The Reflections of a Wet Sewer Rat

Dear Readers and Self,

This is a freewrite so please do not be bothered by the lack of structure and/or relevancy.

I spent a very nice evening with a great friend discussing dreams, grad school, Napoleon, and whatever else came to mind. Beer and coffee, talk and turkey burgers with a truly great friend. My walk home was a mite less pleasant. Twenty minutes walking in a summer downpour! It’s ironic that one topic over coffee had been my desire to start swimming again. Blasted big mouth of mine. My sandaled feet splashed through disgusting NYC street run-off water and I had nothing to cover me. If I possessed ESP (like Vincent) then I might have heard passing (dry) drivers in their fast cars wonder if I was an oversized (albeit colorful) sewer rat. Thank Goddess that my tank top was blue and my skirt grey!

This is what my Pandora played for me while I swam:

• Mos Def – Do It Now
• Lil Wayne – Lollipop
• Jay-Z – Dirt Off Your Shoulder
• Heiruspecs – Heartsprings
• Alicia Keys – If I Ain’t Got You
• Kanye West – Get Em High

While part of my mind enjoyed the sounds, another part remembered the rain back home. Today I missed it terribly! Getting caught in the rain in Oregon is inexpressibly refreshing. It’s cooler than New York City and so much cleaner. The rain feels good to the touch. I can’t really describe it. Maybe it feels softer or kinder or friendly. Memories echo with familiar laughter while we run for cover. I remember the scent of wet pavement, damp soil and soaked wind. Can’t forget the pine trees! That’s the smell of home and it’s a blessed thing to breathe. The sky becomes grey and the spectrum of greens darkens a bit but it’s vibrant still! I do miss that rain.

Still, I won’t be ungrateful. I have felt burdened to write but blocked from doing it well. This brutish downpour emboldened me to just put something together. It is good to write even if it is not masterful.

I read this blog entry today that I intend to take to heart. She has vowed to reposition the hater in her head as not just against her but against all women:

“I’m going to consciously banish that creepy, self-hating voice from my head and ask myself each time I want to succumb to it’s[sic] lull if I would say to a fellow woman such awful things.”

I got to practice this idea moments after marveling over it.

My first reaction: “Wow, what a phenomenal way to think about it! How simple but true!”

Second: “Alia, you’re so stupid for not having considered it like this before! How could you be so small-minded!”

Third: “Wait a second here…”

I thank Shelby Knox. Pandora. My great friend. Rain. And the Goddess.

Dis-covering Hu-man

Dear HC friend,

We conversed a few days ago on a topic that fascinates us each: music. After sharing my perspective on some songs and artists, you commented that I seem to talk a lot about feminism. I take it hard[core] but that I shouldn’t base my life on just that. You suggested that I could just be human. Your words shook me. Not because I felt that you were malicious or unkind. I am pretty sure that I accurately read a friendly tone of concern especially because you spoke from your own experience. What affected me so deeply was (1) the disconnect between your world and mine and (2) the difficulty of explaining myself to you. I was struck by a feeling that explaining my positionality and worldview to you might be impossible.

I had no response for you that night, dear friend. But I have one now. Please, hear me out.

Human. Hu-man. I don’t know what it means to be just human. I don’t understand what the neutral qualities are that men, women, children, Latinas, Japanese, the poor, the deaf, the extroverted and the white, middle-class college girl share. So to “be human” is problematic for me. Cultural norms dictate behavior that’s not inherent to being human. Gender roles are just a part of that but for women, especially, it is a huge part of it.

As I identify primarily as a woman, I am concerned with how women/I are/am constructed/defined as. And because I have been, for so long, constructed/defined in relation to men – as what he is not (Simone de Beauvoir) – I am not sure I trust what I have been told to believe about being human. I am especially critical of what to believe about how I should fulfill “humanness” in my female body.

It follows then that I examine when I am talked about. I read song lyrics, advertisements, social conventions and more to deconstruct the multiplicity of meanings that may be imbedded. I hold that language is powerfully disciplining and forming and we must be vigilant in critically examining it. (we can talk later, if you like, about why I think this) As music is ideologically loaded, I think that the amount of feminism I brought up during our exchange was reasonable.

You might ask me to kindly shy away from that F word, but understand that you are simultaneously asking my to shy away from myself. I am unlikely to say very much if you do not encourage me to speak freely from my world to yours – across and in spite of the distance.

Our exchange was very valuable to me. I love the music you sent me.

With Thanks,

Alia