Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Black Birds On A Scarecrow

As women, we are under constant threat. A thread of hair lies misaligned, our makeup is not perfect. A shoelace is stupidly, untidily untied, but stupider is not wearing heels or "female appropriate" shoes. Our body is misshapen, and our face, asymmetrical.

Our body and our mind, is at times, a disaster, and we spend our whole lives trying to "fix" it, if only it were possible.

Machines and scientists and scalpels to fix your body, but nothing to fix the psychologically oppressed mind of a woman.

Never thin enough, never smart enough, never good enough. Women are constantly teetering with their self-worth, always in a battle, of Am I Good Enough, Was I Ever Good Enough, and Why Can't I Be. They are constantly comparing, denying, and objectifying themselves.

And for what? the prize of the male gaze, intellectual gratification, personal worth, "love"... ...the most ridiculous part being that we're to attract men (speak: MEN!!!), and so it is for this that we've twisted the ideal image of the female again and again- He says that this is what she must look like. He says this is what she must act like. In the meantime, she struggles to become a She.

It is no coincidence that amid thousands of years of human existence, across different cultures and spans of time, the woman has been condemned, always placed at the bottom of the social strata*. And for what? For childbirth? For our weaker bodies? Our soft minds? Our incapacity to learn?

I don't know where I'm going with this. Only that as I gazed at myself in the mirror this evening, I was so unsatisfied with what I saw. It was not just my reflection that disappointed me, but my wavering attitude towards life, my inability to meet my own wild/outrageous expectations -- the failure of passing some retarded test I had given myself.

And for what? What am I trying to prove and who am I proving this to? What is the point of all this?

As a self-conscious preteen I had always imagined not a world of humans, but a world of souls - where there is no physical manifestation of the self, just souls to judge each other by. True character. Doesn't exist, of course. Merely a fantasy.

I'm not having the best night, for sure, but I'm only wondering what day I, and other girls like me, will quit being fascinated by the mirror and what we see (and don't see). The Reflection is an Infection.

I had pondered this as I stared at my dark brown eyes, the dark bags underneath that highlighted my tired skin. Now, my fingers try to form the thoughts I had been thinking at the time -- Believe me, my reasoning sounded far better in my head.

I cannot, do not, speak for every female. I am merely trying to shed light on a short feeling of female insecurity that all women feel at different times in their life, this feeling that Society (patriarchal society, what have you) slapped in our face with His dick.


Anyway, some other time I can develop my thoughts more on this. Knowing myself quite well (and yet so unwell), tomorrow I will probably be posting something on Why Women RULEEE and get all Amazonian and shit. And then Why I Love Men, and there'll be a picture of Zak Bagans in raver pants.

I mean, who cares though. We're all just sum hoes and bitches.

*but still above the Jews.

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