Tag Archives: Girlhood

03/11/2024

November 3, 2024 By in Children, Desire, Life, Love, Rain, Registry, Sun, Time, Water Tags: , , , , , Leave a comment

looking down, what do i tell the child in front of me?

the child that looks at me, fears my height, sees the gulf in time that separates us?

that i am just like you, in every way. in being enchanted by dust specks whirling in a small storm, illuminated by the morning rays through a gap in space. or the spectral quality of glittering dew drops in the emerging sun, after a bout of long rain. or the manner in which fingers tumble and smooth across the grilles of a wooden gate, inviting a plethora of textures to be surprised by.

but how to describe the scars. the discovery of love, desire, sex, intimacy, care, work, and violence – that these are things that render loneliness. that you don’t need to want everything in the world to want so much. a good kiss, a warm hug, a hand that makes one feels at home… all of a sudden one is thrust into a world and time in history where these things are scarce. they are given with strings attached, written on an accounting score. they are purchase. when people who want to love are also people who have been violated, who have been damaged in the name of exchange or towards a deity that revels in exploitation, the capacity to hurt another is a specter that lingers and creeps, always raring to make a gotcha, an unwelcome entrance. you can be blamed for wanting too much. you can be made a fool for giving so much love. each time you look back, hurt encompasses as the fog of a warzone, difficult to see past. once again you’re alone. you started with being enchanted by dust through sunlight in a gap, and now you have found yourself alone, starved of magic, missing skin and saliva and taste and receding warmth. you have missed the things that matter in this world. you are belated. you are too late. you miss the steps. you miss the boat. you miss this. you miss them. you are late. you are still too late.

what can you tell the child in front of you? what happened to you?

23/07/2023

July 24, 2023 By in Registry Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Two days ago I did the Barbenheimer thing. To have been in the presence of two expected unexpected films. Expected for their hype, unexpected for their lessons.

In Barbie (2023), I felt simultaneously the ressentiment of Ken towards Barbie, and the horror of Barbie towards Ken’s misogyny. Ken says he was built for Barbie (a la the reversed logic of Creationism). Ozzy Osbourne in a verse and the refrain of “Warning” (1970) sings:

Sorrow grips my voice as I stand here all alone
And watch you slowly take away, a love I’ve never known

I was born without you, baby
But my feelings were a little bit too strong

In all honesty, the two have little to no relation. But Osbourne here can be telling us that origin and teleological design does not matter. Not one bit. No one belongs to anyone; no one is born to be or made to be with anyone in particular. Yet hurt is a real thing. It can open a vacuum where ressentiment can corrupt one’s understanding of the very person they are in love with that stands in front of them. Ken learns about Patriarchy and realizes how it is a technology of abuse and control that can fuel his ressentiment against Barbie, and uses it to enact violence on her.

Barbie genuinely sees Ken as a friend. She just wants to party. Her concerns have more to do with how she was made to represent a womanhood stripped of its historical violence. Her concerns are dealing with how incommensurable and how real reality is. Life is plastic and even that has issues in Barbieland. Reality is plastic to difficult extents. Barbie is caught between a representational Utopia and a reality that uses representations to cope with violence. Non-straight trans girlies understand this. I think many of us still struggle with misogyny that has been beaten (literally) into us. When we enter womanhood, womanhood becomes a party as quickly as it becomes violent.

In Oppenheimer (2023), politics is shown to be both systemic and interpersonal. Communism does not stand alone as ideological. We sometimes forget that it has brought real people together in actual circumstances. Whether to party, to struggle, to fuck, to love, to hate one another. How science cannot be divorced from politics is a realization that has been made by people like Bruno Latour, explored in Laboratory Life (1979). For Latour, the scientific method is largely caught up in the human relationships that effect the method. In Oppie it does not help if you were a physicist in that point of history exploring the forces of what held atoms together. Or that the Soviets were a thing and almost every Leftist pandered to the Soviet model and practice of Marxist theory in the interwar period (and up to the present day). Unless U.S. scientists back then managed to waged a covert war against the U.S. itself, the State(s) would have used their authority and resources to have scientists develop a weapon anyhow.

The exceedingly harmful systemic conditions brought about by Fascism and War throws morality out of the window. It poisons and strains relationships. I told Bb that the people that relate to Oppie are those who are currently fighting actual wars – strategizing against multiple actors, analyzing information from various sources, conducting covert operations. That, and the Silent Generation who survived WWII. Non-straight trans girlies understand this. Those that acknowledge, those who are in a present struggle against actually existing contemporary Fascism. Of groups have been threatening bodily autonomy, conducting operations to overrun governments, and to criminalize transness, non-binaryness, and queerness.

Both films inform us that reality is the toughest fucker there is. Escape is not enough when you can become reabsorbed and neutralized, and neither is facing reality at its messiest and most traumatic the way to go. Barbie at some points show us that there can be grace in the face of violence. Oppie at some points teaches us that relationships cannot be taken for granted and can shift rapidly. When one is transgender and still learning how to be a woman in the face of Fascists that wish only for repression, both takeaways from either film form a framework that might just be able to keep one grounded.

10/07/2023

July 11, 2023 By in Registry Tags: , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Let us write about girlhood. Or at least allow me write about girlhood. I ask for patience. I ask for space. I ask because some of the things I wish to write can be unbearable to read.

*

It has not gotten easier living as a girl, woman, whatever. Maybe I need to break this down slowly. Do not get me wrong – it is wonderful to be feminine. I love being feminine. I know femininity is no longer something that is tied to girlhood or womanhood. For me it makes me feel like a natural woman (Aretha Franklin, you will always be a Lady Soul). For others it is not, but nonetheless a space that can be comfortable. But when men perceive femininity, it tends to be tied back to heterosexual desire. Not just sexual desire, but the desire to maintain the family structure. The settling down. The having children. The hugs and kisses amid a matrix of sexual difference. It is sexual difference that gives me the heebie jeebies. Sometimes it does not matter how you feel about femininity on your own – that agency feels robbed by how men perceive it emanating from you. Maybe it is less of a problem if one desires men in the first place. It feels like a great issue when one has minute, or almost completely lacking desire for men.

*

On femininity, another parallel thread: female friendships. Girls look at other girls. Femme girls look at other femme girls. Between femme girls, the feeling of liking to look at what is feminine is mutual. This is a pleasant arrangement. What could go wrong with this?

*

About five years ago, I finally found a space where I could present myself in a manner that was comfortable. I could finally incorporate being feminine on a daily basis. That was my official entrance into girlhood, where previously it was burgeoning and fetal (this is not to say it was minor – I have already experienced sexual harassment in earlier years). Others girls and femmes began to compliment me. I always returned the gesture. I always meant everything I returned. I desire to be femme (and even more femme), but others forget that I also tend to desire those that are femme.

*

Bb is a present lover of mine. Bb left girlhood. Bb tells me that girlhood is really like what happens in Mean Girls. That is why they left it. There are social hierarchies built upon popularity, looks, status, class. Bb got so tired of that shit. I am tired of that shit but not tired enough. I am literally just a girl. Guess where I obtained the previous line from.

*

It was in the past year that I was suddenly flooded with archetypes of girls: The It Girl, The Sad Girl, The Depressed Girl, The Mentally Ill Girl, The Cool Girl, The Girlboss, The [insert adjective] [insert adjective] [insert adjective] Goth GF, The Sanrio Girl, The Girlygirl, and so on. It was a multiplicity of girls. Perhaps that is a liberatory thing. It was a proliferation of identities. For those who know me, I never thought of (alternative) identities, stereotypes, archetypes as liberatory. It was like boxing yourself again while society already tries to box you. In mathematics, specifically linear algebra, an identity matrix is a matrix that remains the same even when you multiply it with other matrices. A matrix is bounded by square brackets that look like this: [ ]. Sexual difference is a matrix precisely because Men must be from Mars, Women must be from Venus.

*

A friend called Ym told me today how girlhood cycles back to how men perceive women at some point. Ym and Bb probably have different outlooks on girlhood, but I get the sense that neither wish to partake in it as intensely as I have been submerged into so. I have wondered for months if I should try to desire men. When men see me in the club or the dancefloor they want me to grind their hardening members. And I do. I have not kissed any men since 2018.

*

I asked Bb why people liked to call me an “Angel” as a compliment. I do not see myself as an Angel. I know for a fact that I am a flawed person with a history that is not pleasant. Even as I try my best to be healthier and to learn to be more caring. It was a compliment that felt loaded with ethical baggage. It was something that I have been called by multiple people with lovely intentions. Bb felt that such a term meant very little. It was not a compliment that has much meaningful content. It was one of the many favorite words of girls that sparkled and fluttered like confetti but not much else. I found that hard to believe. It almost felt like people were not being honest to me. I am familiar with the word “Angel” as it was used by an ex-friend who was very friendly in the beginning, but who became frustrated with my person and broke off eventually. It is a word that is tinged with that history of falling out with other girls. It is word used where in their eyes later, I would have fallen from Heaven. I know that was an overly dramatic metaphor and allegory. I know I am nowhere near as beloved as Lucifer. I am human and being human is messy and discomforting. Perhaps even for Sianne Ngai, it is feeling ugly in the most vulgar manner of it.

*

I wish to be a City Pop Girl. City Pop is a genre saturated with funky melancholic songs sung by women. The usual lyrical theme is that the woman singing knows how beautiful she is, but she is so, so romantically alone in an indifferent, cold metropolis. The (fairly niche) Idol Yukika Teramoto is one of such singers. It has been two years and I have not gotten over how pretty she is. I wanted to be pretty like that. In the past year I worked towards being pretty like that. I like how classic the makeup of City Pop singers past and present was:

  • A clean powdered look.
  • Optional blush, and next to no bronzing and highlighting.
  • Brows are neatly trimmed and require almost no drawing.
  • Minimal eyeliner. This is a sophisticated high femme look, but it is not hyperfeminine.
  • Lifted eyelashes with minimal mascara.
  • Next to no eye shadow.
  • Bright, or deep, or pinkish red lipstick.

It also meant I was not really following trends of any sort. That can be an uncomfortable position to be. Part of girlhood is having a finger on the latest trends. Part of that can mean social competition. I just wanted to look like a pretty girl that was comfortable in my own skin. Where I could sit in a Café and feel the sun on my dress and feel peace.

*

If I saw a girl or another femme that is pretty, I would occasionally feel romance creeping up towards me. This does not preclude knowing a person better with time. The issue might be romance itself, however. My personal history is that I have always gone overboard with it in unhealthy ways. Recently I have been learning to love in generality, eschewing the categories of platonic, sexual, romantic, and letting desire expand without additional perceptions. It is starting to feel like a better way to love. But as a girl how expansive can I practically be? Should I still be open to men at least, just to try? How far can my love go…

*

A part of me wishes that if a girl or femme tells me I am pretty or beautiful, it means that they want me. But in practice that does not entail anything until they tell me they do want me. If I tell a girl or femme that they are pretty or beautiful, I always mean it. And I always mean it in a way that has the potential of desire, of falling in love. It feels weird to type that out to the world. I am uneasy that I mean things this way. That I cannot be completely friendly about this. It feels almost like a masculine thing to say. I find it difficult to separate my desire for femmes from pure aesthetic appreciation for femmes. If girlhood tends to construe such compliments as purely social, purely platonic, then any desire on my end gets washed out. Any desire on my end feels dirty and unwanted.

*

Once I tried an Emo look. Seeing that, another friend known as Gb told me that I could try to pull off a TradGoth look. In some ways this feels much better than a compliment. A comment like this opened up possibilities I had not thought of or was afraid to entertain. It was an opening. Perhaps the way to see this is to see it as styles, not archetypes to follow, or trends to follow. You do not have to embody the It Girl or whatever. They are mere styles, like how femininity and masculinity are styles. Embodying an identity or archetype is probably where relating to something can become unhealthy. Can feel like being boxed in. Styles are fun. Styles are not essential. Styles are a manner of experimentation. Styles can bring comfort. I might be getting somewhere with this.

*

These days I spend a minute or two shaping my lips to redness. When I am done, life feels more bearable and worthwhile. I will regard it as a bonus if other girls, femmes, and men understand why I practice painting my lips.