I'm just a girl

I don't want to be a woman, I want to be a person

Negligence towards understanding and believing women in literature (and equally so in life) fosters the convenient stereotype of the hysterical female, which is only further reinforced by society's inability to embrace female vulnerability.

This is particularly clear in 20/20 by Linda Brewer, which, in its best moments, affords Ruthie a thrilling narrative freedom- but in its worst, sidelines her to a laughing stock. Ruthie saw life through a lens different from Bill's; "Her eyes were... capable of seeing wonderful sights." Yet while comparing their clashing interpretations of life and reality, Bill (as well as ourselves in the class Harkness circles) was quick to typecast her as odd: as the pariah, the outlier. Yet what made Ruthie a compelling character hinged on her creativity, her whimsical idiosyncrasies, and her strength to be unabashedly herself. Still, in announcing her observations on the road of an "Indian paintbrush." and "A golden eagle.", her spirit was first doubted, then deemed unreliable, and ultimately crafted into an easy joke.


Who was to say what Bill saw was more "correct" than what Ruthie saw? Why was her perspective not accepted as a valid possibility of reason? Over and over again, I see this scene replicate itself: girls and women live with no appreciation for their mind, while men, at their bare minimum, are applauded. What is considered a woman's duty is something a man is praised for.


There are Ruthies all around me. When a girl says something slightly obscure, she almost instantly loses her credibility to be believed, to be taken seriously. One wrong action, one unwelcome retort, she is no longer known for the person she is, but defined by the moment she had. After all, it doesn't take much to laugh at the woman who lives unconventionally, says what other people are thinking but won't say aloud, indifferent even at the expense of others' respect of her. To live in line with society rooted in patriarchy, she has to instead be calculated. She has to be careful. The world holds high stakes for a woman: she can make no mistakes. There is no room for them.


The more often and intentionally you notice these microaggressions against feminine humility and vulnerability, of course, the more quickly they reveal themselves to you (at least, they did to me). In Cat in the Rain, Ernest Hemingway writes the character of the American wife as too whiney and too lofty. She feels stagnant in her life, discontent with its trajectory, and searches for fulfillment in various forms. But alas, "[Her husband] was not listening." Even the person who is meant to be her most understanding equal, her partner, fails to hear her- and chooses not to. The wife, "so tired", turns to materialism to foil her feelings of loneliness and hurt from being failed to be cared for. She makes attempt after attempt to voice her unhappiness: "'If I can't have any long hair or any fun, I can have a cat.'" to which her husband responds, "'Oh, shut up and get something to read.'"


The American wife isn't asking her husband for much: only attention. Yet her husband's refusal, or inability, to notice her needs and desires, effectively suggests a certain masculine insensitivity, and a general lack of regard or sympathy for women.


I want to believe that this kind of power dynamic isn't relevant now as it was when Hemingway wrote these characters just under a century ago, but that just isn't the case. It's like when someone asks a couple, "who wears the pants?" Masked in lightheartedness, even this question has an implicit historical reference, originating from when women traditionally only wore skirts, equating men to be the decision makers. While this situation isn't monolithic, I know, it is far too often relatable for a woman to feel unheard, ignored, or disillusioned by the people (men) around her.

In Kara's blog last week, she commented that "teenage girls are vastly misunderstood." As a response, I wonder: does it get any better for women? Or, do we ever grow up?

Whenever my friend Stuti and I are met with the slightest inconvenience or hardship in any situation, we repeat one shared phrase:

Why do I have to run two laps around the track as a warm up? I'm just a girl!

I have a raging migraine, I'm on my period, and I'm hungry- why do I still have to be at school? I'm just a girl!

Why do I have to carry all of the weight? I'm just a girl!

 

Though I admit we use the expression in humor and ironically, underlying it is a tragic truth: the notion that women are so complicated, so dramatic, so much work seems to never leave us. It reminds me of a touching quote from Pachinko, my book club novel- though in a different context in regards to ethnicity, I resonated with it strongly in regards to gender:


“She could not see his humanity, and Noa realized that this was what he wanted most of all: to be seen as human.” (Lee 312).

Sometimes, I feel barely adequate. Like I've somehow managed to trick everyone into believing that I'm just basically competent. I wonder, would I be feeling this if I was of the opposite sex? Even now, I am hesitant in writing this and sharing it in fear that I'll be misinterpreted, that I'll be mocked. Am I being melodramatic? I try to tell myself that I shouldn't think this way, that I shouldn't question myself so much, shouldn't dig my confidence into the ground- I mean, to be fair, "drama king" isn't the common phrase, nor is there a female equivalent of BDE.


America Ferrera's monologue in Barbie (2023) puts it concisely: "I'm just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us."

Always an angel, never a god

My family is pretty heavily devout in Christian belief. It's in our blood, literally- my uncle is a pastor, my grandfather was a pastor, my great-grandfather, you guessed it... growing up, I never questioned my acceptance of religion. It was just an unspoken norm to wake up early to go to church every Sunday. Lately, though, I've been wondering what I would've done had I not been born into it. Who I would've been. Would I have still chosen to go (by my own free will)?

In the recent debate, our team with the negative stance's foundational argument was that the gods had a predestined plan for Oedipus- thus, he could not be held liable for the trajectory of his story. He was bound to his destiny, a victim of his fate.

Meanwhile, the Christian Bible upholds a different philosophy that everyone has free will- a personal choice to be a sinner or a saint. But as a little concession (!), Bible verse Jeremiah 29:11 reads: "For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." 

Granted, the gods of Olympus seem to have different philosophies than the Christian God that I follow; I interpreted the above verse to have the meaning that God is all-knowing and already has a will for me, and I should put all trust in Him- something Oedipus so incorrectly thought he could cheat out of. We have free will to decide to obey or disobey, and choose for ourselves whether or not to accept His grace. Some do. Others do not.

one year I was Mary in the nativity play lol

I have a complicated relationship with religion, as I think most people do. And as the reality of college looms closer, I admit it's been on my mind pretty often. I've never known a life outside of the church. Nearly every childhood memory I hold is in someway related to someone from church, something at church, something for church... I don't know who I'd exactly be had I not been raised that environment. But I know I'll be leaving home soon, and correspondingly leaving the religious place and community center of my upbringing. The image of myself going to a new church, without my family to go with, without the church second-family I've grown up alongside for the past nearly two decades, is extremely daunting. I don't have much trust in my decisions. I like it easy- and I realize this is my (human) flaw. Perhaps this means I prefer accepting a fate given to me over having my own free will? Being blunt, it's so much simpler to drive to chapel with my parents, no questions, than to push myself to go each week by myself. I'm afraid to do it alone. I'm afraid I won't be able to. I'm afraid of my own independence.

an aside- I hope this isn't taken as me proselytizing

another aside- this blog title is kind of irrelevant to the post. I just couldn't think of another "god" lyric on the spot, sorry. I love this song though (Not Strong Enough by boygenius), and I could have a blog post separate to it analyzing this one lyric. It's actually right on the mark to how relevant it will be for my developing idea for my lyric essay blogpost coming soon. Seeing it trend online with character comparisons (ex. Paris = angel, Rory = god) is so painful but so good- if you see this please talk to me about it :p

Breathe in, breathe through, breathe deep, breathe out

Stop everything you’re doing. Right now. Stop reading this blog. Close your eyes, and breathe. Inhale for four seconds, hold for eight- hey, close your eyes- and exhale for nine. 

When I was in sixth grade, my middle school tried implementing a meditation plan (operative word: tried). Every Monday, my science teacher would blare drones of alpha brainwave music and force us to close our eyes and breathe intentionally. The existing problem, though, was that I sat next to my closest friends- and for some unintelligible reason which I can now only reduce down to tween immaturity, we could not take it seriously. In fact, in the weeks that we had the meditations, we were much too busy trying to stifle our laughs that we did not so much as breathe as we were told, a single time. Retrospectively, there was nothing particularly funny at all- except maybe when I would peek open one eye and make direct eye contact with my glaring, unamused teacher, to which I would react by breaking into even more fits of laughter. Still, I cherish the memories that I have, of moments I would sit and have a tug-of-war with my mind to resist as much as possible, yet always being overcome by another uncontrollable urge to giggle.

How times have changed since then… these days, I can’t imagine having anything other than a delightedly grateful reaction to meditation, like I had last week in class before our Power Paragraph writing. Perhaps it is because my burdens are heavier than when I was 10 or 11 years old. Comparatively, I have more to breathe- or sigh- about. I will admit, sometimes it feels difficult to actively meditate and not slightly doze off, so maybe my grown passion for meditation is merely an indicator of my need for more sleep.

Now more than ever, I need to remember to practice deliberate breathing. If you’re like me, even time-blocking “meditate for 5 min” on Google Calendar might be necessary in order to actually get it done. Still, if even for just a moment, meditating allows me to muffle my jumbled thoughts and tune out the noise around me, reminding myself to take a moment to be grounded in the present. Though my eyes are closed, my mind is awake, more than ever. While I am here, I try to make the most of each breath.

To meditate is to feel time slow, and movement cease. What’s also felt, perhaps with more subtlety but all the more preciousness, is meditation’s essential impermanence. I can feel the tension that suspends its very existence: though I know that my eyes are closed as of this moment, and I am unavailable to the world, I also know that the moment I open them, life resumes. So, I like to keep them closed.

^ this is my favorite YouTube breathing video. take a watch :)

An aside - I'm thinking of carrying this theme of songs in my blogpost titles. This one is a lyric clipped from “Labyrinth” on Taylor Swift’s most recent album, Midnights. The last blog was, of course, a wordplay of Destiny’s Child’s greatest hit, “Say My Name.” It doesn’t match my blog domain name at all (which is an homage to Louis Litt from Suits, if any of you are familiar!), but I haven’t yet thought of how to connect that passion yet. Soon!

A second aside - How did you get to the end of this blogpost? I never told you to reopen your eyes…