Dear Sim,

as always you have this way of reflecting questions back and me and then creating an avalanche of thoughts and feelings.

You know you asked such a good question. Why am I noticing these messages more and more? I can't quite explain my anger, but then the pressure is getting stronger and stronger for me to conform to dressing up even though I really do resist it at bottom of it. I don't know why I am so reluctant to do it, maybe it is because I don't believe that I have to do it, but then the rest of the world seem to believe it. I don't want to frame it such that it is a me against the world kind of scenario, but sometimes that is how I feel. That sometimes the world cannot look beyond the appearance.

It is as if in order to attain the status of womanhood I must first go through a change externally like a caterpillar sheds its skin(the analogy is not very apt here haha we can all become moths instead of butterflies) but then there is this expectation there, unspoken, that if I want to be recognized as a woman,not just a girl, I have to wear my assets with pride and then flaunt it. There is this silent category between a woman and a girl, and it is as if I can only cross that border if I accpet this defintion as set by the society.(at this point in my life,I'm hoping by the time I turn 40 the pressure would have eased or I would have found the way to deal with it--I am hoping) It makes me sad because, I feel that I'm woman enough by my definition, but so often your own definition is not enough. You still have to convince the rest of the world. It is as if only by painting my face then I pass the test to this rite.

It is as if this is a stage I must go through like loosing your front teeth in primary school, or having first menstral period in secondary school. But then this is not biological, but totally social. I don't know, maybe I'm the only one feeling this loneliness. Sometimes it is as if you have to wear a certain appearance if you want to be taken seriously, and it saddens me. There is this little voice inside which sometimes tells me if i change things will be easier in some ways, and another voice which tells me I don't have to compromise if I don't want to. I guess it is part of the search to define myself. Only, what I came to realize is that it is not just self-definition we are looking at here, but also the us that is to be defined in the eyes of others and that's the crux of it.

By: Nippy | Sunday, December 16, 2007 at 6:56 AM | |

where does the desire to write come from?
where does it go
into hiding or does it slip away
like magic dust
as flying children who no longer belief
in fairies, santa, god,
or anything else
slip out of the sky onto the ground
Where are the muses who grace
poets' gardens in their dreams
gone when they are bored
through with you
do they all wither away
leaving dead bushes and winter
do they sail away wiping
colours off your dreams
and paintings become black and white stills
of dead things
which once moved
and you wait for their return
and wonder
Why that love and desire to weave words
and to string them up like
little pieces of treasures you gather by the sea is
stilled like the sea breeze that
now blows the hot desert wind of sand
and dryness
exxcept now that same sea
only tosses out dead clumps of weed
hair of drowned muses
and dark oil patches
which is the only real thing that matters in our world
and everything is desert
even that single drop of inspiration has to be squeezed out
and preserved
and I thirst

By: Nippy | Thursday, December 13, 2007 at 2:05 PM | |

Philip Larkin - Ignorance


Strange to know nothing, never to be sure
Of what is true or right or real,
But forced to qualify or so I feel,
Or Well, it does seem so:
Someone must know.

Strange to be ignorant of the way things work:
Their skill at finding what they need,
Their sense of shape, and punctual spread of seed,
And willingness to change;
Yes, it is strange,

Even to wear such knowledge - for our flesh
Surrounds us with its own decisions -
And yet spend all our life on imprecisions,
That when we start to die
Have no idea why.

By: Nippy | at 1:49 PM | |