To Live Would Be An Awfully Big Adventure.

"There's a current in her skin

Behind her eyes

It drives forth from her feet

From her thighs

She's grown from the circle 

Of mother's arms

And with a girl's naiveté

Holds woman's charms.

Her body is her weapon

Is her hold

Her body is a prison

The holy fold.

Come hither eyes

Shy away from the advance

Beckoning fingers

Hide behind their hands."

-LG

Over the past few years, I've become hyper-aware of change and of shifts in my paradigm. While it used to take weeks or even months to register that my point of view was significantly different from how it had been before, now it's an instantaneous realization. With my 20th birthday looming, a lot of the changes I've been so aware of are those pertaining to maturing. They're little, almost silly things. But I find that I associate them all with my mother. For instance, learning how to actually do my hair and makeup, as opposed to winging it like I did before (or not doing it at all). And investing in the quality tools to do these things as opposed to whatever I could find at a moment's notice. Growing up I watched my mom "put on her face" and style her hair and I learned all of my grooming habits from her. I love how these traditions get passed down from generation to generation and it's been so strange to be so aware of the fact that the torch has officially been passed. And while the prospect of growing up and into adulthood is always exciting, I've been feeling incredibly conflicted. It's an awkward age. I have the body of a woman but an attitude and outlook on life that is still very childish in a lot of ways. I have the innocence and unadulterated confidence of a child that hasn't been broken yet by the fear it sometimes is to be a woman. But I am present for and observant of that breaking, and it is...sad. I want to express the aspects of myself that I find beautiful and in turn I'm punished for it with lewd comments from strange men. And no matter how much I come to anticipate this extreme invasion of space, this appalling and frightening behavior, I will never understand how some people think this is okay. I have to arm myself with indifference each day before leaving my home. This constant defense sucks the colors from my day. I'm not left alone to enjoy celebrating myself and feeling comfortable in my skin. Being punished by perfect strangers in turn makes me feel the need to punish my body for calling so much attention to itself.   Someone asked me "well what do you expect?". This question alone was a slap across the face. So I'll tell you what I expect: I expect to be able to feel safe and secure in my own skin. I expect to have the freedom to leave my home every day and not feel the need to anticipate every stare and every comment made by those with no sense of boundaries. I expect to feel exultant in my body and vitality, no matter what the size and shape, instead of ashamed and embarrassed for being so colorful. I don't want to draw lines in the sand between me and my lipstick and them and their depravity. Because those lines will spread and thicken until I find it necessary to defend myself against all others instead of just against those individuals who act to invade my space. And let me tell you from experience, living your life in a constant defended state is exhausting and is in no way worth it. 

But while I wait for an ideal world to materialize, I will continue trying to navigate the choppy waters between childhood and womanhood; between the natural inclination toward the flesh and the comfort of our innocence. And as there is no map, no compass, and no northern star, I will take comfort in the sheer adventure that it is to be alive.

-LG

PS If anybody uses the recipe from the previous post, please let me know how it goes and if you made any clever changes to it!