Now Playing: The Best Day by Taylor Swift (I grew up in a pretty house and I had space to run and I had the best days with you)
Dearest Nine,
To be honest, dearest Nine, I don't know whether it's better to have teachers that hate you or teachers that love you. At least when teachers are mean to you the other kids more or less leave you alone. When teachers put you up on a pedestal, you become an easy target.
It's been three years since you were discovered as 'the kid who can write', and now you're finally getting something for it. Your teacher buys you a pen and a leather-bound journal and all the other kids are crazy jealous of this two dollar store presents.
There's a new boy at school and you're crazy in love, but this is the year that you realize that boys have terrible, terrible, terrible taste in girls - all the girls are saying it, not just you. And then you realize, given the six-second lifespan of grade four relationships, that boys choose the girls they think they want, or the girls that their friends will approve of, and you are neither. You get very hung up about this, dearest Nine, but I wish I could have told you that you don't need boys who worry about that. Now I've met boys who genuinely don't give a fuck what other people think or say about them and I can't help but admire them. It's the one thing I love most about the boys I love now.
That's the thing, dearest Nine. Every time you fall in love you think that this is it, you couldn't possibly love anyone anymore. You love them even if they hurt you, humiliate you, choose others over you. And then eventually you get over that, because there's someone else. There's always someone else, dearest Nine, always someone better than the last. I'm trying to convince myself of that now, that there will be someone else, because there always is. So don't let yourself fall too deep or get too hurt, dearest Nine, because no matter how perfect you think this boy or that boy is, there's always someone better. You run into that new kid when you're fourteen, dearest Nine, and he looked you up and down and you see a tiny pang of regret in his eyes that he didn't get to know you better. The thing about being single is that you can always, always begin again and move on to someone better. You've got nothing to lose, dearest Nine, and they...they've got you to lose. I wish you could have known how precious you are and even though so few people bother to get to know you, once they do they never let you go.
Dearest Nine, I know you're bored. Primary school is a long, hard road, and you can't see the end of the tunnel anymore. The year sevens look impossibly big and grown up and you can't see a point where you'll be like them. Hang in there, dearest Nine. These are the longest eight years of your life, but they're definitely not the best and they'll be over soon, I promise.
Love,
Nearly Seventeen.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
feminists online
Now Playing: L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N. by Noah and the Whales (on my last night on earth I pay a high price to have no regrets and be done with my life)
One of my all time favourite YouTube channels is Feminist Frequency, hosted by Anita Sarkeesian. Anita is a feminist media critic best known for her 'Tropes vs Women' series, which discusses various tropes used in different mediums of popular culture that perpetuate harmful gendered stereotypes. Her videos aren't the funniest or most entertaining in the world but are highly researched, methodically laid out and easy to understand.
This year Anita is embarking on a very ambitious project to analyse the treatment of women in video games, a very, very touchy topic...as I've found out. In a video to raise money for the project the backlash was instantaneous and extremely intense - death threats, rape threats, the whole deal. It was...beneath contempt.
The third wave feminist movement is a broad and diverse church, and it has an increasing presence on the internet. There are the obvious feminists - Feminist Frequency and The Feminist Breeder are well known - and then there are the less obvious feminists; the WAHMs and SAHMs who have established businesses online, especially businesses for female-oriented niche markets, women discussing taboo, traditionally 'male' topics like sex and sexuality like Laci Green; even men. Dan Savage is, arguably, a feminist. We're everywhere whether you like it or not.
Our society is obsessed with silencing women. We do this in a variety of ways - the obsession with slim, small women is, as Laci Green points out, a way of physically marginalizing women and forcing women to take up less space and be a less authoritative personal figure. We maim women with impractical and uncomfortable clothing - even at the school I go to, Perth Modern School, female teachers are not allowed to wear jeans and male teachers are. And then we silence them by using onslaughts of abuse and threats of criminal behaviour to intimidate women into shutting up and not voicing their opinions.
I am attacked for being a feminist more than anything else - which is saying something, considering I am at the receiving end of racial slurs pretty much daily. It's mostly by the boys at school - which is why many of my friends ask me why my best friend is a boy at school, but hey, not all of them are assholes. I haven't done anything wrong - these people are just so intimidated by me and defensive against what I stand for. They hate that I have an opinion. They hate that I have the largest internet presence of anyone in our school. They hate that I have male friends and men who stand up for me. They hate that I'm right and they're wrong.
Because the truth is, Anita and I have got it right. I've been saying it forever - for the most part, the treatment of women in popular culture perpetuates harmful stereotypes, encourages sexist behaviour and idolizes unrealistic and unhealthy body images. All too often books, movies and TV series reduce female characters to one dimensional cliches. 92% of Australians say that axillary hair on a woman is 'offensive' - body hair is natural on both sexes but only acceptable on one. If Ken was a real person he'd have a 1 in 100 body and not have any severe health conditions, based on his appearance. If Barbie was a real person she'd have a 1 in 1,000,000 body, be infertile, not menstruate, bedridden and suffer from chronic diarrhoea.
There's a site called Fat, Ugly or Slutty which posts offensive comments by male video gamers to female video gamers purely because they are female, and therefore are either fat, ugly or slutty and deserve to be treated with total disrespect. The sad thing is, it's not much different to the abuse I get from school. I have been accused of being a lesbian (honestly not offended by that), a slut, a whore, a prude (how can you be all three?), a man-stealer, a Jew (an Asian Jew? Really?). I've been told to my face that because I'm a feminist I'm undateable/deserve to die alone/get raped/be bashed/etc. When I'm in class in an intellectual argument someone will randomly bring up my sex or my race. The boys at my school think it's funny to hurl abuse at me, tell me to go 'back to the kitchen' and 'make them a sandwich' anytime I say anything that might suggest I have half a brain. If I was really so wrong and stupid and deluded you would have thought of a more coherent argument than 'you're a fat dumb cunt'. I've been accosted on buses by boys trying to hit on me and then getting quite scary when I ignore them. It's get hit on or get hit, it seems.
Boys my age think that it's funny to be sexist, and that people look up to them if they dare to say something blatantly offensive and misogynistic. They know that I hold gender equality dear to me - as I should - and use that against me. They're constantly trying to pull me down and shut me up because they can't bear the thought of an egalitarian society where having a dick doesn't give you the right to suppress women. They can't bear the thought that someone like me thinks that I'm above them because they're immature and sexist when they want to think that, because I'm not blonde or beautiful, I'm not worthy of them instead of the other way around.
When you identify as a feminist any tiny minute human mistake - from a brain fart to a spelling error or whatever - is immediately taken, exaggerated, and then used against you. It's humiliating and defeating and intensely stressful. I've also seen this in the racism I've experienced - if I've ever slipped up or done something inadvertently stupid the first thing I hear is someone whisper 'Asian cunt' or 'typical Asians'. Why?
I am proud to be a feminist. I've changed many people's minds about attitudes towards sex, gender and sexuality. I am empowered by my work as a blogger, promoting compassion and open mindedness and tolerance, and respect for all people of all genders, sexes, sexualities, walks of life. But the abuse is, at times, horrific, and a disgrace. This isn't part and parcel with being a woman, a feminist, an Asian. This kind of behaviour is not acceptable and the solution isn't for me to grow a thick skin and ignore it. People don't take that kind of attitude towards cancer, and that's what this is - a growing, disturbing trend that sexism is cool and the rise of feminism is somehow providing men with an excuse to treat women like dirt. We can't tolerate this intolerance anymore. Equality and treating the sexes as equal isn't about expecting women to 'man up' and accept any abuse that men hurl at them - it's about actively promoting the kind of mutual respect for dignity that is ignored and tossed to one side by a deeply misogynistic, patriarchal society that is reflected in the pop culture I and Anita and so many other feminists attempt to critique, only to get continually shot down.
One of my all time favourite YouTube channels is Feminist Frequency, hosted by Anita Sarkeesian. Anita is a feminist media critic best known for her 'Tropes vs Women' series, which discusses various tropes used in different mediums of popular culture that perpetuate harmful gendered stereotypes. Her videos aren't the funniest or most entertaining in the world but are highly researched, methodically laid out and easy to understand.
This year Anita is embarking on a very ambitious project to analyse the treatment of women in video games, a very, very touchy topic...as I've found out. In a video to raise money for the project the backlash was instantaneous and extremely intense - death threats, rape threats, the whole deal. It was...beneath contempt.
The third wave feminist movement is a broad and diverse church, and it has an increasing presence on the internet. There are the obvious feminists - Feminist Frequency and The Feminist Breeder are well known - and then there are the less obvious feminists; the WAHMs and SAHMs who have established businesses online, especially businesses for female-oriented niche markets, women discussing taboo, traditionally 'male' topics like sex and sexuality like Laci Green; even men. Dan Savage is, arguably, a feminist. We're everywhere whether you like it or not.
Our society is obsessed with silencing women. We do this in a variety of ways - the obsession with slim, small women is, as Laci Green points out, a way of physically marginalizing women and forcing women to take up less space and be a less authoritative personal figure. We maim women with impractical and uncomfortable clothing - even at the school I go to, Perth Modern School, female teachers are not allowed to wear jeans and male teachers are. And then we silence them by using onslaughts of abuse and threats of criminal behaviour to intimidate women into shutting up and not voicing their opinions.
I am attacked for being a feminist more than anything else - which is saying something, considering I am at the receiving end of racial slurs pretty much daily. It's mostly by the boys at school - which is why many of my friends ask me why my best friend is a boy at school, but hey, not all of them are assholes. I haven't done anything wrong - these people are just so intimidated by me and defensive against what I stand for. They hate that I have an opinion. They hate that I have the largest internet presence of anyone in our school. They hate that I have male friends and men who stand up for me. They hate that I'm right and they're wrong.
Because the truth is, Anita and I have got it right. I've been saying it forever - for the most part, the treatment of women in popular culture perpetuates harmful stereotypes, encourages sexist behaviour and idolizes unrealistic and unhealthy body images. All too often books, movies and TV series reduce female characters to one dimensional cliches. 92% of Australians say that axillary hair on a woman is 'offensive' - body hair is natural on both sexes but only acceptable on one. If Ken was a real person he'd have a 1 in 100 body and not have any severe health conditions, based on his appearance. If Barbie was a real person she'd have a 1 in 1,000,000 body, be infertile, not menstruate, bedridden and suffer from chronic diarrhoea.
There's a site called Fat, Ugly or Slutty which posts offensive comments by male video gamers to female video gamers purely because they are female, and therefore are either fat, ugly or slutty and deserve to be treated with total disrespect. The sad thing is, it's not much different to the abuse I get from school. I have been accused of being a lesbian (honestly not offended by that), a slut, a whore, a prude (how can you be all three?), a man-stealer, a Jew (an Asian Jew? Really?). I've been told to my face that because I'm a feminist I'm undateable/deserve to die alone/get raped/be bashed/etc. When I'm in class in an intellectual argument someone will randomly bring up my sex or my race. The boys at my school think it's funny to hurl abuse at me, tell me to go 'back to the kitchen' and 'make them a sandwich' anytime I say anything that might suggest I have half a brain. If I was really so wrong and stupid and deluded you would have thought of a more coherent argument than 'you're a fat dumb cunt'. I've been accosted on buses by boys trying to hit on me and then getting quite scary when I ignore them. It's get hit on or get hit, it seems.
Boys my age think that it's funny to be sexist, and that people look up to them if they dare to say something blatantly offensive and misogynistic. They know that I hold gender equality dear to me - as I should - and use that against me. They're constantly trying to pull me down and shut me up because they can't bear the thought of an egalitarian society where having a dick doesn't give you the right to suppress women. They can't bear the thought that someone like me thinks that I'm above them because they're immature and sexist when they want to think that, because I'm not blonde or beautiful, I'm not worthy of them instead of the other way around.
When you identify as a feminist any tiny minute human mistake - from a brain fart to a spelling error or whatever - is immediately taken, exaggerated, and then used against you. It's humiliating and defeating and intensely stressful. I've also seen this in the racism I've experienced - if I've ever slipped up or done something inadvertently stupid the first thing I hear is someone whisper 'Asian cunt' or 'typical Asians'. Why?
I am proud to be a feminist. I've changed many people's minds about attitudes towards sex, gender and sexuality. I am empowered by my work as a blogger, promoting compassion and open mindedness and tolerance, and respect for all people of all genders, sexes, sexualities, walks of life. But the abuse is, at times, horrific, and a disgrace. This isn't part and parcel with being a woman, a feminist, an Asian. This kind of behaviour is not acceptable and the solution isn't for me to grow a thick skin and ignore it. People don't take that kind of attitude towards cancer, and that's what this is - a growing, disturbing trend that sexism is cool and the rise of feminism is somehow providing men with an excuse to treat women like dirt. We can't tolerate this intolerance anymore. Equality and treating the sexes as equal isn't about expecting women to 'man up' and accept any abuse that men hurl at them - it's about actively promoting the kind of mutual respect for dignity that is ignored and tossed to one side by a deeply misogynistic, patriarchal society that is reflected in the pop culture I and Anita and so many other feminists attempt to critique, only to get continually shot down.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Never Grow Up: A Letter to Eight Year Old Me
Now Playing: The Best Day by Taylor Swift (I don't know why all the trees change in the fall, I know you're not scared of anything at all, don't know if Snow White's house is near or far away but I know I had the best day with you today)
Dearest Eight,
Things are looking up. The bullying is always there, lurking in the background, but it's different pain now, okay pain. You're almost back to your normal bubbly self.
This is the year that you decide that you hate maths. Numbers don't mean anything to you and never will. You struggle through each piece of math homework feeling like a total idiot until eventually you give up and stop handing them in. It's better to be yelled at for being disorganized than for being dumb. Your teacher doesn't understand why someone as nerdy and bookish and bubbly and sweet as you has become one of 'those kids' who doesn't hand in homework but you've realized that primary school really doesn't matter as much as teachers want you to think, and they're all slightly irritated that you've come to this revelation.
Dearest Eight, this is the year of revelations. You find out what periods are from your cousin - well, actually you don't find out any more than 'blood on panties' and it confuses the heck out of you and you hope that you'll never ever get it. You do. It sucks. But it's okay. And then you find out what sex is and your mind is totally blown. Of all the questions you've asked it never occurred to you to ask about the birds and the bees. I miss the innocence before hormones cloud your mind. I miss boy germs.
But you only have about six months of boy germs, don't you, dearest Eight? Because one day you wake up and you realize you're head over heels with one boy or another. It's a dreadful affliction and I'm yet to find a cure. Loving people is the biggest ego bashing in the world, dearest Eight, and I know you're not ready for it. People aren't ready for you yet, and a lifetime later they still aren't really ready. But some things are worth the wait, dearest Eight, and even though I'm still waiting I never lost hope. I wish I could have found a way to keep you a little greener for a little longer. But no matter what, you're always up for more. I don't know whether you're brave or just stupid.
But you discover someone even cooler than snotty third grade boys, dearest Eight. Elizabeth I becomes your idol. You absolutely adore her. You're a feminist now, dearest Eight, even though you don't know what that means yet. Elizabeth I might have been dead for 500 years but she inspired a little eight year old girl to join the fight for women in a man's world. And I'm proud of you, dearest Eight. You're a wonderful nerd and I wouldn't want you to be any other way. Nobody else understands your fascination and your obsessions and your blind curiosity to learn everything about everything. But it will serve you well when everything and everyone else fails you.
Dearest Eight, today I sat on the bus with some trainwrecks who tried to hit on me and then got off before they could actually hit me. The things they talked about blew my mind away - I didn't know you could say 'cunt' so many times in a single sentence. I couldn't believe half of the narrow minded crap that they were spewing out. At eight years old you're a bona fide intellectual - not because you can write anything remotely coherent yet, but because you never lose your love of learning. You're better than they are, dearest Eight, I wish I could tell you that everything people say is wrong and weird about you, everything you have that they haven't is a gift, not a curse. Dearest Eight, never stop dreaming. Because when you're bullied and teased, when you're smaller and shorter and uglier than everyone else, your dreams are what makes you rise above them. Remember that, and you'll be just fine.
Love,
Nearly Seventeen.
Dearest Eight,
Things are looking up. The bullying is always there, lurking in the background, but it's different pain now, okay pain. You're almost back to your normal bubbly self.
This is the year that you decide that you hate maths. Numbers don't mean anything to you and never will. You struggle through each piece of math homework feeling like a total idiot until eventually you give up and stop handing them in. It's better to be yelled at for being disorganized than for being dumb. Your teacher doesn't understand why someone as nerdy and bookish and bubbly and sweet as you has become one of 'those kids' who doesn't hand in homework but you've realized that primary school really doesn't matter as much as teachers want you to think, and they're all slightly irritated that you've come to this revelation.
Dearest Eight, this is the year of revelations. You find out what periods are from your cousin - well, actually you don't find out any more than 'blood on panties' and it confuses the heck out of you and you hope that you'll never ever get it. You do. It sucks. But it's okay. And then you find out what sex is and your mind is totally blown. Of all the questions you've asked it never occurred to you to ask about the birds and the bees. I miss the innocence before hormones cloud your mind. I miss boy germs.
But you only have about six months of boy germs, don't you, dearest Eight? Because one day you wake up and you realize you're head over heels with one boy or another. It's a dreadful affliction and I'm yet to find a cure. Loving people is the biggest ego bashing in the world, dearest Eight, and I know you're not ready for it. People aren't ready for you yet, and a lifetime later they still aren't really ready. But some things are worth the wait, dearest Eight, and even though I'm still waiting I never lost hope. I wish I could have found a way to keep you a little greener for a little longer. But no matter what, you're always up for more. I don't know whether you're brave or just stupid.
But you discover someone even cooler than snotty third grade boys, dearest Eight. Elizabeth I becomes your idol. You absolutely adore her. You're a feminist now, dearest Eight, even though you don't know what that means yet. Elizabeth I might have been dead for 500 years but she inspired a little eight year old girl to join the fight for women in a man's world. And I'm proud of you, dearest Eight. You're a wonderful nerd and I wouldn't want you to be any other way. Nobody else understands your fascination and your obsessions and your blind curiosity to learn everything about everything. But it will serve you well when everything and everyone else fails you.
Dearest Eight, today I sat on the bus with some trainwrecks who tried to hit on me and then got off before they could actually hit me. The things they talked about blew my mind away - I didn't know you could say 'cunt' so many times in a single sentence. I couldn't believe half of the narrow minded crap that they were spewing out. At eight years old you're a bona fide intellectual - not because you can write anything remotely coherent yet, but because you never lose your love of learning. You're better than they are, dearest Eight, I wish I could tell you that everything people say is wrong and weird about you, everything you have that they haven't is a gift, not a curse. Dearest Eight, never stop dreaming. Because when you're bullied and teased, when you're smaller and shorter and uglier than everyone else, your dreams are what makes you rise above them. Remember that, and you'll be just fine.
Love,
Nearly Seventeen.
Never Grow Up
Now Playing: Never Grow Up by Taylor Swift (take pictures in your mind of your childhood room, memorize what it sounded like when your dad gets home, remember the footsteps, remember the words said and all your little brother's favourite songs...I just realized everything I have is someday gonna be gone...)
I write about myself a lot on this blog, I know. A lot about my past.
I was born a writer, and I've spent a lot of time having words but nowhere to put them and nobody to say them to. That's what it felt like, growing up. First I didn't have the words, and then once I did no voice to say them with. It was endlessly frustrating.
It's very cathartic for me, talking about my past. My childhood wasn't a walk in the park. I've tried to take my own life before. I've sunk into depression and suffered through a lot of bullying. But there were beautiful, magical, euphoric moments, too. I remember everything.
That's the thing, really - I want to remember everything. I like the idea of my blog being a time capsule. I can picture myself one day, in the future, staying up with a baby in my arms flipping through my old posts when I was sixteen and trying to get over my first love.
Growing up, I felt like nobody could understand me. I lived in my own world a lot, with my own rules and my own logic and I didn't understand my own fantasies half the time, much less explain the warped products of my imagination to others. I wanted so badly for someone to just get me, for someone to be unprejudiced enough for me to open up to. I never found that person.
I realized eventually that that person had to be me. They say that the only person who's with you from the moment you're born to the moment you take your last breath is you, and it's so true. There are some things, some knowledge, some advice that I can only give myself, years too late. In other words, there were just some things that I had to battle out alone, and make my own mistakes and learn my own lessons. As much as I wish that I received these letters, I'm a better person without them.
I'm always under so much pressure to change, to give in, to buckle to social norms. Not just from bullies - some of my friends think I'd be saving myself a lot of pain if I just went with the flow. I always tell people to never change; grow. I was an asshole a few years ago, and perhaps I will look back and realize I was an asshole at sixteen. But I've always been myself. There's nothing wrong with who I am - I'm a tiny shoot trying to become a tree, and I'm not going to waste time pretending I'm a stone. There's nothing wrong with who I am and what I want to be. I didn't always have the strength or the wisdom to believe that, but now I do and nothing's going to change my mind. I don't pretend to be the most popular person in the world, but I don't want to be. My true friends are the ones who look me in the eye and tell me that I'm beautiful the way I am. I shouldn't have to change to find love, to find friends, to find happiness. I'm convinced that's a one way ticket in the wrong direction. My so-called 'friends' who tell me that I'm asking for it, every time I stand up and speak now, they don't know what they're talking about. It's hard, being yourself, being fearless, and at times it gets very lonely and sad and painful. But pretending, lying...that's infinitely worse. I would know. Going along with the game would be admitting that I think there's something wrong with me, and I refuse to believe that. I've got lots of room to grow, but nobody has to change who they are.
I write about myself a lot on this blog, I know. A lot about my past.
I was born a writer, and I've spent a lot of time having words but nowhere to put them and nobody to say them to. That's what it felt like, growing up. First I didn't have the words, and then once I did no voice to say them with. It was endlessly frustrating.
It's very cathartic for me, talking about my past. My childhood wasn't a walk in the park. I've tried to take my own life before. I've sunk into depression and suffered through a lot of bullying. But there were beautiful, magical, euphoric moments, too. I remember everything.
That's the thing, really - I want to remember everything. I like the idea of my blog being a time capsule. I can picture myself one day, in the future, staying up with a baby in my arms flipping through my old posts when I was sixteen and trying to get over my first love.
Growing up, I felt like nobody could understand me. I lived in my own world a lot, with my own rules and my own logic and I didn't understand my own fantasies half the time, much less explain the warped products of my imagination to others. I wanted so badly for someone to just get me, for someone to be unprejudiced enough for me to open up to. I never found that person.
I realized eventually that that person had to be me. They say that the only person who's with you from the moment you're born to the moment you take your last breath is you, and it's so true. There are some things, some knowledge, some advice that I can only give myself, years too late. In other words, there were just some things that I had to battle out alone, and make my own mistakes and learn my own lessons. As much as I wish that I received these letters, I'm a better person without them.
I'm always under so much pressure to change, to give in, to buckle to social norms. Not just from bullies - some of my friends think I'd be saving myself a lot of pain if I just went with the flow. I always tell people to never change; grow. I was an asshole a few years ago, and perhaps I will look back and realize I was an asshole at sixteen. But I've always been myself. There's nothing wrong with who I am - I'm a tiny shoot trying to become a tree, and I'm not going to waste time pretending I'm a stone. There's nothing wrong with who I am and what I want to be. I didn't always have the strength or the wisdom to believe that, but now I do and nothing's going to change my mind. I don't pretend to be the most popular person in the world, but I don't want to be. My true friends are the ones who look me in the eye and tell me that I'm beautiful the way I am. I shouldn't have to change to find love, to find friends, to find happiness. I'm convinced that's a one way ticket in the wrong direction. My so-called 'friends' who tell me that I'm asking for it, every time I stand up and speak now, they don't know what they're talking about. It's hard, being yourself, being fearless, and at times it gets very lonely and sad and painful. But pretending, lying...that's infinitely worse. I would know. Going along with the game would be admitting that I think there's something wrong with me, and I refuse to believe that. I've got lots of room to grow, but nobody has to change who they are.
Friday, November 09, 2012
Never Grow Up: A Letter to Seven Year Old Me
Now Playing: Mary's Song by Taylor Swift (I was seven and you were nine, I looked at you like the stars that shined in the sky like pretty lights)
Dearest Seven,
Dearest Seven, this year was tough. You're in a split year two/year three class and your teacher is amazing and you absolutely adore her. You're the only year two who spends most of her time with the year threes and Mummy's so proud of you, but all the other kids think you're arrogant and pick on you and you're so confused, dearest Seven. You never accuse them of being arrogant when they get medals and ribbons for running fast in the races and you come last and get a tacky little sticker. Some of the other teachers tell you that the other kids feel bad when you do well but nobody listens when you explain how humiliating it is to be picked last for the t-ball teams with all the other kids who have it tough. You don't understand what's so wrong about being you.
Dearest Seven, I still remember how lonely you were. Nobody understood you at all, and you didn't understand anyone else. You lost yourself in a dream world where people are nice and the world is still beautiful, because school's fast becoming claustrophobic and hostile. You climb trees to get away from everyone but you get yelled at for that. Everyone laughs at how stupid your name is and you never wanted so much to just be normal, to look like everyone else, to have a name that people don't mess up, to be able to do everything anyone else can do, no more, no less. People figure out that you're different and throw basketballs at your pacemaker when the teachers aren't looking and you cry yourself to sleep almost every night. You have no one to sit with at lunch and nobody to talk to. You think that Mummy and Daddy don't understand you and you're always fighting, always crying. You don't have the words to express the millions of things that go through your mind and you stutter, but that only makes people tease you more.
And so you swear that you'll get through this alone. You realize that as much as people don't like you, you don't like them either, and you say that you don't want any friends ever again and when you grow up you never want to get married and you never want any children. People hurt you too much. You don't want anything to do with them. You've learned the hard way that the only person you can trust is yourself.
I wish I could have told you that you're not the problem. It was their problem, all along. There's nothing wrong with being different and smart and having dreams. You didn't have to feel so inadequate and hate your eccentricity. I wish I could have told you that strength isn't fitting in when you were born to stand out; strength is being yourself. But I know that's hard when you're seven and it feels like everyone's out to get you. When you don't help people you're accused of being aloof, and when you do you're accused of being arrogant. I wish I could have told you that no matter how hard it is to not fit in, there's nothing more important than being yourself.
Dearest Seven, hang in there. It gets harder, but it gets better, too. You become a little fighter this year, dearest Seven, and you need that strength. I wish you didn't. But you do.
Love,
Nearly Seventeen.
Dearest Seven,
Dearest Seven, this year was tough. You're in a split year two/year three class and your teacher is amazing and you absolutely adore her. You're the only year two who spends most of her time with the year threes and Mummy's so proud of you, but all the other kids think you're arrogant and pick on you and you're so confused, dearest Seven. You never accuse them of being arrogant when they get medals and ribbons for running fast in the races and you come last and get a tacky little sticker. Some of the other teachers tell you that the other kids feel bad when you do well but nobody listens when you explain how humiliating it is to be picked last for the t-ball teams with all the other kids who have it tough. You don't understand what's so wrong about being you.
Dearest Seven, I still remember how lonely you were. Nobody understood you at all, and you didn't understand anyone else. You lost yourself in a dream world where people are nice and the world is still beautiful, because school's fast becoming claustrophobic and hostile. You climb trees to get away from everyone but you get yelled at for that. Everyone laughs at how stupid your name is and you never wanted so much to just be normal, to look like everyone else, to have a name that people don't mess up, to be able to do everything anyone else can do, no more, no less. People figure out that you're different and throw basketballs at your pacemaker when the teachers aren't looking and you cry yourself to sleep almost every night. You have no one to sit with at lunch and nobody to talk to. You think that Mummy and Daddy don't understand you and you're always fighting, always crying. You don't have the words to express the millions of things that go through your mind and you stutter, but that only makes people tease you more.
And so you swear that you'll get through this alone. You realize that as much as people don't like you, you don't like them either, and you say that you don't want any friends ever again and when you grow up you never want to get married and you never want any children. People hurt you too much. You don't want anything to do with them. You've learned the hard way that the only person you can trust is yourself.
I wish I could have told you that you're not the problem. It was their problem, all along. There's nothing wrong with being different and smart and having dreams. You didn't have to feel so inadequate and hate your eccentricity. I wish I could have told you that strength isn't fitting in when you were born to stand out; strength is being yourself. But I know that's hard when you're seven and it feels like everyone's out to get you. When you don't help people you're accused of being aloof, and when you do you're accused of being arrogant. I wish I could have told you that no matter how hard it is to not fit in, there's nothing more important than being yourself.
Dearest Seven, hang in there. It gets harder, but it gets better, too. You become a little fighter this year, dearest Seven, and you need that strength. I wish you didn't. But you do.
Love,
Nearly Seventeen.
Video Friday: You Can't Be a Princess
Why do we force gender roles onto children? Why are we so horrified by boys in princess costumes and girls who want to be Spiderman?
When I was growing up my mother had almost no concept of gender roles and I am a better person for it. I had fluffy impractical faux-pearl dresses and blue/red/black tracksuits with Bananas in Pyjamas on them. I had dolls and I had action figures. My third birthday present was a big Buzz Lightyear. I don't know whether it was because I had a sister and no brothers but I was never taught by my parents that girls can/can't do certain things and boys can/can't do other things. I was taught that by society.
In the end, I am a very feminine person. I love dresses and makeup and sparkly things. But if I wasn't...so what?
When I was growing up my mother had almost no concept of gender roles and I am a better person for it. I had fluffy impractical faux-pearl dresses and blue/red/black tracksuits with Bananas in Pyjamas on them. I had dolls and I had action figures. My third birthday present was a big Buzz Lightyear. I don't know whether it was because I had a sister and no brothers but I was never taught by my parents that girls can/can't do certain things and boys can/can't do other things. I was taught that by society.
In the end, I am a very feminine person. I love dresses and makeup and sparkly things. But if I wasn't...so what?
Never Grow Up: A Letter to Six Year Old Me
Now Playing: Never Grow Up by Taylor Swift (to you everything's funny, you've got nothing to regret, I'd give all I have honey if you could just stay like that)
Dearest Six,
It's year one and you look adorable in your cheese yellow school uniform. Not really. Cheese yellow is not your colour.
Dearest Six, this is the year when the bullying starts for real. You were a baby socialite your whole life and you don't understand why, but suddenly Mrs Johnston is showing your parents your stories about Mummy and Daddy taking you to the Royal Show and then you're sitting at the back of the class doing different work from everyone else and everyone teases you for it. And then part and parcel with that you're dragged off to ESL classes because you're Asian and you don't understand why everyone's so condescending. It's called racism, dearest Six. It's a pain in the ass.
Dearest Six, you love music and you give everything a go. You can't write numbers yet and you can't colour in or cut out or glue together anything for shit but everything about you is bright and crazy. You get dragged off to the year sevens to show off that you can spell 'pharmacy' and they can't, and then you run away from all the teasing and sit on their laps and chatter away at them. You've suddenly stopped eating, which is scary and out of character, but food just doesn't interest anymore and it won't until you're about eleven years old.
Dearest Six, you've got another best friend. He's got diabetes and even though you hate needles you stay with him whenever he pricks his finger and sometimes he lets you have lollies or lemonade. You go to his house and he teaches you to play Crash Bandicoot, which is your first and last foray into the world of video games. You make weird potions in the backyard and he's the first and only kid truly as psycho as you are. You let him into your fantasy worlds of fairies and magic and you have the time of your life running wild. He moves away at the end of the year and you're desperately sad, but you've still got your three second rebound rate. You can get through anything.
But it's the first time in your life you stop believing Mummy when she tells you how beautiful you are. You don't know that she's talking about a beauty that comes from the inside, from the heart, and you wish more than anything that you were pale and tall with a foamy golden waterfall of hair and doll eyes. You wish you didn't have scars everywhere. You hate how you look and it breaks my heart that that poison got to you so young. But in a way it shows how perceptive you are, and that for all your daydreams and your wild imagination you don't always live in la la land, and you know that in the here and now it is the beautiful blonde girls who get the first pick of everything. That's still true, sadly, even now I have to step aside for the kind of girls you grow up with, the kind of girls who torment you every day. But you'll get your chance, dearest Six. And you're more beautiful then they could ever be, if only you and all the groupies could see it.
Dearest Six, this was ten years ago now but it all feels like yesterday. You loved everyone with your big broken heart and tried to see good in everything in the way only an innocent like you can. You're losing that slowly, as you become more and more disillusioned, and you're toughening up - but don't lose that completely, dearest Six. There's good in everybody and optimism in everything, but sometimes I forget that. You never do, and that's what I love most about you.
Love,
Nearly Seventeen.
Dearest Six,
It's year one and you look adorable in your cheese yellow school uniform. Not really. Cheese yellow is not your colour.
Dearest Six, this is the year when the bullying starts for real. You were a baby socialite your whole life and you don't understand why, but suddenly Mrs Johnston is showing your parents your stories about Mummy and Daddy taking you to the Royal Show and then you're sitting at the back of the class doing different work from everyone else and everyone teases you for it. And then part and parcel with that you're dragged off to ESL classes because you're Asian and you don't understand why everyone's so condescending. It's called racism, dearest Six. It's a pain in the ass.
Dearest Six, you love music and you give everything a go. You can't write numbers yet and you can't colour in or cut out or glue together anything for shit but everything about you is bright and crazy. You get dragged off to the year sevens to show off that you can spell 'pharmacy' and they can't, and then you run away from all the teasing and sit on their laps and chatter away at them. You've suddenly stopped eating, which is scary and out of character, but food just doesn't interest anymore and it won't until you're about eleven years old.
Dearest Six, you've got another best friend. He's got diabetes and even though you hate needles you stay with him whenever he pricks his finger and sometimes he lets you have lollies or lemonade. You go to his house and he teaches you to play Crash Bandicoot, which is your first and last foray into the world of video games. You make weird potions in the backyard and he's the first and only kid truly as psycho as you are. You let him into your fantasy worlds of fairies and magic and you have the time of your life running wild. He moves away at the end of the year and you're desperately sad, but you've still got your three second rebound rate. You can get through anything.
But it's the first time in your life you stop believing Mummy when she tells you how beautiful you are. You don't know that she's talking about a beauty that comes from the inside, from the heart, and you wish more than anything that you were pale and tall with a foamy golden waterfall of hair and doll eyes. You wish you didn't have scars everywhere. You hate how you look and it breaks my heart that that poison got to you so young. But in a way it shows how perceptive you are, and that for all your daydreams and your wild imagination you don't always live in la la land, and you know that in the here and now it is the beautiful blonde girls who get the first pick of everything. That's still true, sadly, even now I have to step aside for the kind of girls you grow up with, the kind of girls who torment you every day. But you'll get your chance, dearest Six. And you're more beautiful then they could ever be, if only you and all the groupies could see it.
Dearest Six, this was ten years ago now but it all feels like yesterday. You loved everyone with your big broken heart and tried to see good in everything in the way only an innocent like you can. You're losing that slowly, as you become more and more disillusioned, and you're toughening up - but don't lose that completely, dearest Six. There's good in everybody and optimism in everything, but sometimes I forget that. You never do, and that's what I love most about you.
Love,
Nearly Seventeen.
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