're not as focused. I've been focusing on things that have been on my mind and things I've written, but I have strayed a lot from what I thought this blog would be. I really have NO IDEA what my blog is now. I'm not sure where it's going or what other posts I'll be writing. I've been touching on slightly more controversial topics (feminism, religion...) than I did before, and sharing some of my writing (an excerpt from my novel, a narrative about math class, and this...). It's still my blog though, and there's a fair amount of me just talking about my day or whatever. I like the more interesting/content-heavy posts better, to be honest. They're fun to write and I'm learning so much about how I write.
Either way, I have no idea what my blog IS any more. I don't know what purpose it is serving or what you guys are expecting from it. Thanks for reading, though, and I hope you'll enjoy whatever this blog turns into!
A demain!
-Aly
So... I really didn't know what to say today. Last week was a week of posts with quite a bit of content. That's exhausting to do, and honestly, for most of this weekend, I have been insanely busy. Nonetheless, I thought about my blog for a lot of the weekend.
For those of you new readers/followers (hello! Thank you, Olivia, for sending so many people over!), thank you SO MUCH for reading and commenting! Seeing so many views and comments on my post about Feminism was fantastic. I just wanted to acknowledge that I read all of your comments and I hope you find something here worth sticking around for!
The thing is, this blog is called "Aly en France" because I am obsessed with France, and I went there for 7 months last year. It used to be a blog about that experience and France-related things. Kind of like a journal of my thoughts and adventures while I was there, and I expected that when I came back, it would be largely France-related. Well, last NaBloPoMo (that really occurred over 4 weeks rather than one month), I just wrote food-named posts that were largely related to what was going on in my life at the time, with the exception of this post about a vacation I took in June while in France. None of it was really of high quality, but this time around, when I'm actually blogging every day for one month, my posts are changing quite a bit.
I'd like to think they're much better quality now. They're longer, but they're not as focused. I've been focusing on things that have been on my mind and things I've written, but I have strayed a lot from what I thought this blog would be. I really have NO IDEA what my blog is now. I'm not sure where it's going or what other posts I'll be writing. I've been touching on slightly more controversial topics (feminism, religion...) than I did before, and sharing some of my writing (an excerpt from my novel, a narrative about math class, and this...). It's still my blog though, and there's a fair amount of me just talking about my day or whatever. I like the more interesting/content-heavy posts better, to be honest. They're fun to write and I'm learning so much about how I write.
Either way, I have no idea what my blog IS any more. I don't know what purpose it is serving or what you guys are expecting from it. Thanks for reading, though, and I hope you'll enjoy whatever this blog turns into!
A demain!
-Aly
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Simplicity
Simplicity
Paper cranes and laughter
Notes and scribblings
Sunshine and wind
Music in my mind
Calming my turbulent thoughts.
Paper cranes and laughter
Notes and scribblings
Sunshine and wind
Music in my mind
Calming my turbulent thoughts.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Feminism
Hello, all!
So, I've been meaning to write this post for a week or so, but I needed time to put my thoughts in order first. (Read: procrastination)
Franca wrote a blog post a while back about what feminism means to her, (which I thought was brilliant), so I decided that I should write a similar post myself, especially since I'm blogging every day this month and this is a topic I have a lot to say about.
Last month a woman came into our Shakespeare class-- she's one of the English teacher's daughters, and she's directing a modernized version of The Taming of the Shrew in April-- and one of the first things she said was, "I don't consider myself a "feminist", but as a woman in the 21st century, I am." Everybody smiled and laughed, because "feminist" to many people still seems to mean bra-burning and excessive body hair, which isn't necessarily true. I loved that a really awesome grad student was proclaiming herself a feminist, but not in the way that people automatically assume.
I consider myself a feminist, at least in the way that I see world. My fascination with sociology means that I spend a lot of time thinking about the way society affects individuals; how we are poked, prodded, molded into one thing or another at the bidding of the world around us. It's not as though we don't have a choice in the matter, but for the most part, it seems like individuals can be powerless. I think feminism is a necessity in our society: there are still barriers to overcome, issues to discuss, stereotypes to change. That's what I think feminism is.
I consider myself a feminist because I look at the way I see myself-- and the way other women see themselves and I see how fragile we are. Not because we aren't strong-- on the contrary, most women I know are incredibly strong individuals-- but because we aren't always allowed to see ourselves as strong or beautiful or smart or any number of things.
We are told to be a certain way (thin, pretty, etc.) and then we're told that we're not enough of one thing or another.
We're supposed to be strong and independent but we are told that we need to be looked after because we don't know how to handle ourselves (coughTwilightcough). We're supposed to be talkative, loud, and outgoing-- but only if what we are saying is mindless or unimportant. Otherwise we should be quiet.
We should be studious/good at sports (but not the Dangerous Ones, the ones reserved for boys)/ be confident/be humble/give time to charity and family and friends.
We're supposed to be helpful/volunteer/dedicated to a particular goal, so long as it is Good.
We should be interested in fashion/skinny/not have an eating disorder/wear makeup/try harder.
If we're single, we're not good enough/need to wait for boys to ask us out/hopeless/unattractive/too much of one thing or another and guys are idiots/jerks/can't think, yet we shouldn't be able to live without them/should want a boyfriend/should date by the time we're in high school/have a perfect first kiss/not have sex until we're married/be flirty but not suggestive and we aren't allowed to make stupid mistakes.
Basically, there are lines and expectations and limits everywhere. For some, the lines are thicker or more faded than others, but the restrictions and stereotypes are everywhere. To me, feminism is seeing these things and making an effort to change them. Defying stereotypes or allowing yourself to see not through the eyes of society, but through your own eyes. I think feminism is thinking of yourself as strong and capable of more than is expected and recognizing that you do not have to be what people think you should be.
I think being a feminist is hearing people say things like "make me a sandwich!" and getting angry at the insult (it may be in jest, but it still perpetuates the idea that women should STAY IN THE KITCHEN, where they "belong"). It's learning how to respond to statements like that and accepting or denying the implications. It's taking control over your own life and ideas, supporting other women.
I consider myself a feminist because I want to change how women are viewed and the expectations society has of us. I believe I can be anything I want to be and I will not allow myself to be restrained by what I should be. I will make choices out of what is best for me, rather than what the proper reaction would be.
I am a feminist because I know that women are so much more than society wants us to be.
...Well, that didn't turn out quite as thoughtful as intended (or philosophical), but that's okay. I just started writing and this is what happened.
A demain!
-Aly
So, I've been meaning to write this post for a week or so, but I needed time to put my thoughts in order first. (Read: procrastination)
Franca wrote a blog post a while back about what feminism means to her, (which I thought was brilliant), so I decided that I should write a similar post myself, especially since I'm blogging every day this month and this is a topic I have a lot to say about.
Last month a woman came into our Shakespeare class-- she's one of the English teacher's daughters, and she's directing a modernized version of The Taming of the Shrew in April-- and one of the first things she said was, "I don't consider myself a "feminist", but as a woman in the 21st century, I am." Everybody smiled and laughed, because "feminist" to many people still seems to mean bra-burning and excessive body hair, which isn't necessarily true. I loved that a really awesome grad student was proclaiming herself a feminist, but not in the way that people automatically assume.
I consider myself a feminist, at least in the way that I see world. My fascination with sociology means that I spend a lot of time thinking about the way society affects individuals; how we are poked, prodded, molded into one thing or another at the bidding of the world around us. It's not as though we don't have a choice in the matter, but for the most part, it seems like individuals can be powerless. I think feminism is a necessity in our society: there are still barriers to overcome, issues to discuss, stereotypes to change. That's what I think feminism is.
I consider myself a feminist because I look at the way I see myself-- and the way other women see themselves and I see how fragile we are. Not because we aren't strong-- on the contrary, most women I know are incredibly strong individuals-- but because we aren't always allowed to see ourselves as strong or beautiful or smart or any number of things.
We are told to be a certain way (thin, pretty, etc.) and then we're told that we're not enough of one thing or another.
We're supposed to be strong and independent but we are told that we need to be looked after because we don't know how to handle ourselves (coughTwilightcough). We're supposed to be talkative, loud, and outgoing-- but only if what we are saying is mindless or unimportant. Otherwise we should be quiet.
We should be studious/good at sports (but not the Dangerous Ones, the ones reserved for boys)/ be confident/be humble/give time to charity and family and friends.
We're supposed to be helpful/volunteer/dedicated to a particular goal, so long as it is Good.
We should be interested in fashion/skinny/not have an eating disorder/wear makeup/try harder.
If we're single, we're not good enough/need to wait for boys to ask us out/hopeless/unattractive/too much of one thing or another and guys are idiots/jerks/can't think, yet we shouldn't be able to live without them/should want a boyfriend/should date by the time we're in high school/have a perfect first kiss/not have sex until we're married/be flirty but not suggestive and we aren't allowed to make stupid mistakes.
Basically, there are lines and expectations and limits everywhere. For some, the lines are thicker or more faded than others, but the restrictions and stereotypes are everywhere. To me, feminism is seeing these things and making an effort to change them. Defying stereotypes or allowing yourself to see not through the eyes of society, but through your own eyes. I think feminism is thinking of yourself as strong and capable of more than is expected and recognizing that you do not have to be what people think you should be.
I think being a feminist is hearing people say things like "make me a sandwich!" and getting angry at the insult (it may be in jest, but it still perpetuates the idea that women should STAY IN THE KITCHEN, where they "belong"). It's learning how to respond to statements like that and accepting or denying the implications. It's taking control over your own life and ideas, supporting other women.
I consider myself a feminist because I want to change how women are viewed and the expectations society has of us. I believe I can be anything I want to be and I will not allow myself to be restrained by what I should be. I will make choices out of what is best for me, rather than what the proper reaction would be.
I am a feminist because I know that women are so much more than society wants us to be.
...Well, that didn't turn out quite as thoughtful as intended (or philosophical), but that's okay. I just started writing and this is what happened.
A demain!
-Aly
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Incoherent Poetry
Today I feel like poetry
Broken poetry
lacking rhyme
rhythm
reason
full of
Fumbling phrases
and unclear thoughts
Reflected
in the torturous movement of my muscles
Disjointed and outoffocus
Head in clouds of ink
pages pages pages
of words
Flying over my head
I am slow
plodding along
hearing meaningless babble
understanding Nothing
Strings pulling me
up-and-down the stairs
repeated repeated repeated
Clumsy poetry;
incapable of movement.
Broken poetry
lacking rhyme
rhythm
reason
full of
Fumbling phrases
and unclear thoughts
Reflected
in the torturous movement of my muscles
Disjointed and outoffocus
Head in clouds of ink
pages pages pages
of words
Flying over my head
I am slow
plodding along
hearing meaningless babble
understanding Nothing
Strings pulling me
up-and-down the stairs
repeated repeated repeated
Clumsy poetry;
incapable of movement.
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