heading into remission
A few thoughts, the dying spasms of my last bout of nihilism:
1.) I just re-learned how being a woman can be dangerous and painful.
2.) I just re-learned how being queer can be dangerous and painful.
3.) I just re-learned how being a sensitive human being can force you to grow enormous callouses around the parts that would otherwise feel one and two a lot, all the time.
4.) I just re-learned that there's more to life on this planet than making yourself comfortable, if you're willing to look a little more deeply.
I've had fantasies lately of a life in disguise -- to travel in the disguise of a man, safe from the dangers that befall a woman traveler, a lesbian traveler. To go back to visit my family in the disguise of a straight woman, to take a boy, pretend to be married -- to experience my family's small, rural, Georgia, mountain home as something other than politely hostile. To go into the world disguised as a middle-class, middle-aged, middle-of-the-road woman, maybe in a burqa, hidden, tucked away -- to travel the world with SK, pretending we are sisters (we look enough alike), drawing no attention to ourselves, passing unnoticed.
I am naive. I have spent too much time insulating myself, protecting myself against something. Too much time hiding. I remember the day in college when speakers from middle-eastern countries came to answer questions in a humanities class. Some well-meaning, lefty, hippie kid said "What's it like for gay people in Turkey." The reply from the man from Turkey (man? he was maybe 19): "There are no gay people in Turkey." The hippie followed up: "Well, statistically, there *have* to be gay people in Turkey. There are a certain number of gay people everywhere." The man-boy from Turkey, scowling: "If there are gay people in Turkey, they are hanged."
I was the gay person in the room who did not want to be hanged. I was one of the gay people in the room who did not want to be hanged. So what do I do? Hate Turkey? Avoid Turkey? Yes. Avoid Turkey. Among other places I otherwise don't suppose I belong. And now, avoid the Dalai Lama, until I find some way to redeem him.
Anyway, I will continue to dig myself out from my little nihilistic pit, and I'll start by pondering this passage from the Katha Upanishad:
"The good is one thing; the pleasant is another. . . Both the good and the pleasant present themselves to men. The wise, having examined both, distinguish the one from the other. The wise prefer the good to the pleasant; the foolish, driven by fleshly desires, prefer the pleasant to the good."
1.) I just re-learned how being a woman can be dangerous and painful.
2.) I just re-learned how being queer can be dangerous and painful.
3.) I just re-learned how being a sensitive human being can force you to grow enormous callouses around the parts that would otherwise feel one and two a lot, all the time.
4.) I just re-learned that there's more to life on this planet than making yourself comfortable, if you're willing to look a little more deeply.
I've had fantasies lately of a life in disguise -- to travel in the disguise of a man, safe from the dangers that befall a woman traveler, a lesbian traveler. To go back to visit my family in the disguise of a straight woman, to take a boy, pretend to be married -- to experience my family's small, rural, Georgia, mountain home as something other than politely hostile. To go into the world disguised as a middle-class, middle-aged, middle-of-the-road woman, maybe in a burqa, hidden, tucked away -- to travel the world with SK, pretending we are sisters (we look enough alike), drawing no attention to ourselves, passing unnoticed.
I am naive. I have spent too much time insulating myself, protecting myself against something. Too much time hiding. I remember the day in college when speakers from middle-eastern countries came to answer questions in a humanities class. Some well-meaning, lefty, hippie kid said "What's it like for gay people in Turkey." The reply from the man from Turkey (man? he was maybe 19): "There are no gay people in Turkey." The hippie followed up: "Well, statistically, there *have* to be gay people in Turkey. There are a certain number of gay people everywhere." The man-boy from Turkey, scowling: "If there are gay people in Turkey, they are hanged."
I was the gay person in the room who did not want to be hanged. I was one of the gay people in the room who did not want to be hanged. So what do I do? Hate Turkey? Avoid Turkey? Yes. Avoid Turkey. Among other places I otherwise don't suppose I belong. And now, avoid the Dalai Lama, until I find some way to redeem him.
Anyway, I will continue to dig myself out from my little nihilistic pit, and I'll start by pondering this passage from the Katha Upanishad:
"The good is one thing; the pleasant is another. . . Both the good and the pleasant present themselves to men. The wise, having examined both, distinguish the one from the other. The wise prefer the good to the pleasant; the foolish, driven by fleshly desires, prefer the pleasant to the good."
posted by reasonably prudent poet at 12:40 PM
4 Comments:
no, tufty, nothing more happened. it was a pretty abstract catalyst to this dip into existential angst. just suddenly feeling the weight of some burdens i'd forgotten i was carrying. better just to put the pack back up on my back and stop thinking about it, i think. after all, no one is without a burden, and mine aren't particularly unique anyway.
Mm-hm.
The politics of traveling are fascinating, and not something I ever had to think about until recently. It is possible to travel as an independant queer woman; I've done it. I had a girlfriend travel in Istanbul, so don't rule out Turkey just yet. But you have to be able to pass; whether you're willing to pass isn't even a question. You have to. You can be out in Western Europe, for the most part, places like Paris and England. I went to Greece on my own, not what you call gay-friendly, and I had a great time, but I was deliberately closeted. I had a few opportunities to come out to people I met and I didn't. The only place I felt really uncomfortable was Ireland, where I couldn't get away from homophobic jokes and graffitti; it sucked.
I've always wanted to go Morocco, and that's where my "can do!" attitude hits a wall. Because you can't, in Morrocco. My friend Kevin can, but I can't. I'd have to find a man to travel with me, let people assume that he's my brother or husband. I've had those disguise fantasies too, like Danielle Sea, who lived in India as a man.
andygrrl -- thanks for this account of your traveling experiences, it was good to read. and i've had friends who have traveled in various places under various levels of closetedness (one friend went to bangladesh intending to live there w/ her girlfriend... that didn't last for a *lot* of reasons) -- and sk has traveled and lived all over, mostly as a straight woman, but she did spend 16 months in greece w/ her very butch greek girlfriend. i know it's possible. i just suddenly became weary of the reality of it all. i'm 31 and until recently i haven't given myself the time or the space or the permission to let myself really *feel* disappointed with the world for its refusal to support me. i'm a good person, i'm smart enough and kind enough. yet, one or two particular things (being female, being queer) is enough to get me killed in some places, verbally assaulted in other places, and just generally shunned in still other places. it's especially disappointing to realize that only certain, insulated little bubbles (like portland) in my own country feel safe and comfortable for me to live in. it pisses me off. and after 13 years of being out, watching my culture become more and more accepting of queers, this latest backlash is just so disheartening. sure, we get on tv in the form of 'will and grace' and 'queer eye for the straight guy' but we also wind up a divisive issue on 12 state's ballots in the last election and even our so-called democratic allies feel free to publicly announce that they don't support same-sex marriage. with friends like that... it's just frustrating. that's all.
oh I know what you mean. It's bizarre. Things are better and worse at the same time. You can, and you can't. It gets tiring, this endless see-saw. I should probably write a post about this stuff.
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