And sometimes I kiss my friends goodbye after a nice evening and I run to catch the bus at 11:30pm and the bus driver waits for me and I get a solo seat by the window and in the back of the bus there's someone with a guitar playing folk songs and spreading words of compassion and love for the passengers and I look out the window and listen and smile.
Harry Potter reference coming, bear with me... (I've just finished my long journey of reading and watching all of the books and movies in Spanish, so I've really got HP on the mind). I think my relationship with Oxford was more like Ginny/Harry, where it started with naive infatuation and I had to get over that initial idealization for it to grow into a more complex understanding and sustainable affection. And my relationship with Córdoba is more like Ron/Hermione, starting with irritation and lack of understanding and, after living day after day and going through a lot of rough stuff together, building mutual respect and appreciation.
Or maybe I personify cities a little too much. :P
On a more serious note, I've been thinking a lot this week about body and gender. (Okay like when am I NOT thinking about that kind of stuff but like specifically right now) I really don't want to hear another thing about Harvey Weinstein in my life, but he shows up on the TV even here in Argentina.
I've more or less followed the news surrounding him, and on Tuesday morning last week I woke up to the outpouring of #Me Too statements on my Facebook feed. (If you don't know what that is, pause reading this blog post for a second and check out the article here for some background)
Which... I don't know. I have so many conflicting feelings around it all, and I've seen articles and posts expressing just about every different thing that has gone through my mind.
First of all, I appreciate that people are starting conversation around sexual harassment and violence, because it needs to change. I deeply admire the courage shown by everyone who has shared that status, and I hope that it continues to raise awareness and inspire a cultural shift. Every post, as much as it hurt, also added to a feeling of solidarity and strength.
But then there comes the uncertainty: is it my place to post? No, nothing I have experienced is bad enough. I mean sure, technically I guess maybe it would count but other people have experienced things so much worse...
The dismissal, the self-doubt, the normalizing-- the very reasons that this campaign exists-- are stopping me from writing those two words.
I remember seeing the first couple "Me Too's" and thinking... "Well, of course. Who hasn't?"
That, I know, is part of the point. That we are so accustomed to it. What femme person has not experienced gendered harassment or violence at some point? Why is anyone surprised to see all of the women in their life sharing this post? It was shocking to me that people found this shocking.
I understand and want to acknowledge how sexual harassment/violence is tied to sexism and often directly arises out of a culture of toxic masculinity. And while reading these posts, I also thought of the people who have experienced assault who are not women, and the focus on cis women while trans women often slipped through the cracks. A couple people on my feed pointed this out, commenting that rape culture is something that impacts all of us: cis women, trans women, trans men, nonbinary folk, and cis men, too (these categories not being mutually exclusive). People of all genders have experienced the kind of violence that is being discussed.
So given the fact that these experiences are so widespread and can leave scars so deep... what does it mean that person after person is reliving their experiences on social media platforms? How many people felt obligated to share, to dredge up memories and hurts that they may not have been ready to face? How many people have felt guilty for not sharing because they simply could not, or would be made unsafe by sharing?
This past week, two friends were sexually assaulted. One week.
This week, a young woman I know in Córdoba was slapped in the face by a man on a motorbike and had her phone stolen on the middle of a busy street in the city center in broad daylight.
This week, I gritted my teeth and kept my eyes forward as man after man whistled and catcalled me while I walked to school because I had decided to wear a dress in the hot weather instead of long pants and a shirt. I tried to reassure myself by saying that it was normal, it would go no further than words, which I could easily ignore and block out with headphones. But it still brings up fears and frustrations about my body and how I am perceived in the world.
For me, the choice to wear a dress is always fraught. I love dresses, but I hate the kind of attention I get for choosing to put them on-- not just the uncomfortable objectification, but also the showering of compliments and praise for correctly performing femininity. I know people mean it well, and part of me is able to take in the compliments and appreciate them (much easier if they are from people who I feel know me well and value me in other ways). But when people I barely know, who have never complimented me for my skills or my strength or something other than my appearance... It makes me feel like a stranger in my own skin. When I see gender as a social construct, something far beyond the typical binary, I cannot bring myself to place my own body squarely into the category of man or woman. Yet the world sees me as "woman," and that shapes the way I walk through it. It shapes the way people respond to my clothing choices. And sometimes it puts me at higher risk of certain kinds of harassment and violence.
What does it mean to have bodily autonomy, to have ownership of your body, when you are surrounded by a culture of sexual violence?
I am reminded of the art opening in my old apartment, and the phrase that was written above one of the doorways: la piel es un limite / entonces / la piel es una posibilidad, "the skin is a limit / therefore / the skin is a possibility."
Is there a way to turn what feels like limits placed on my skin, my body, into possibilities?
How do I challenge people to question the way they gender me? How do I understand my own gender?
Can I find a sense of safety in this body?
What does my outward appearance say about me?
What difference is there between "me" and "my body'?
I've been practicing yoga the last several mornings, listening to youtube videos that tell me to pay attention to my body, to listen to what it needs, to follow it. I think, like many people, I've had times where it is easier to mentally detach from my body. To try to control it. To stop listening to it, to ignore how it feels because maybe that will make the discomforts of it go away.
But I know that, for me, detaching myself from my body is not going to help me answer any of those questions I just posed or help me feel authentically myself.
When I practice circus arts, I often feel happier, more at ease, and more connected (to myself and to others). Part of it, I believe, is because of this deeply physical experience. I can't ignore my body when I'm climbing the rope and the pressure between my feet, or the strength of my grip, is the only thing keeping me in the air. I am there, physically and mentally present. And in that presence, something true and unique to me comes out.
In my aerial rope class, we did an activity where we partnered up and practiced a short routine. We went through it a few times, becoming comfortable. Then we had to watch our partner as they did the routine, and then repeat it-- but try to do it exactly the way our partner did. We had to watch and notice how each person's movements were unique to them. Some of it was easy to copy, like flexing the feet instead of pointing. Some of it was more difficult. It was funny, to see each other's attempts to mimic our partner's unique style-- to see where we succeeded at imitating them and where we just couldn't shake our own habits.
This exercise not only taught us to seek out new, different ways of performing certain skills on rope, it also revealed to each of use that there is something to each of our individual physical styles that no one else can quite capture.
We talked about each person's style after, and it was really wonderful to listen to people describe my unique manner of doing rope. Apparently I have a very special way of gripping the rope, almost like I am caressing it-- I'm very cariñosa toward it. And, with my long limbs, I create a sense of extension, expansion, that changes the way the movements look.
At this point, you are probably like "Lizzy where on earth is this rambling going." But I guess what I'm realizing, or what I'm trying to get at, is that these moments of physicality help ground me. They help me feel at home in this body. It isn't as much about whether or not I wear a dress, whether I present more masculine or feminine, but when I am in touch with these physical sensations and motions that are uniquely mine. When I notice the way my legs carry me as I jog down the block, the way I hold onto the bars on the bus to stabilize myself, the way that I automatically position my fingers to snap when I agree with someone.
In Argentina, I have sometimes felt less safe moving through the world in this body, and it almost feels like that awareness has been... echoed, or heightened, by things happening in the states.
In answer to those Facebook and Twitter posts: Me too.
But I am also learning to find healing and connection with my body despite-- because of?-- this. I feel like I have become better and better at listening to my body.
Bodies, of course, are in constant flux, so this is an ongoing process. But right now, I feel really appreciative of some of the things I have learned here.
To close, a few pictures from my week:
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| Waffle with ice cream!! As I suspected, the waffle was a little sad and not exactly what I would hope for from a waffle, but the ice cream was tasty :) |
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| Somebody fell asleep with his glasses on? |
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| Mochi u such a dork |
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| The night before Argentine elections, all of the bars have to stop selling alcoholic drinks... so instead of having a wild night out at the clubs this Saturday, we went to a tea house... my kind of evening |
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| Excellent graffiti on a school desk, warning of the imminent viking invasion of the entire world |
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