A Worldly Woman

After years of feeling shackled by the constraints of an intense religion and a marriage I was not ready for, I'm relishing my freedom. The best way to describe my current state of mind is that I want to take a huge, cheek-bursting bite out of life. Most of all, I want to see the world. I want to see the usual places like France, Spain, Italy, Australia, New Zealand, etc. But I also want to see the darker side: Rwanda, Columbia, Afghanistan (not just yet, since I value my life). For some mysterious reason, I feel the need to connect with the suffering of the world's oppressed. Perhaps seeing the haunting faces of countless genocide victims at the Kigali Memorial Center will force me to realize my own insignificance. I hope so. Sorry if this sounds morbid, I'm just trying to articulate my desire to see the world for what it really is - beautiful, dark, dangerous, exciting, and ever-changing. I consider this time and this age (23 and counting) the spring-board for the rest of my life.

Glass Women

I have known a fair amount of glass women. They are the women whose frail physical appearance mirrors a deeper emotional fragility. They have soft-spoken voices and delicate gestures. Sometimes they are pretty, sometimes not.

I've been trying to figure out what is so appealing about these women. Is it the fact that they could shatter into a million pieces at any moment and being there to pick up the pieces makes one feel heroic? Could it be that the obviousness of their insecurities makes others feel more comfortable with their own misgivings? I don't know. But I must say that at times I admire such women, or at the least I am intrigued by them.

I'm sure by my tone you can infer that I am not a willowy, tenuous woman. I am sturdy physically and I like to think that I am emotionally resilient. I am sensitive, I swear, but I rarely let my emotions spill into public view. I hold them tightly to me and if they make me feel weak or helpless I try to get rid of them. I purge my emotions by writing them down ( no surprise there) or going for a run. Does this make me less appealing or less feminine? If I did shatter into a million pieces would Prince Charming rush to rescue me?

Figments of Cyberspace

I was recently weeding out my email contact list for the first time in several years. I was shocked at how many quasi-friends (if one could even call them that) I have accumulated. Close friend or mere aquiantance, so many of the names struck an emotional chord. I found myself reluctant to press the delete button even though I knew I would never contact these people again. Whatever happened to ziggpop66 or diamondpoet or perfectloves? They represent a part of my life that must stay in the past, but somehow I can't erase them from my list ... or my memory.

Most of these people are on my Facebook so I can creep through their albums and post them a message any time I wish. But somehow, seeing their names (or cheesy email names) on my personal contact list reminds me that I once had real contact with these people. They're not just a figment of cyberspace. For the most part, I don't want to see their vacation pictures from last summer or their new baby photos; I want to see them as they were when I knew them - the totality of their existence summarized by still images packaged neatly in my memory and visited rarely. If I delete their names, how will I remember to think of them?

Brains or Boobs?

I've been pondering the idea of identity lately. So many of us are labelled early in life: "smart girl", "pretty girl", ""shy girl". I must admit that I have been considered all of these. I don't know that this is such a good thing. For the most part, being so narrowly defined can be likened to an actor being typecast; It is has a limiting effect. What if I had simply accepted being "the pretty one" in my pre-teens? Would I now be a shallow, brainless Betty? I suppose what I'm getting at is that I am a multifaceted human being with the capability of dawning many distinct traits. I cannot be summarized by a single word or phrase.

I have heard that researchers found a correlation between breast size and academic performance. Supposedly, more bountifully-boobed ladies tend to have lower grades. If there is any merit to these findings, I would argue that these women too readily allowed themselves to be defined by their physical appearance.

I for one refuse to settle for just one identity. I can be glamorous and/or a tomboy and/or have a wild side and/or be the girl next door. I can be all these things (unfortunately, I will probably never be bountifully-boobed). Why should I limit myself?