Apr. 18th, 2011

eumelia: (bamf)
Passover/Pesach is, as most "holy"days are to me, a time of reflection. Being as this "holy"day is about liberty and freedom from bondage and remembering those who came before us to tell the tale of that exodus from slavery to freedom, I thought it would be an opportune time to write about the oppression I place on myself, how conscientious I am regarding this oppression and how more often than not, trying to break free of it, makes it that much more visible and stark.

However, that which you can see, you can fight against.

As regular readers know, I have been growing out my body hair.

For the first time ever, I have hair under my arms, even before I had proper growth at around 13 or so, I was taught to shave it off. I have trouble recalling whether I asked my mother to teach me or if she told me it was time, but I remember standing naked in the shower really freaking out at the notion of putting a blade to my skin.

(I have never shaved any other body part, the razors really scare me and I scar easily, so I avoided it when it came to body hair removal)

The other day I wore a tank top for the first time this year (it is freakishly hot!) and I did my best not to raise my arms past a certain level so as not to attract attention. When I was with a bunch of friends I did my best to not think about the fact that I have OMG!hair under my arms and what would you know, not a one said anything.

Whew.

Today, I'm wearing shorts for the first time this year (did I mention it's hot! It's no wonder we're all mad here) and my mother exclaimed:
"Oh my god, your legs!"
I tried to be as nonchalant as possible and said "What about them?"
"Have you seen what they look like?"
No Mum, I hadn't noticed I hadn't been removing the hair from there on a regular basis. *eye roll*, sheesh, no credit what-so-ever.
She asked me if I'm planning on going "that way" all the time now. I said it was an experiment, which it is, when I have to make a concious decision about doing something my body does when one doesn't interfere with it, then yeah, I'm experimenting with the way I am presenting my body to the world.

I would not be lying when I said my heart hammered in my chest. More than anyone my mother, she who taught me all the rules of hair maintenance, removal and societal approval, is the one I can rely on trying to explicitly shame me into getting "back in line", out of love.

Because it is out of love, I forgive her for it and feel I can try and have a rational discussion about the issue.

So I mentioned the fact that one of my classes is about the politics of the Beauty Myth and I want to be able have the "choice" (whatever that means) of removing the hair from my body.
She said it was part of basic hygiene.
"Nonsense," I said, "if it were part of basic hygiene, men would have been shaving their hair along with us for years".
Then we had a short discussion regarding hairlessness in women and art in history.

So that was all right, and she said she known she's criticising and I said "thanks, I appreciate it, but now you've said it, so move on".

All this is to say that I have issues with hair. The hair on my head, the hair on my body and even with all this conscientious growing of hair, I still shaped my eye brows and plucked the barely there moustache.

I think I'm taking steps in the right direction. But summer here is brutal and taking advantage of the privilege of being able to remove hair and wear short dresses may be something I'll take advantage of.

Having a choice is part of being free. And this may be small potatoes compared to being under siege and curfew, being forced to stay in the closet and being treated as a lesser person due to the colour of your skin or the ideas in your head.
But it's something.

And I'm happy to be hairy around the Seder table.

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Eumelia

June 2015

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V and Justice

V: Ah, I was forgetting that we are not properly introduced. I do not have a name. You can call me V. Madam Justice...this is V. V... this is Madam Justice. hello, Madam Justice.

Justice: Good evening, V.

V: There. Now we know each other. Actually, I've been a fan of yours for quite some time. Oh, I know what you're thinking...

Justice: The poor boy has a crush on me...an adolescent fatuation.

V: I beg your pardon, Madam. It isn't like that at all. I've long admired you...albeit only from a distance. I used to stare at you from the streets below when I was a child. I'd say to my father, "Who is that lady?" And he'd say "That's Madam Justice." And I'd say "Isn't she pretty."

V: Please don't think it was merely physical. I know you're not that sort of girl. No, I loved you as a person. As an ideal.

Justice: What? V! For shame! You have betrayed me for some harlot, some vain and pouting hussy with painted lips and a knowing smile!

V: I, Madam? I beg to differ! It was your infidelity that drove me to her arms!

V: Ah-ha! That surprised you, didn't it? You thought I didn't know about your little fling. But I do. I know everything! Frankly, I wasn't surprised when I found out. You always did have an eye for a man in uniform.

Justice: Uniform? Why I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. It was always you, V. You were the only one...

V: Liar! Slut! Whore! Deny that you let him have his way with you, him with his armbands and jackboots!

V: Well? Cat got your tongue? I though as much.

V: Very well. So you stand revealed at last. you are no longer my justice. You are his justice now. You have bedded another.

Justice: Sob! Choke! Wh-who is she, V? What is her name?

V: Her name is Anarchy. And she has taught me more as a mistress than you ever did! She has taught me that justice is meaningless without freedom. She is honest. She makes no promises and breaks none. Unlike you, Jezebel. I used to wonder why you could never look me in the eye. Now I know. So good bye, dear lady. I would be saddened by our parting even now, save that you are no longer the woman I once loved.

*KABOOM!*

-"V for Vendetta"

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