How do you explain that you have no wishes left? No dreams to follow
because they've all broken like china dolls at your feet? How do you
explain the giving up and the moving on and the emptiness that remains
because of all those dreams that have died and all those wishes that
never came true?
How do you describe the jading and the
hopelessness? How do you explain the scars that no one can see? Where
can you go? What is left once the flames of passion have burnt out and
the phoenix has shriveled before it tasted the ashes?
How do you
begin again when you don't even know how you started in the first place?
What is left when all the time has been wasted and there is no belief
in magic any longer?
How do you express the torture of that small
flicker of hope that refuses to die even when everything else has? How
do you talk about that faint glimmer of something that cries out that
this can't be the end? How can you stand it? That tiny glimpse of
something that refuses to give up, but isn't strong enough to re-ignite
all that has been destroyed.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
America
"Why did you even come here?" she snarled, her lips twisting in anger. "You don't belong. None of you do."
"I've come, looking for America." I replied, my English pained and stilted. How could I ever explain that my dreams were filled with this place, filled with all the joys and dreams of generations? How could I explain her own great-grandparents' joy and desperation as they crossed the waters, their eyes searching for the bright torch of Liberty?
This land, soaked with dreams and tears, the hopes of generations drenching the earth until it is burgeoning with it. Like a rose in full bloom. And, like a rose, the thorns of prejudice pierce my fragile skin. They all stare at me, their eyes full of hatred and bias. I can't describe the dream that I followed here. The belief that I fought so hard to maintain.
The dream that America is a mother with her arms flung open wide to embrace her weary children. The torch of home burning through the mists and the fog, the moon competing with it. With this belief, we ran and fought, screaming and dying for the dream of America. A dream of freedom and liberty. A dream of acceptance and love beyond our faults. The dreams being crushed in the fists of the woman in front of me.
She hates me, for no reason other than I am different. I am not from here. I am not "American." I've lived here for five years now, I'm only a short way away from being a full citizen, but I'll never be "American." I'll never be what she believes I should be because I am different, because I was not born here.
I ignore her, my eyes straying toward the torch held aloft. I smile, though the tears are dripping down my face, stung by her words and the dreams that slowly die. The light I followed here, to escape the starvation and the crush of dreams deferred, has been burnt out for years. The America I dreamed is a dream that has died. I close my eyes and feel the incessant throb in my chest, my broken heart refusing to give up on this dream.
I look into the eyes of Liberty, her torch held aloft. Her words echo in the still waters of my mind. "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free; The wretched refuse of your teeming shore, Send these, the homeless, Tempest-tossed to me I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
I've gone to look for America.
"I've come, looking for America." I replied, my English pained and stilted. How could I ever explain that my dreams were filled with this place, filled with all the joys and dreams of generations? How could I explain her own great-grandparents' joy and desperation as they crossed the waters, their eyes searching for the bright torch of Liberty?
This land, soaked with dreams and tears, the hopes of generations drenching the earth until it is burgeoning with it. Like a rose in full bloom. And, like a rose, the thorns of prejudice pierce my fragile skin. They all stare at me, their eyes full of hatred and bias. I can't describe the dream that I followed here. The belief that I fought so hard to maintain.
The dream that America is a mother with her arms flung open wide to embrace her weary children. The torch of home burning through the mists and the fog, the moon competing with it. With this belief, we ran and fought, screaming and dying for the dream of America. A dream of freedom and liberty. A dream of acceptance and love beyond our faults. The dreams being crushed in the fists of the woman in front of me.
She hates me, for no reason other than I am different. I am not from here. I am not "American." I've lived here for five years now, I'm only a short way away from being a full citizen, but I'll never be "American." I'll never be what she believes I should be because I am different, because I was not born here.
I ignore her, my eyes straying toward the torch held aloft. I smile, though the tears are dripping down my face, stung by her words and the dreams that slowly die. The light I followed here, to escape the starvation and the crush of dreams deferred, has been burnt out for years. The America I dreamed is a dream that has died. I close my eyes and feel the incessant throb in my chest, my broken heart refusing to give up on this dream.
I look into the eyes of Liberty, her torch held aloft. Her words echo in the still waters of my mind. "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free; The wretched refuse of your teeming shore, Send these, the homeless, Tempest-tossed to me I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
I've gone to look for America.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Happy Birthday
A miracle happened, when you were born. The stars aligned in ways no
mere mortal can define. There you were in all your glory and innocence,
waiting to be filled with the breath of transcendent decadence. We did
not worship you, nor did we proclaim you on high, as though you were a
Goddess cloaked in mortality.
Instead we welcomed you with quiet whispers and light kisses, saying softly, "Welcome to the world, darling. Welcome to your destiny. Welcome to all the life there is to live and all the wonders that exist. You are a star in the universe of our existence, may you shine ever brighter through the years."
May this year shine brighter than all the years before, sweetie.
Happy 17th to my beautiful baby sister.
Instead we welcomed you with quiet whispers and light kisses, saying softly, "Welcome to the world, darling. Welcome to your destiny. Welcome to all the life there is to live and all the wonders that exist. You are a star in the universe of our existence, may you shine ever brighter through the years."
May this year shine brighter than all the years before, sweetie.
Happy 17th to my beautiful baby sister.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
A Birthday Letter
To my darling dearest baby sister whom I love and adore,
Tomorrow, at 1 in the afternoon you will be officially 17.
17 years ago you came into this world, the baby sister I always wanted. The one who kicked the palm of my hand whilst still in utero. The one who I would always find hiding inside the bottom cabinet with her baby dolls and her Shirley Temple curls.
And, 17 years later, you are still the little sister I absolutely love.
I can't believe you, my baby, are turning 17. It is both sweet and bitter. I miss you. I miss you being small enough for me to carry around and swing up above my head so that you could touch the sky. I miss you being with me all the time, even when you would annoy me. I miss talking to you about randomness. I even miss our petty disagreements.
I remember when you first started walking. I used to taste your baby food before I would feed it to you, because I wanted you to have the best. I used to change your diapers and give you baths. I used to read you books and chase you across the yard. And I know we can't do any of that anymore, you being 17 now, I still miss those days.
I am excited to see the young woman you are growing up to be. The one who isn't afraid to speak her mind, even though sometimes she should think first (it's a love!). The one who is a good friend. The one who is so beautiful. The one who is well read and has interesting musical tastes. I can't wait for you to enjoy your 17th year of life and I hope it is one of the best ever.
I love you darling.
Happy Birthday.
love, Me.
Tomorrow, at 1 in the afternoon you will be officially 17.
17 years ago you came into this world, the baby sister I always wanted. The one who kicked the palm of my hand whilst still in utero. The one who I would always find hiding inside the bottom cabinet with her baby dolls and her Shirley Temple curls.
And, 17 years later, you are still the little sister I absolutely love.
I can't believe you, my baby, are turning 17. It is both sweet and bitter. I miss you. I miss you being small enough for me to carry around and swing up above my head so that you could touch the sky. I miss you being with me all the time, even when you would annoy me. I miss talking to you about randomness. I even miss our petty disagreements.
I remember when you first started walking. I used to taste your baby food before I would feed it to you, because I wanted you to have the best. I used to change your diapers and give you baths. I used to read you books and chase you across the yard. And I know we can't do any of that anymore, you being 17 now, I still miss those days.
I am excited to see the young woman you are growing up to be. The one who isn't afraid to speak her mind, even though sometimes she should think first (it's a love!). The one who is a good friend. The one who is so beautiful. The one who is well read and has interesting musical tastes. I can't wait for you to enjoy your 17th year of life and I hope it is one of the best ever.
I love you darling.
Happy Birthday.
love, Me.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Let it Out
Don't say it. Don't you dare say it.
Don't let a thought slip between your lips.
Its not true, you can't possibly believe it.
You're deranged, delusional, wrong.
Don't say a word.
I have to scream it. I have to let it out.
Its the truth whether you believe it or not.
Truth cannot be erased because you say so.
I am disillusioned, diminished, crying out.
I have to scream.
I cannot scream, there is no air.
Don't say a word, even though it hurts.
I cannot speak, my voice has been stolen.
Don't let it out, no one must know.
I am screaming, but there is no sound.
Don't let a thought slip between your lips.
Its not true, you can't possibly believe it.
You're deranged, delusional, wrong.
Don't say a word.
I have to scream it. I have to let it out.
Its the truth whether you believe it or not.
Truth cannot be erased because you say so.
I am disillusioned, diminished, crying out.
I have to scream.
I cannot scream, there is no air.
Don't say a word, even though it hurts.
I cannot speak, my voice has been stolen.
Don't let it out, no one must know.
I am screaming, but there is no sound.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Bisexual Bias
Dear Sir,
In regards to your article "Bisexual bias" in the IDS, I would like to say a few things.
"I’ve had a saying for a few years now. Bisexuals are like unicorns. You really want them to exist. But they just don’t."
1. Comparing a bisexual person to unicorns is mostly, if not entirely, ridiculous.
There are many cases in which unicorns can have existed, thus leading one to believe that you are saying bisexual homo sapiens do, in fact, exist.
Examples: If we were to go completely old school Biblical on the matter, if you are one who believes in the Bible, you would find there are several verses involving the unicorn. This might lead one to believe that you were saying that bisexuals at one time existed, but don't any longer. For your in-depth research (which I am sure you did for your article) verses involving unicorns can be found in the KJV Bible, said verses being: Numbers 23:22, Job 39:9, Psalms 29:6, Job 39:10, Numbers 24:8 and Psalms 92:10.
Or, if you don't believe in the Bible, we can look at the Narwhal, oft considered the Unicorn of the Sea or any other animal with one horn.
*The word "unicorn" stems from early 13th century Old French "unicorne" and from Late Latin "unicornus" meaning, quite literally, "having one horn." Uni- meaning "one" plus cornus meaning "horn." If we go with this, that means that anything having one horn is considered a unicorn, making them quite real in the etymological sense of the word.
I'm sure, however, that you meant them in the purely fairy tale sense of the word, being a horse with a lion's tail, a single horn protruding from its head and a billy goat's beard (or, if you prefer, Pliny's version: a creature with a horse's body, deer's head, elephant's feet, lion's tail, and one black horn two cubits long projecting from its forehead). Or maybe you meant it in the allegorical sense, which was used as a tool by the Christians to teach morals. Such morals being that a Unicorn can only be tamed by a virgin (virgin in almost any sense of that word), the Unicorn being Christ in certain tales. And dire consequences for those who pretended to be virgin as they were skewered on the horn of the beast. That doesn't seem to fit quite as neatly as your original simile, but if we're talking of backwards philosophies it seems to fit quite nicely.
"It’s very difficult in our society to believe in something as free-spirited as bisexuality."
2. It also seems very difficult, in our society, to believe in Love and Marriage being uninhibited by things such as age, sexual preferences, gender, race, religion, etc. Love is apparently tethered to concrete ideas and laws. "Free-spirited" makes it sound as though it is a childish thing. Sexuality isn't an idea that we follow, like the Flower Power movement. Sexuality is not Hippies in the summer of '69. It is a deep and personal thing, grounded in one's sense of self. It is something we all find inside of ourselves. It is longing to be with another person in the most intimate way, sharing bodies and things that no one wants to talk about because they are "shameful." And that longing is not restrained by your narrow view of the world.
"it’s threatening. For heterosexuals and homosexuals, we have to contend with only being attracted to half of the population. Those odds aren’t terrific. For someone who’s bisexual, the world is their genital oyster. It’s actually a very picturesque image. Men, women, who cares? I’m attracted to everyone."
3. I don't understand this part at all. You say it is threatening, bisexuality that is, but don't explain how it is threatening. How does bisexuality threaten your sexuality in any way? Truly, I'm curious. Explain to me, without Biblical or personal biases, how Bisexuality is threatening in any way, shape or form. You then say that the world is a "genital oyster." That is, not only, a vile pictorial image, but also shows just how little you understand about sexuality in general.
Yes, sexuality does, often involve, genitalia. However, there is so much more to sexuality than just sex. Sexuality is a strong basic instinct, a need, a desire, an attraction. It involves emotions and physical sensations. It can be impacted by the atmosphere one grows up in. It will never leave you. It is a key part of one's identity.
You make it sound almost as if sex meant nothing except, simply, getting one's rocks off. As if a bisexual is a selfish or greedy being for being attracted to more than one sex. Bisexuality is an attraction to either gender, that is true. But often the attraction is deeper than sexual. One can be attracted to anyone; beyond their gender, religion, sexual preferences, age, race, cultural background, etc. And what one finds sexually attractive doesn't even have to be human. There are those who are sexually attracted a person's mind or even inanimate objects. Wherever humans are involved there is no strict definition for sexuality. No strict definition for anything. We are more than the limits placed on us by other, simpler, creatures.
You say that "Those odds aren't terrific" when speaking of being "only" attracted to half of the population. Being attracted to only a man or only a woman isn't terrible. The odds are fine. In fact, when did odds even enter the picture? You make it sound like a race. As if we are all in a race with one another to see who is more attracted to who. It isn't a race. It isn't a game. There are no "odds." There are only people. People who love and hate, create and destroy, write good articles and shitty ones.
"Now, I am not bisexual."
4. Clearly.
"I also can’t assert assurance on things like Bigfoot, John F. Kennedy’s assassination or the contention of Jesus’ divinity."
5. I cannot say, with certainty that Bigfoot does or does not exist. JFK was, in fact, assassinated, though by whom is still up for debate. And whilst Jesus did exist, I cannot say with certainty that he was divine. However, I also can't say with certainty when we will die. I can't say that Coca Cola is the superior of all carbonated beverages. Nothing in this life is particularly certain. Truth is defined by who is looking at it, not by what it actually is.
"The real issue has to do with the male psyche and sexuality."
6. Yes, yes it does. At last, something we agree on! It DOES have to do with the Male psyche and sexuality. Men are generally insecure about their sexuality, no matter their preferences. Everything about sex makes one insecure. The length and width of his organ, whether he is doing well, how quickly he can reach orgasm, etc. Men are generally quite insecure with anything having to do with their own emotions and their being as well. I have yet to meet a man who is completely secure with being emotionally honest. Does that mean that he doesn't exist somewhere? Does that mean I am going to have to start writing wildly inaccurate articles on male emotions?
"The same notion just doesn’t extend to heterosexual women. You’d be hard pressed to find a straight woman finding the same sexual stimulation from watching two men go at it."
7. You, sir, clearly have never met a woman willing to talk about being aroused by two men "going at it" as you so delicately put it. I myself enjoy watching two men fornicate, kiss, etc. I find it arousing when a man kisses another man. The funny thing is that you would be "hard pressed" to find a straight woman who is NOT aroused by two men having sexual intercourse. There are numerous articles you can find about straight female arousal whilst watching male on male pornography, but I'm assuming you didn't actually try to find any. Your whole article suggests a lack of study on the topic at hand.
To quote a poster on one of the response brought up by my searches: "What I find hilarious, is that so many straight men assume that women don't find it erotic, just because THEY [men] don't."
"But after years of men grind stoning women’s sexuality to the fine powder it is today, why should anyone be the wiser? Two women going at it? Crack a beer and enjoy. Two men going at it? Ultimate party foul. It’s typically pretty hard to party once the gay bomb drops."
8. I don't understand that first sentence at all. "But after years of men grind stoning women's sexuality to the fine powder it is today," what does that even mean? Did you even edit this before posting it to such a public forum? And what do you mean by "grind stoning women's sexuality"?
Two women are having sex with one another and this is suddenly a party? Do men do that? They all get together and watch lesbian porn whilst drinking beer? Someone puts in a gay porno and then all bets are off? "Gay bomb?" Truly, your word choice is ridiculously childish.
"I can’t begin to believe in bisexuality in a society where men’s sexuality isn’t nearly as fluid as women’s."
9. The problem with men's sexuality being fluid has nothing to do with whether or not bisexuality exists, but lies (once again) with the male psyche. Men seem to have this preconceived notion that it is unacceptable for them to be bisexual. Out of all the homosexual and heterosexual men I have met it comes down to this idea that they have to choose. That there is no "this" and "that." It is all "this" OR "that." It astounds me, actually, the number of men who find some other men attractive, but won't do anything with that attraction because they also find women attractive. That is definitely a problem with today's society, you are correct on that part. Society says it is totally wrong to think or exist outside of the sexuality box it has created for us.
"Recently in Hollywood, loads of successful women have come out as bisexual."
10. Hollywood is DEFINITELY a good place to look for reality and facts. Plenty of people will say whatever it takes to become famous or to have the spotlight shine a bit brighter on them. That doesn't make it fact.
"But the future may be bright. Frank Ocean is one example of a successful man who’s admitted to having a relationship with a man."
11. I find it sad that the final breath of your article is a sarcastic, and pithy, "Men in the limelight aren't bisexual so no one can be bisexual."
I am a bisexual woman. I am proud of my sexuality and who I am as a person. I have a loving husband and a wonderful girlfriend. I can't imagine going through my life without either of them. There is more to my being attracted to them than their gender. More to my love for them than their genitalia. Its people like yourself, that raise the banners of prejudice and bias against what you don't understand and don't bother to understand.
sincerely,
Sarai.
In regards to your article "Bisexual bias" in the IDS, I would like to say a few things.
"I’ve had a saying for a few years now. Bisexuals are like unicorns. You really want them to exist. But they just don’t."
1. Comparing a bisexual person to unicorns is mostly, if not entirely, ridiculous.
There are many cases in which unicorns can have existed, thus leading one to believe that you are saying bisexual homo sapiens do, in fact, exist.
Examples: If we were to go completely old school Biblical on the matter, if you are one who believes in the Bible, you would find there are several verses involving the unicorn. This might lead one to believe that you were saying that bisexuals at one time existed, but don't any longer. For your in-depth research (which I am sure you did for your article) verses involving unicorns can be found in the KJV Bible, said verses being: Numbers 23:22, Job 39:9, Psalms 29:6, Job 39:10, Numbers 24:8 and Psalms 92:10.
Or, if you don't believe in the Bible, we can look at the Narwhal, oft considered the Unicorn of the Sea or any other animal with one horn.
*The word "unicorn" stems from early 13th century Old French "unicorne" and from Late Latin "unicornus" meaning, quite literally, "having one horn." Uni- meaning "one" plus cornus meaning "horn." If we go with this, that means that anything having one horn is considered a unicorn, making them quite real in the etymological sense of the word.
I'm sure, however, that you meant them in the purely fairy tale sense of the word, being a horse with a lion's tail, a single horn protruding from its head and a billy goat's beard (or, if you prefer, Pliny's version: a creature with a horse's body, deer's head, elephant's feet, lion's tail, and one black horn two cubits long projecting from its forehead). Or maybe you meant it in the allegorical sense, which was used as a tool by the Christians to teach morals. Such morals being that a Unicorn can only be tamed by a virgin (virgin in almost any sense of that word), the Unicorn being Christ in certain tales. And dire consequences for those who pretended to be virgin as they were skewered on the horn of the beast. That doesn't seem to fit quite as neatly as your original simile, but if we're talking of backwards philosophies it seems to fit quite nicely.
"It’s very difficult in our society to believe in something as free-spirited as bisexuality."
2. It also seems very difficult, in our society, to believe in Love and Marriage being uninhibited by things such as age, sexual preferences, gender, race, religion, etc. Love is apparently tethered to concrete ideas and laws. "Free-spirited" makes it sound as though it is a childish thing. Sexuality isn't an idea that we follow, like the Flower Power movement. Sexuality is not Hippies in the summer of '69. It is a deep and personal thing, grounded in one's sense of self. It is something we all find inside of ourselves. It is longing to be with another person in the most intimate way, sharing bodies and things that no one wants to talk about because they are "shameful." And that longing is not restrained by your narrow view of the world.
"it’s threatening. For heterosexuals and homosexuals, we have to contend with only being attracted to half of the population. Those odds aren’t terrific. For someone who’s bisexual, the world is their genital oyster. It’s actually a very picturesque image. Men, women, who cares? I’m attracted to everyone."
3. I don't understand this part at all. You say it is threatening, bisexuality that is, but don't explain how it is threatening. How does bisexuality threaten your sexuality in any way? Truly, I'm curious. Explain to me, without Biblical or personal biases, how Bisexuality is threatening in any way, shape or form. You then say that the world is a "genital oyster." That is, not only, a vile pictorial image, but also shows just how little you understand about sexuality in general.
Yes, sexuality does, often involve, genitalia. However, there is so much more to sexuality than just sex. Sexuality is a strong basic instinct, a need, a desire, an attraction. It involves emotions and physical sensations. It can be impacted by the atmosphere one grows up in. It will never leave you. It is a key part of one's identity.
You make it sound almost as if sex meant nothing except, simply, getting one's rocks off. As if a bisexual is a selfish or greedy being for being attracted to more than one sex. Bisexuality is an attraction to either gender, that is true. But often the attraction is deeper than sexual. One can be attracted to anyone; beyond their gender, religion, sexual preferences, age, race, cultural background, etc. And what one finds sexually attractive doesn't even have to be human. There are those who are sexually attracted a person's mind or even inanimate objects. Wherever humans are involved there is no strict definition for sexuality. No strict definition for anything. We are more than the limits placed on us by other, simpler, creatures.
You say that "Those odds aren't terrific" when speaking of being "only" attracted to half of the population. Being attracted to only a man or only a woman isn't terrible. The odds are fine. In fact, when did odds even enter the picture? You make it sound like a race. As if we are all in a race with one another to see who is more attracted to who. It isn't a race. It isn't a game. There are no "odds." There are only people. People who love and hate, create and destroy, write good articles and shitty ones.
"Now, I am not bisexual."
4. Clearly.
"I also can’t assert assurance on things like Bigfoot, John F. Kennedy’s assassination or the contention of Jesus’ divinity."
5. I cannot say, with certainty that Bigfoot does or does not exist. JFK was, in fact, assassinated, though by whom is still up for debate. And whilst Jesus did exist, I cannot say with certainty that he was divine. However, I also can't say with certainty when we will die. I can't say that Coca Cola is the superior of all carbonated beverages. Nothing in this life is particularly certain. Truth is defined by who is looking at it, not by what it actually is.
"The real issue has to do with the male psyche and sexuality."
6. Yes, yes it does. At last, something we agree on! It DOES have to do with the Male psyche and sexuality. Men are generally insecure about their sexuality, no matter their preferences. Everything about sex makes one insecure. The length and width of his organ, whether he is doing well, how quickly he can reach orgasm, etc. Men are generally quite insecure with anything having to do with their own emotions and their being as well. I have yet to meet a man who is completely secure with being emotionally honest. Does that mean that he doesn't exist somewhere? Does that mean I am going to have to start writing wildly inaccurate articles on male emotions?
"The same notion just doesn’t extend to heterosexual women. You’d be hard pressed to find a straight woman finding the same sexual stimulation from watching two men go at it."
7. You, sir, clearly have never met a woman willing to talk about being aroused by two men "going at it" as you so delicately put it. I myself enjoy watching two men fornicate, kiss, etc. I find it arousing when a man kisses another man. The funny thing is that you would be "hard pressed" to find a straight woman who is NOT aroused by two men having sexual intercourse. There are numerous articles you can find about straight female arousal whilst watching male on male pornography, but I'm assuming you didn't actually try to find any. Your whole article suggests a lack of study on the topic at hand.
To quote a poster on one of the response brought up by my searches: "What I find hilarious, is that so many straight men assume that women don't find it erotic, just because THEY [men] don't."
"But after years of men grind stoning women’s sexuality to the fine powder it is today, why should anyone be the wiser? Two women going at it? Crack a beer and enjoy. Two men going at it? Ultimate party foul. It’s typically pretty hard to party once the gay bomb drops."
8. I don't understand that first sentence at all. "But after years of men grind stoning women's sexuality to the fine powder it is today," what does that even mean? Did you even edit this before posting it to such a public forum? And what do you mean by "grind stoning women's sexuality"?
Two women are having sex with one another and this is suddenly a party? Do men do that? They all get together and watch lesbian porn whilst drinking beer? Someone puts in a gay porno and then all bets are off? "Gay bomb?" Truly, your word choice is ridiculously childish.
"I can’t begin to believe in bisexuality in a society where men’s sexuality isn’t nearly as fluid as women’s."
9. The problem with men's sexuality being fluid has nothing to do with whether or not bisexuality exists, but lies (once again) with the male psyche. Men seem to have this preconceived notion that it is unacceptable for them to be bisexual. Out of all the homosexual and heterosexual men I have met it comes down to this idea that they have to choose. That there is no "this" and "that." It is all "this" OR "that." It astounds me, actually, the number of men who find some other men attractive, but won't do anything with that attraction because they also find women attractive. That is definitely a problem with today's society, you are correct on that part. Society says it is totally wrong to think or exist outside of the sexuality box it has created for us.
"Recently in Hollywood, loads of successful women have come out as bisexual."
10. Hollywood is DEFINITELY a good place to look for reality and facts. Plenty of people will say whatever it takes to become famous or to have the spotlight shine a bit brighter on them. That doesn't make it fact.
"But the future may be bright. Frank Ocean is one example of a successful man who’s admitted to having a relationship with a man."
11. I find it sad that the final breath of your article is a sarcastic, and pithy, "Men in the limelight aren't bisexual so no one can be bisexual."
I am a bisexual woman. I am proud of my sexuality and who I am as a person. I have a loving husband and a wonderful girlfriend. I can't imagine going through my life without either of them. There is more to my being attracted to them than their gender. More to my love for them than their genitalia. Its people like yourself, that raise the banners of prejudice and bias against what you don't understand and don't bother to understand.
sincerely,
Sarai.
Monday, March 25, 2013
The Step-Daughter
The end arrived during a Christmas party whilst my mother was away. Said
party was being held at a friend's, a church friend. I must've been
nineteen by then, increasingly fed up with my step-father's behaviours
towards myself, my mother and my younger brother. We, as a family unit,
had been devolving for years now, the cancer of it metastasizing until
the whole of 'us' was being crippled by it.
I don't know at what point he stopped loving us. I'm not sure when it became reality and not just imaginative angst. I'm not sure when I realized that the noises from my mother's bedroom were of discomfort and not pleasure. We had all been miserable for years by this point and I can't tell you the origin. I don't know when it was that we began to fall apart, eroding from our former selves. I only recognized the end of it.
I remember it wasn't particularly cold. Unusual for the time of year. I tried to look nice, I always tried. Always trying to be prettier than I was in the hopes of snagging a husband to rescue me from the constant depression and the thumb of my step-father. When we arrived there were people we hadn't met before, children and already married men.
My step-father handled the introductions at that point.
"This is my daughter, Hannah." he said. "And this is my step-daughter, Sarai."
I don't remember if he introduced Christopher at all. I had been stabbed, murdered right in front of these strangers, though I gave no outward sign. For the first time, in 15 years, my "father" had introduced me as his step-daughter, not his daughter.
I had always fought against being called his daughter as a young girl. I had so romanticized my "real" father in my head that there was no room for any other man. Though I called him "dad" from a young age. He was never my "father." He was my "step-father." He was the one always pushing for me to drop the step. He had always wanted me to introduce myself as his daughter. I did, eventually, concede the point and consent to being called by his last name, even though he never legally made it mine. My whole identity became inexplicably intertwined with his.
I remember telling my "friends" once that my real last name was actually Lillie. The shock, was palpable. Even now I still have to identify myself by his last name. I am not known on my own. I doubt that I ever was.
I realized, with that punch, that it was the end. The end of everything we'd had for fifteen years. It was the first of several.
At the end of the day, the "friends" gave presents to everyone. Except myself and my brother. When Hannah asked why Christopher and I had received no presents it was met with silence. Awkward silence. Artificial apologies were given and my brother and I brushed it off, as if we hadn't just been rejected with finality. My step-father made no comment. We shrugged off the wounds this made, though the scars are ever present if you take a look at my insides.
Looking back, there were signs along the way. So many glaring neon absurdities dazzling the road to this point that I must've been blind to not notice. They'd been a long time coming, how had I not seen them?
We were abused. Emotionally, physically, mentally. We had been ignored, beaten and tortured all along that road. Never realizing that something was so desperately wrong. We had struggled, rising up like a tide, only to be smashed back into the sand every time. We were weights, burdens, nothing precious.
The end came in the form of a word. A word spoken during a party. A party I hadn't even wanted to go to. Surrounded by strangers and semi-strangers. The most hated word I've ever been called, uttered in such a trivial way, as if it wouldn't hurt.
"This is my step-daughter."
I don't know at what point he stopped loving us. I'm not sure when it became reality and not just imaginative angst. I'm not sure when I realized that the noises from my mother's bedroom were of discomfort and not pleasure. We had all been miserable for years by this point and I can't tell you the origin. I don't know when it was that we began to fall apart, eroding from our former selves. I only recognized the end of it.
I remember it wasn't particularly cold. Unusual for the time of year. I tried to look nice, I always tried. Always trying to be prettier than I was in the hopes of snagging a husband to rescue me from the constant depression and the thumb of my step-father. When we arrived there were people we hadn't met before, children and already married men.
My step-father handled the introductions at that point.
"This is my daughter, Hannah." he said. "And this is my step-daughter, Sarai."
I don't remember if he introduced Christopher at all. I had been stabbed, murdered right in front of these strangers, though I gave no outward sign. For the first time, in 15 years, my "father" had introduced me as his step-daughter, not his daughter.
I had always fought against being called his daughter as a young girl. I had so romanticized my "real" father in my head that there was no room for any other man. Though I called him "dad" from a young age. He was never my "father." He was my "step-father." He was the one always pushing for me to drop the step. He had always wanted me to introduce myself as his daughter. I did, eventually, concede the point and consent to being called by his last name, even though he never legally made it mine. My whole identity became inexplicably intertwined with his.
I remember telling my "friends" once that my real last name was actually Lillie. The shock, was palpable. Even now I still have to identify myself by his last name. I am not known on my own. I doubt that I ever was.
I realized, with that punch, that it was the end. The end of everything we'd had for fifteen years. It was the first of several.
At the end of the day, the "friends" gave presents to everyone. Except myself and my brother. When Hannah asked why Christopher and I had received no presents it was met with silence. Awkward silence. Artificial apologies were given and my brother and I brushed it off, as if we hadn't just been rejected with finality. My step-father made no comment. We shrugged off the wounds this made, though the scars are ever present if you take a look at my insides.
Looking back, there were signs along the way. So many glaring neon absurdities dazzling the road to this point that I must've been blind to not notice. They'd been a long time coming, how had I not seen them?
We were abused. Emotionally, physically, mentally. We had been ignored, beaten and tortured all along that road. Never realizing that something was so desperately wrong. We had struggled, rising up like a tide, only to be smashed back into the sand every time. We were weights, burdens, nothing precious.
The end came in the form of a word. A word spoken during a party. A party I hadn't even wanted to go to. Surrounded by strangers and semi-strangers. The most hated word I've ever been called, uttered in such a trivial way, as if it wouldn't hurt.
"This is my step-daughter."
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