I'm sitting at my desk and I look to my left. I look behind me, and I look to my right. The common denominator? Everyone's on Facebook. Ironically, I was the first one on at work and got everyone else to join.
People ask me now why I left. There are a lot of different answers. The ugly facelifts, wanting back my life...but when you get down to the nitty gritty, it's about what I value. What really matters?
It's the meaning of life question that everyone asks. It's about relationships and people. This, coming from a person so comfortable with tasks. Getting it done.
I know this means I have to live an uncomfortable life in order to have a fulfilling one. To have a life of quality.
It's about reaching out of my comfort zone beyond the tasks so that there will be someone to go to during the times when I really want to share something. Quality of life includes having a community who genuinely cares for you as a person and if you don't show up for awhile you'll be missed.
I border on introversion and extroversion. It depends on the period of my life and what is going on. Most of the time, it's simpler to focus inwards. To feel like I've completed something, gotten something done. Tasks over people. But it's not satisfying. Just simpler.
The moments in my life that satiate my spirit have been true connections with people. Often while traveling. It can be with strangers you strike up conversations with that go deep--then you never see that person again. Or friends, family, and loves you share your lives with--beyond the surface scratchings. People who know how ugly you can be but love you despite it all.
That's why I don't like Facebook. It doesn't feed that need in me for a deep connection. To understand another human being spirit to spirit. It's time I'd rather spend writing a handwritten letter, speaking to a person on the phone, or visiting with a person face to face.
Now, where is that stationary?...
31 July 2010
10 July 2010
Gender Disappointment from the child's side
"Why do you have a boy's name?"
I pause. "Hunh?"
"Your name, my friend has a son with that name. Your name is a boy's name."
It's my second trip to Taiwan and I'm here for my Grandfather's funeral. Asian funerals are long and drawn out. But that's another story.
My parents never hid the fact that they actually wished for a boy and got a girl. First with my sister and then with me. The only difference was they only planned for two children so I was supposed to be the last chance at a boy.
As a child, you take it in. Babies are very perceptive. More than a lot of people realize. The sense that something is wrong and it's your fault. But you have no control over it. And, of course, it's not really your fault.
Recently I had a conversation with someone on this topic and it was like a light bulb went off.
Now an adult old enough to have my own children; I can see patterns of constant apologies to other people for being who I am. It's not necessarily apologizing for being a girl but apologizing for the characteristics that make me - me. Things I really have no control over.
The sense that who I am is inadequate is something I've struggled against my whole life. That no matter how much I try to do the right thing whatever I do is wrong. Other more personal, specific issues that I won't discuss here have cropped up as well.
I'm not angry at my parents for feeling the way they felt. How you feel about something isn't necessarily something you can control. Also, much of that desire for a boy is ingrained so deeply culturally that I can see their point of view. Plus, they don't feel that way anymore. I know they love me as a girl.
Four years after my birth, an unplanned but very welcome surprise came. My baby brother joined our family to much joy and my parents got their boy. I got the brother I'd always wanted.
Recently, my sister and I went to China on a visit. We came across a shop that sold chops. Marble block stamps with a person's name carved into it that are often used as seals for artwork. My dad had one made for my brother when he was young on a trip to Taiwan. We asked for one and were told we couldn't get them because we were girls.
This shop had no qualms about selling us each one and it secretly made me jump up and down with glee knowing that I now had something that was at one time reserved for the male sex. I use it on a lot of my personal correspondence. Stamping it and looking at it makes me feel a sense of contentment. Like a whole history in one artistic red box.
"Your name is a very special name. Not a lot of people have this name. The character use is very, very, rare and very special," my dad says. I'm eight or nine and learning how to write my name in Mandarin. I look at it and smile. It's very special. And it's mine.
I pause. "Hunh?"
"Your name, my friend has a son with that name. Your name is a boy's name."
It's my second trip to Taiwan and I'm here for my Grandfather's funeral. Asian funerals are long and drawn out. But that's another story.
My parents never hid the fact that they actually wished for a boy and got a girl. First with my sister and then with me. The only difference was they only planned for two children so I was supposed to be the last chance at a boy.
As a child, you take it in. Babies are very perceptive. More than a lot of people realize. The sense that something is wrong and it's your fault. But you have no control over it. And, of course, it's not really your fault.
Recently I had a conversation with someone on this topic and it was like a light bulb went off.
Now an adult old enough to have my own children; I can see patterns of constant apologies to other people for being who I am. It's not necessarily apologizing for being a girl but apologizing for the characteristics that make me - me. Things I really have no control over.
The sense that who I am is inadequate is something I've struggled against my whole life. That no matter how much I try to do the right thing whatever I do is wrong. Other more personal, specific issues that I won't discuss here have cropped up as well.
I'm not angry at my parents for feeling the way they felt. How you feel about something isn't necessarily something you can control. Also, much of that desire for a boy is ingrained so deeply culturally that I can see their point of view. Plus, they don't feel that way anymore. I know they love me as a girl.
Four years after my birth, an unplanned but very welcome surprise came. My baby brother joined our family to much joy and my parents got their boy. I got the brother I'd always wanted.
Recently, my sister and I went to China on a visit. We came across a shop that sold chops. Marble block stamps with a person's name carved into it that are often used as seals for artwork. My dad had one made for my brother when he was young on a trip to Taiwan. We asked for one and were told we couldn't get them because we were girls.
This shop had no qualms about selling us each one and it secretly made me jump up and down with glee knowing that I now had something that was at one time reserved for the male sex. I use it on a lot of my personal correspondence. Stamping it and looking at it makes me feel a sense of contentment. Like a whole history in one artistic red box.
"Your name is a very special name. Not a lot of people have this name. The character use is very, very, rare and very special," my dad says. I'm eight or nine and learning how to write my name in Mandarin. I look at it and smile. It's very special. And it's mine.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)