Sunday, March 29, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
- Women don't read books. (This was from the "Book Club", remember? I vaguely remember registering to buy books sometime - which I probably didn't buy after all. But going by this, not only do we not read, we don't even buy books.)
- Or at least, the ones that do don't want dining sets.
- The special women in your life can only be "Mother, Wife and Daughter"(sic). Girlfriends, sisters, mothers-in-law, friends and any other women you know can of course, never be special.
- A dining set is the ideal gift for a woman.
- A dining set is only for women.
- The ideal gift for a woman is one that enables her to be a perfect host.
- Men don't want to be perfect hosts. (Or maybe they can get there without the help of the extra-special dining set?)
Saturday, March 21, 2009
On one hand, that seems to be one of the fundamental functions of relationships. When I am sick, the Guy wraps me up and cooks me food and makes sure I'm comfortable. He is so good to me that I often enjoy being sick (especially as it often seems the only break I get from work!) When I am depressed, he wraps his arms around me.
But it doesn't make the sickness or the pain go away.
Even in this respect, as in all others, the sexism ingrained in all of us often shows up. Men are supposed to take care of partners and daughters and mothers by providing for them and ensuring an adequate and continuous stream of earnings. (Sisters, not so much, because their husbands and sons are supposed to be providing for them.) Women are supposed to be taking care of husbands and fathers or in-laws by cooking and cleaning and nurturing. (If she also has a job, well, that's great in 'broad-minded' households, but that shouldn't take precedence over her family.)
I go so far sometimes as envying women my age whom I see staying at home while their husbands work. (I'm not even considering mothers here. Parenting - especially of young children - often seems like a full-time job. There's of course the question of why it's almost always the mother who quits her job to be a full-time parent, but that's a separate issue.) Sometimes, especially after a stressful day at work, I wish I could sit at home and cook and clean and read instead of worrying about getting that document completed on time.
But those are moments of weakness. If I were alone, I would provide for myself. Why should I be weaker or less capable if I have a partner?
Not to say I would never consider taking a break from a full-time job. But I wouldn't embark on that with the thought that after all, it's the Guy's duty to provide for us and what I do is just an 'extra'. My work is as important to me as the Guy's is to his. I am immensely grateful to have a partner who understands that, who finds it easier to understand and like me because my priorities are similar to his.
But even leaving the sexism aside, why should we expect anyone - a partner, a friend, a relative - to take care of us? To help out in tough times, yes. Everyone needs a helping hand once in a while. But once we are adults, shouldn't we take charge of our own lives?
We move out and stop depending financially on our parents. We start cooking and doing our own laundry (well, many of us do). Why then expect to start depending on another person again, because we're in love with them or have married them?
I know I depend on the Guy maybe much more than is healthy for me. I hate going out alone, running errands alone. I am happy doing the laundry at home, though. So we both often end up doing tasks we are comfortable with. It might be comfortable, but I admit it's probably not the best way.
I hated it when the Guy went away last year. I had a tough time. I hated being alone. I had a couple of bad experiences and ended up being scared and angry.
But I also felt a kind of peace I hadn't felt in years. I remembered why I had loved living alone, I remembered how much I enjoyed the solitude and the silence.
And I remembered how liberating it feels to do everything for yourself, even though I hated dragging myself to the doctor when I hardly felt well enough to walk.
But as I'd said to myself what seems many years ago, when I was a teenager, I want my love to make me stronger, not weaker.
The Guy and I derive so much joy and comfort from being with each other. But comfort can weaken by making you secure and lazy. We want to drive each other to be the best we can be. We slip sometimes, but that is what the goal we strive towards.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Sunday, March 01, 2009
You haunt every breath, every moment. When I sleep, I can see you, smell you. Yet I cannot touch you, just as I cannot when I am awake. You flitter away when I reach out, yet you do not go far. You tantalize me, staying out of reach but making it impossible for me to forget you, even for a moment. Whether I am awake or asleep, you haunt me.
And you call me the stalker.
I wonder what would happen if we died, together, at the same moment. Would your breath and mine mingle, unite, and rise up together? Wouldn’t we then, be together, inseparably, irrevocably?
But how can that happen if I can’t go near you?
Maybe tomorrow you will go to that little deserted temple across the park again. You haven’t been for two weeks, but then you haven’t seen me in that time either. I know you love going there. I can wait there, in my hiding place on the tree, and wait for you tomorrow, the next day… till you come. You might bring your sister like you did a few times. But I can wait till you come alone. Or maybe – it won’t matter if she’s there. I am strong – and by the time she fetches help, it will be too late.
I don’t have a gun, but I don’t want one. Guns are so efficient, so unemotional. I will take a long, sharp knife and plunge it straight to your heart so that it doesn’t hurt much. You will look at me, perhaps, with surprise. But I won’t have time to lose and will use the knife again. Blood will flow straight from your heart, red with passion, and blend with mine. We will fall to the earth; our breaths will mingle and rise up to the heavens in an erotic dance…