Trouble, why did you pick up the book, My Conversations with Canadians by Lee Maracle? 

Those of you who know me have heard that I lived in Canada for a time, specifically Quebec. I was an undergraduate student at the time trying to finish up a French degree, but I was looking forward to learning something about the world that I hadn't known before. As a child, I had been aware of Canada's existence and location. I even knew how to spell Saskatchewan (wait, did I really get that right on the first try? As they say in Canada, easy to draw, hard to spell: Saskatchewan). Going to Canada was something like what I expected and somewhat not. One item that was briefly mentioned in my art and culture of Canada class was the situation surrounding First Nations people of Canada. My class studied this topic one night over a 2-hour class period, and then promptly forgot about it. 

Imagine my surprise when I opened the audiobook mentioned above, and I discovered that it was written by a woman of the Sto:lo nation who has a few things to say to Canadians about the difficulties that have been forced upon her, her nation, and other tribes throughout the Americas. I imagined the book would have something to do with Canadians; I wasn't expecting to be placed in an immersive artistic and passionate retelling of the injustices that blanket the globe, but particularly apply to the First people of what is now North America. 

The book is written in 13 parts, some over an hour long, and some just five minutes. Each piece is directed at a misunderstanding that Maracle has found herself addressing over and over again as a speaker, author and artist. I've seen people asking just how much protesting and awareness-raising there has to be. Obviously as much as it takes until these injustices are corrected. As I write this, there are still protests across the United States spurred by racially-fueled police violence. In many ways, it's discouraging to see the same sorts of racial injustices perpetrated by the "nicest colonizers" in Canada.

Maracle's voice joins many others in an attempt to alert others that things are not okay. While her message itself is not unique, her voice is powerful in its poetic and personable elegance that stands tall on a backbone of ownership. Lee Maracle is not taking this lying down. 

Will Rogers once said that everyone is ignorant, just in different subjects. Debby Irving has said that you don't know how much you don't know. I say that we can't afford to continue being ignorant about the human rights that continue to be at times unknowingly stolen from people. People whose only difference from me is the color of their skin. People who want to preserve their culture and traditions. People who have had everything stolen from them and are still fighting to get it back hundreds of years later. 

The long story short is that this book is going on my list of "art" books because it moves me. Maracle's words bring me to the brilliant highs of culture and power and hope as well as the lows of confusion, helplessness and loss. Although the message calling for awareness and understanding is not new, the avenue of semi-poetic prose stands out as one of the more remarkable pieces on human rights that I've experienced so far. Maracle isn't pushy, but she is determined and passionate. Her assertations are clear and powerful. Her way of smoothly including her own perspective isn't so much an argument as an unshakable truth. I would love to see this book in the hands of Canadians and Americans and anyone else who wants or needs to know what respect for human life and culture looks like. 

Glass of Water

So, let's talk about women. Women are smaller than men. Women are curvier than men. Women are more emotional than men. Women are weaker than men. Women like children more than men do. Women are better at multitasking. Women are worse at math. Women are silly, sassy, sexy, bubbly, pretty, soft, sweet, feisty, frigid, frumpy, frivolous, vain, temperamental, passive...

Like many stereotypes, the illusion of feminine runs deep, and it's difficult at times to take a step back and look at what character traits are intrinsically female and which are merely human. Despite a pretty extensive array of ways in which women's rights have been pioneered in the last few centuries, the stereotype remains and still distinctly classes men and women as different species.

I'm not a sociologist, and while I definitely have speculations and thoughts on the subject, I think the more valuable thing I have to offer is my own experience here.

See, as a human being born with a female body, I experience an annoying amount of dysphoria. That is to say, I'm not comfortable with my own body. And I know you might be like, no, that's just a thing that women do, but hear me out. I don't mean the cosmetic things about being a woman, being too fat or not having the right texture of hair, but the deep, intrinsic items that define me as a woman.

I recall one particular instance of lying in a bathtub crying while looking at my chest and thinking that life would be better if my breasts had never developed. I've tried to claim that everything was fine before puberty. I had nothing against being a girl; but becoming a woman was something that I never wanted and am still a bit resentful of. I recognize now that part of this is because of my asexuality and the consequent uselessness of my reproductive system, as well as the inconvenience of having to care for my baby-making parts despite having never needed or wanted them. I still wish I could just get them removed, even though it's been years since puberty.

What is a woman anyway? In the broadest definition, a woman is merely a member of homo sapiens sapiens who happens to be female. If you draw up a mental picture of a woman, though, chances are you'll get something like what google shows you if you type in an image search; long hair, attractive smile, makeup, lingerie, fashionable clothing, doe-like expression, kissing, sunsets... And then the stories they come with: celebrity status, sex, rape, women's rights, wealth, kidnappings, Wonder Woman, abuse, dating tips, mail order brides, weight, bodies, chests, attractive, swimsuits, beaches.

Does Google know what a woman is? I wonder if anyone can really define it beyond the mere facts of male vs female.

But back to me (because, again, I could offer social commentary, but I hope you'll do some thinking yourself and I'm not an expert, just a researcher).

I don't mind being a girl. Girls are okay. Not great, but not terrible, just like boys. And I suppose if I could have stayed a girl, things might be different, but it wouldn't change the comments that I've gotten all my life.
"You're so pretty"
"You should be a model, you're so tall and thin"
"Why don't you let your brother lift that?"
"Wow, you're actually shorter than me"
"I wish I could be bubbly and cute like you"
"mmm, dat ass"
"Really, you're going to cry over that?"
"You be the dad"
"Your boobs are really big"
"Why don't you wear more dresses?"
"Ladies don't talk like that"
"Like you need heels to be taller"

So, guys, what I'm getting here is that I can't be a woman because I'm tall and strong and thoughtful and practical. But I have to be a woman because I like glitter and stickers and I'm sometimes afraid.

UG! WTF, society! What does it even mean to be a woman? Why do I have to fit into some sort of box? I'm tired of it. I just want to be human. I want to be exactly who I enjoy being without that niggling fear that I'm somehow betraying my gender. You'd never know it to look at me, but I hesitate. I hesitate when I wink and blow a kiss. I hesitate when I offer my strong arms to help you up. I hesitate when I think I might cry. I hesitate when I have to decide once more what the appropriate response is to "wow, you're tall."

I don't want to be valued as a woman, exactly. I want to be valued as a person. I have some traits that are typically feminine. I also have some traits that are typically masculine. But that's okay, you guys. I just wanted to let you know why I don't like being called "she" so very much. It feels constricting. I'm certainly not "he" either, but whatever you imagine I am because I'm a woman is stomped on and crushed as soon as you say "but, I wasn't expecting that." So, stop expecting me to be that at all. I don't need to live my life to prove you right or wrong, and I'm tired of hearing about it.

How To They/Them

 I think it's high time I had out with it. I identify as mostly female. This probably will not surprise anyone who knows me irl, but I think it had to be said. Female is, of course, many things, but can involve she/her pronouns. I think that I am not alone in feeling a bit uncomfortable with these pronouns from time to time, but we can get into that later. 

I'm not actually here to have a big coming out story. See, I've just finished this book, How To They/Them: A Visual Guide to Nonbinary Pronouns and the World of Gender Fluidity by Stuart Getty. I've already written a short review of the book, so feel free to check that out in the comments section. If this is the sort of thing you like, then please do read it. Okay, Sirah, then what are you here for? Okay, okay. Even though I'm not particularly unclear about where I fall on the so-called gender binary, I've been thinking about femininity lately. 

Basically, I want to know where we get this idea of gender in the first place. Why is everyone automatically either masculine or feminine? I get that based on reproductive function, there is some sort of classification, but if my studies of genetics and external characteristics have anything to say, these two categories aren't exclusive either. But sex and gender don't necessarily have to do with each other. 

Definition: sex being having biological indicators of male, female or something else

Definition: gender being actions, feelings or tendencies that are more typical of either masculine or feminine. 

I've just gotta say, there isn't a really compelling reason why sex and gender should be assumed to match with one another. My experience leads me to believe that most female people have more typically feminine tendencies, but this is not a rule, and shouldn't be treated as one.

I actually don't have much more to say here. I just want to pose the question; what if gender is actually all fake? What if there are good things about being masculine, good things about being feminine, good things about being both, and good things about being neither? 

Another one about suffering, but also about death

It's an age-old question that many have asked, "if God is so good and powerful, why is there evil and suffering in the world?" I've asked this question; friends have asked this question; author and pastor Christian M.M. Brady has also asked this question. If you have a better answer to this than I have, you might just be either a genius or a lot less sensitive than you should be. 

Arguments range from the concept that suffering occurs because of free will and the consequences of sin all the way to the concept of a micro-managing god who somehow can't find a better way of inspiring people to do good than to slaughter their children. Brady, who has gone through the devastating suffering of losing a young child, doesn't offer the classic pat answers, and I find that refreshing. He admits that he doesn't know. This book is more focused on how to live with suffering and loss than on explaining why it happens. Realistically, while the reasons for suffering remain an interesting thought exercise, we really can't know why every bad thing happens. Instead, we can do as Gandalf recommends and decide what to do with the time we are given. 

I personally do not have any children. It's sort of my dream to be an aunt, but that's not the same thing. I cannot really imagine therefore, what it's like to lose a child. (I kind of hate that phrase, "lose a child" because it sort of implies that they're not really gone, just misplaced, which is kind of a sad joke). But anyway, as I read Brady's book, my thoughts turned toward my aunt and uncle whose young daughter passed away several years ago after a sudden infliction of brain cancer. To this day, they carry that grief around with them everywhere. I think that like most people, I sometimes get a little impatient with this grieving. I wish they could move on and go back to being happy and fun to be with all the time.I wish it could get better.

I wonder if grief is like chronic illness. I'm sure that I'll inevitably have the chance to compare the two since I know and love many people and one of them is sure to die eventually. My chronic illness is always hanging over my head reminding me of what once was and can never be again and I'm always finding it popping up in conversations that have nothing in particular to do with it. Like right now. While the two are certainly not the same, there is grief in dealing with loss of good health that finds a sharper tone in the grief of death.

As much as I joke about it, there is also a very real grief from the mere absence of a person in your life even if they haven't actually died. Basically, we have a lot of things to grieve about in life. And you know what? It's okay to grieve. Grieve for the loss of a friendship. Grieve for the loss of a lover. Grieve for the loss of an animal, a place, anything you may not see again or experience with the same joy and freedom. And it's okay to grieve however you think is necessary. There isn't really a wrong way to grieve. 

Obviously, the death of a child or really any loved one is one of the more devastating events in life. Grief comes from many sources, but ultimately, the question we need to ask in the face of suffering is not so much about why we must face it as what we do with it. Brady has some suggestions, which include looking toward eternity, offering comfort in the here and now, taking practical step to help mitigate the suffering of those around you and finding positive ways to remember the life and joy of those who are gone. 

Diction: Baby

When did humans start using the word "baby" as a term of endearment for a significant other? Just, how?

I look at a baby, and there are a lot of likable things about it, but babies are pretty much the last thing on my list of things with which to have a romantic relationship--and that list includes paintings and potted plants. Er, scratch that, there are some things that just shouldn't be on that list, and babies are one of them.

Please, love babies. Do not consider them as romantic or sexual partners. Do Not.

I asked the children what they thought of this. We listen to a lot of annoying pop songs on the radio, and I had noticed that "baby" still hasn't died out as a common hook in a song. So, I asked the children what they thought about this. The 7 year old replied that you should love your boyfriend or girlfriend as much as you love a baby, but she agreed that you don't love them in the same way. The other children didn't say much, preferring to ignore the question.

Now, on the one hand, calling a partner "baby" does signal something warm and gentle, as well as a desire to protect. This would be lovely if that were how the term were used. But consider the derivative "babe" which generally implies a voluptuous, scantily clad woman. Not someone soft and quiet and helpless.

Is this a ploy to infantalize people? To make our partners feel helpless and wimpy? Reportedly the term goes back to the 17th century at least, at which point women were very much considered inferior in many ways to men. Well, that's not okay with me.

So, what to do? I don't suppose I can convince the world to stop using the word "baby" as a romantic term, but I wish I could. I personally refuse to be called "baby" by anyone.

I was delighted to discover a EDM band that considered this and gave me back some of my pride as a human by using the word "lady" where other songs might use "baby." Obviously this would sound silly in Justin Bieber's song "baby." The word "lady" is much more formal and impersonal. But you know, words matter, and given the choice, I'd rather take the term that grants me respect and graciousness rather than one that implies that I'm a helpless sexual object.

Chronic Illness

What is Chronic Illness? 

Chronic illness is effectively always being sick. I'm sure there are cleverer definitions, but that's what it is to me. And since I'm writing this blog, I get to decide how to interpret my own answers. So there. I've been ill for about 10 years now. It wasn't so bad at first, but it has gotten worse, and now it is Noticeable.

Obviously I can't speak for everyone, but for me, my illness went like this:
1. I'm not feeling so good sometimes
2. I'm feeling downright crummy sometimes
3. I'm feeling terrible more times than not
4. I'm feeling terrible a lot of the time.
5. I rarely feel good.

Today happens to be a good day. I'm in pain, sure, but I'm not depressed and I'm able to function mostly like a healthy human being. I can get out of bed, I can eat food. I can listen to sounds. I can workout at the gym. I can play with the children. I can do work. I can socialize.

Yesterday happened to be a bad day. I barely got out of bed. I lied to everyone who asked me how I was doing. I finished my day by crawling from the couch to the bed and spending 9 hours tossing and turning while I tried not to cry or throw up. I admit that yesterday was the first time that I was in so much pain that I reacted by puking. I'd kind of like that to not happen again, but I don't know that I can do much about it.

What's it like having a chronic illness?

Again, not to speak for everyone, but in my experience, dealing with the pain isn't actually the hardest part of having a chronic illness. Human bodies and brains are amazingly resilient. You stub your toe, and your nervous system goes YIKES! but then your brain says, no, it's okay, we can still walk. On with the football game! I'm in pain like 98% of the time, but I honestly sometimes sort of forget that I'm in pain because my psyche is like, dude, we have other things to think about. Like, I go to yoga class, and the instructor asks us to do a down dog, and I have to stop and think about it, hmm, are my wrists feeling good enough to support half my body weight right now? Nope. Rarely. But the pain isn't constantly pressing me down. It could certainly be worse, and I know that some people do deal with constant noticeable pain, but it remains incredible how much pain human beings are capable of dealing with once we realize we can't do anything about it.

No, the hard parts of chronic illness are things like waking up in the morning and counting your spoons (aka, emotional energy), and realizing you'll never be able to get everything done because you just don't have it in you today. Things like meeting someone new and trying really hard to find things to say that don't have anything to do with illness, even though it's a huge part of what you think about most of the time, but you don't want them to immediately think of you as a sick person. It's things like being afraid to make appointments because you don't know if you'll be feeling up to it that day and you hate feeling like a flake. It's things like people asking how you are, and secretly knowing that you'll never be able to honestly say "good," but you kind of have to because there's no point in getting into the whole story in passing. It's knowing that you might never get better, no matter how many good wishes are sent your way. It's when people eventually stop sending flowers and cards because "get well soon" doesn't stand up against the permanence of the illness. It's the loneliness. It's the depression. It's the helplessness. 

What can you do to help?

Well, you can care.

Shrieking History

I was going to start with something nostalgic about my blog's 3 year anniversary, but that's both sappy and inaccurate, so I'll say instead that a lot has changed over the last 3 years. One thing that hasn't changed is that I'm still lonely.

Oh, girl, you're going to start with that?

I'm just going to post these here and you can decide for yourself:

I don't mean that anyone should feel sorry for me. Lord knows I already feel sorry enough for myself, and that's a dumb place to sit in. I've been glancing over my history and all that nonsense and it's cuttingly obvious that I crave close friendships and have for most of my life. My therapist keeps bringing it up as if it were some sort of amazing revelation, but I know that I'm alone. And I know that it's not good for me.

Sometimes something happens, and you're like, yes, I belong here and this is right and even though I had 6 panic attacks and got into 3 car accidents before I was able to bring myself here, I'm so relieved that it was the right thing to do. And then you go home feeling happy and all that. But the next day you come back and you find the door shut. You can never get back again. It gets to the point where you don't want to go anywhere at all. You don't want to try to belong. You can't bring yourself to want to be wanted because even though you know it's what you need, you can't bear to lose and lose and lose again. Kate DiCamillo tells us that the heart lives by breaking. That's what a heart does. But the more you break, the more you wonder if anyone ever breaks for you?


Maybe it wasn't meant to be. Maybe that's not how hearts are created. Sora might be able to go around filling his heart with bits of other's, but despite all the broken pieces out there, it seems like nothing ever fits in me. We scatter and we dream and we stand waiting, but sometimes, nothing happens. We simply stay there in the cold wondering where are the pieces that are meant to fit in to make us whole.

Friends, I might be wrong, but I'm pretty convinced that people weren't meant to live alone. People weren't meant to live believing that they are worthless and unnecessary. People shouldn't have to just do things for attention or live on the edges or watch ships in the night pass them by. Movies and books and video games are filled with heart-wrenching stories of a crazy coincidence that brings together companions, lovers, and friends. But it turns out that the reason these stories are so compelling is that each of us wants that closeness with someone. Each of us wants to be loved and respected and wanted. But in the whole wide world, the chances of running into the someone whose broken pieces fit perfectly with your own are incredibly small. 

So we throw ourselves against the walls. We smash shards of hearts into our chests believing that close enough is good enough and that as long as we can ignore the bleeding, the wholeness will eventually come. 

Friends, I'm not just a bunch of letters on an internet page. I'm a person. I'm a cosmic being full of hopes, dreams, sorrows, pains and stories. I want to know and be known. This isn't a cry for help. But if you find yourself in the same sort of place, which we all do at some time or another, don't let's each be lonely separately. I'm not that hard to find. 

Much Love Always,

♥