On Intimacy

I passed the front door. I was on the way to my car when she grabbed my hand to turn me toward her, seeking out my eyes like I sought out hers an hour before.

“Are you upset or something?”

The dirt on my bootlaces had never been more interesting.

“No. The party has dope but I'm tired so I'm going home. Work was long and ...”

“Don't give me that! I mean, what did you want me to do? I was giving you rhythm all night. If you made a move first, it would be YOU I was making out with in the kitchen! Dammit Elijah! You knew I was into you! Don't be mad at me because you didn't go for it! You totally could have had me! What is wrong with you?!"

What do I say? 

-----

We barely knew one another, but I was top of her. I earned her smile, name, and privacy all in the same week. We were quiet as we fogged up the truck windshield, but there was never much to say in the first place. Her body I could have, but her thoughts remained her own. I felt her up, clambered off, grinned goodbye, and drove home with the windows down and the radio silent. My stomach hurt, but I didn't eat anything.

What is wrong with me?

-----

She asked to go back to the car. I told her I wanted to be into her tomorrow too. She looked confused. What does the depth of her roots have to do with taking her panties off? We don't need to talk about growth to do the grown-up. We're not trying to build, we're just trying to bust. She told me not to worry about it. She really wasn't looking for attachment.

Okay.

What is wrong with me?

-----

Being young and Black in Whittier is alienating, so I keep my guard up and my cards close to my chest. Mom was 24 when she had me with a nigga she couldn't build with, and here I am, 24, with my own demons to deal with. I've had casual sex, but it's never been meaningless, and often times I walk away feeling diminished by the experience. Abeni is right. Sexuality is a private facet of our humanity, something we don't just show anyone. And as we are all supremely different individuals, I can only speak on what that facet means to me, from my limited perspective.
To me, intimacy is vulnerability, and since it takes a lot for this skin to soften, I want to value the rare occasions I'm supposed to be completely uninhibited. Genuine connections for me are hard to come by.

So honestly? Sex is cool, but I don't remember the last time I was intimate. And my experiences are causing me to lose sense of what intimate even means. After all, I'm told I should think with my dick, I should chase tail to validate my ego, I should conquer without regard to consequence; I shouldn't be apprehensive about giving someone more of me than even my family sees, I shouldn't care about a human connection, I shouldn't want more for myself. For you. For this.

So what is wrong with me?

Mi ama

In this kitchen, mi abuelita would travel back in time and recount our family's illustrious history while my cousins and I pounded and kneaded masa to make tortillas.

In this kitchen, mi abuelita prepared coffee with more sugar and creamer than actual coffee, so that we had something to sip on while she challenged us to a game of Dominoes. 

In this kitchen, mi abuelita would cook Chilaquiles that would leave everyone scraping their plates for more. But on May 29, 2009, this kitchen lost its spark. Back then it was full of energy and life, now it's just an ordinary kitchen.

some kinds of love: illusive or real?

Self-love and self-respect are essential if you want to be happy with someone else. I’ve come to realize that you can’t love another person truly until you love yourself. More importantly, as my Tia once put it, “you should be someone who thinks your shit don’t stink.”

I wanted to write about how long it took me to get over my last relationship. How I, pathetically, despite being starkly aware of the absence of the aforementioned qualities, held onto my feelings for a person for an unnaturally long time. I wanted to write about how I regretted not being able to express myself fully because I always had this fear of being rejected. Or how I feared so much that he would leave me for someone else. Or how he made feel like I was never “good enough” for him (and only because I had already felt that way all by myself). I wanted to write about how I would have done anything for a person who sometimes made me feel like I was just a pain in the ass. How I settled for this muted severance in place of the uninterrupted connection I want to experience with someone.

Instead, I want to say that at this point in my life, I feel whole. I don’t want to compare myself with anyone else. When I meet someone I really dig, I want him to see me for who I am. And if I accept someone with all his bullshit imperfections, I will only expect him to do the same for me. I am incredibly imperfect and that is okay. I would like to feel loved deeply, someday. And right now I am working on loving me so that maybe if I come across that kind of affection, I can let that in without feeling empty when that person is gone. Unrequited love was a bitch, but it made me a better woman.

Puta's creed

"Slut", "whore", "skank", "dirty", "easy"... That's just the beginning of the list of things thrown at girls and women who disregard sexual inhibitions. 

It's culturally and globally accepted for men to act in a promiscuous way or to be disloyal, but the moment a woman is in that same position, men, and even most other women, will shame her.

To speak personally; I've had my own share of promiscuity and hungover mornings waking up in an unfamiliar bed. I've been personally attacked for my freedom, my name has been dragged through the dirt by multiple groups of people (some that I know personally and some people that I've never even met or heard of).

Sometimes I feel full of regret for letting somebody who wasn't in my heart into my body. Other times I feel empowered that I took the reigns of my sexuallity and challenged what's acceptable behavior for women  compared to men. The constant feeling I do have about my past is that I wish people would get to know me better, then maybe they'd understand that one-night stands and friends with benefits don't even come close to defining me.

At the end of the day, I was only doing exactly what most guys I knew were doing, and if I crossed than hair-thin line between boys will be boys and slut, then fuck it. I don't care. Despite my regret, I will stubbornly scream at the top of my lungs that I regret nothing because I never want people to feel they have that power over me- to define what's an acceptable way to live my private sex-life, to make me regret something as simple as living in the moment.

"Slut", "whore", "skank", "dirty", "easy"... These words mean nothing to me. You can't make me ashamed of what I chose to do at a certain point in my life. And you can't permanently nail me to the cross of promiscuity because I've "been around". I let these people- most unworthy- have my body for a night, but I've always kept my soul and my heart pure. I don't think I would be the same person had I not gone through these trails of sexual experimentation. I've gained a lot of wisdom, figured out a lot about myself, and got all of these meaningless and purely physical acts out of my system. I've grown and gained focus on the things that I learned matter to me, and I feel relieved to be calm and where I am now.

I'm not who I've fucked, I'm not the number of people I've fucked, and I'm not how easy I was to fuck. I'm so much more than that, and my body is only the surface. 

The Rule of Three, At Least for Me

         I've never had “casual” sex with someone before. I have always wondered how I would feel about it. Would I like it? Would the other person think of me differently? Would he tell his friends? I often hear stories about how it never works out. My friends would warn me and say, "you will get attached and your heart broken or you will feel empty once its over.” I have to admit that these reasons (aside from STDs) are exactly why I never tried immersing myself that deeply in “hook up” culture. - I’m scared. I am aware that these things can easily happen to me and I could do without such problems. Consequently, I started making all these rules for myself. 

#1.Never have intercourse with someone who isn’t your boyfriend/partner. 

#2. Never date someone who has previously had sexual relations with a close friend. 

#3. You are allowed to make out with whoever you find foxy as long you are comfortable and enjoying yourself. 

#4. If things get too heated and you find yourself naked make sure to say “ooh look at the time” and point to the invisible watch that's on your wrist.

# 5. Make sure YOU are always making the decisions and that you are in charge.

I got quite good at these rules. So good that I’ve left some pretty frustrated and riled up potential lovers sitting in their car with jeans around their ankles and wood between their legs. Of course, I wanted have sex with them but I reframe from doing so as a form of protection. But I began to think, why do I need to go through such precautions anyways? 

I have concluded that our individualistic society has taught us to focus on our individual pleasure as a top priority. I don’t mean that every person is selfish in bed but we don’t lookout for each other enough. And in the most simplest ways. The mindset of responsibility prior to our decision to be with someone sexually seems to be lacking in the general public of U.S society. If we lived in a community based society then sex would always include honest communication, the acknowledgment of each other bodies (condoms and prior STD testing), respect (consent), and appreciation (never shaming the other person for their bodies, sexuality or the frequency of their sexual activity). Unfortunately, many people have had sexual encounters that lack at least one if not more of the previous listed attributes. 

       Is it radical to say that whether casual or not, sex is a type of intimacy? If I should share my intimacy, I would like it to be appreciated. This appreciation should be a genuine one… not a superficial one. My partner should always see me as a PERSON ---> a living, thinking and breathing human who has decided to share their body. In that decision, the other person gets to experience a facet of who I am. A part that not everyone is allowed to see. That experience is wonderful because my body is beautiful and so is my sexuality. Expressing yourself sexually is a good thing but there needs to be recognition of our personhood and humanity. This means consent, responsibility and respect. Both committed relationships and casual sexual encounters need to obtain all three. 

At least for me. 

On Happiness and Identity:

Happiness is a state of great priority to everyone, regardless of gender, socioeconomic circumstance, race, whatever the label may be. We all want to be happy and we want to be happy for as long as possible. It is such a long journey toward realizing what happiness means. The sooner you realize what makes you happy, the sooner you begin to formulate purpose. The less you become afraid of trying and failing while you pursue it. There is nothing worse than being “stuck.” It’s especially crucial for females to define for themselves what is true happiness and how to carve out meaning in a society where we are “beat into dank submission” (as Bukowski once wrote).

I’m writing about happiness because I am just beginning to realize what in life brings me the most satisfaction.The things that make me the most content are also the things that continually build upon my character and help me assert my own identity. Three things bring me sanity: nature, philanthropy, and expression.

As females, so much of our identity is thrust upon us by a variety of external forces. Growing up Catholic, I was either a virgin or a whore. Growing up with a misogynist father, I was force fed these unnatural ideas about how women are supposed to know how to cook and clean, be unoffensive and wear the weight of their family’s “good name” across their breasts. My father’s main concern was preserving my virginity.  (**I maintain [my father] is product of his upbringing. His intentions are good, but he just grasps so tightly to tradition). The women that I saw on television were revered for their looks or their ability to be enigmatic and elusive. Identity or purpose was always in relation to the opposite sex. So much of our identity is tactfully tied to our sexuality. Thus, substantial aspects of our existence that outline our true sense of purpose become peripheral or secondary. Our path toward happiness is deterred by all of these other stupid preoccupations and misconceptions.

We don’t all adhere to that. I actually believe we all struggle with silencing that malignant voice. As I mentioned earlier, the things that bring me a great deal of happiness are nature, philanthropy, and expression. All of which I TRY to incorporate into my life in some way.

I want to be successful and I want to be whole. Therefore, I express myself for the sake of expressing myself. I surround myself in natural, open environments because nature teaches us in ways that human beings cannot. I dig philanthropy because I am so “in my own head” sometimes that giving myself away feels so much more rewarding.

As I move toward happiness, I lose more and more of myself being into the things I am passionate about. Doing things for the sake of doing them. Nobody can strip me of that. Equally, no one else could gift that to me either.

The last thing that defines me is my sexuality. I need no validation from anyone based upon how I look or how many dicks I’ve sucked. I am not my father’s daughter. I am not my lover’s lover. I am not an ugly whore or a pretty prude or whatever the fuck they want us to call each other. I am a human being pushing forward, forming my identity, fucking whomever I please/whenever I please, and that does not degrade me. What is most important is my own happiness, nothing less. I will not let anyone else define that for me.

On Friendship: Weirdos.

Growing up, it was very difficult for me to make friends. I used to be made fun of for having a rolling backpack and for the fact that my big round glasses had straps. I used to wear combat boots and sing aloud on the playground. Because I had no friends in elementary, I would sit on a bench and write in a wide-ruled spiral bound. I loved Shel Silverstein so I would mimic his writing and make little rhymes about animals or characters or anything really. That was me.

I think over time I began to consciously tell myself to stop “being weird.” The less and less “weird” I tried to become, it was eventually a little easier to be “accepted.” Consequently, I let what others thought of me force me to put on this mask. This, “I don’t play with Polly Pockets or have a mock chemistry lab kit waiting for me in the garage when I get home” façade.
Instead of moving toward all of the weird shit that made me more of who I really was, I shed that and became nothing.

Honestly, it hurts to have people dislike you for being you, but the acceptance you feel when you aren’t being you is shallow and temporary.

After many lessons learned the hard way, I eventually learned to give less of a shit. Along the way, I met some amazing people and some not-so-amazing people, who taught me (through encounters/exchanges) that being “me” is a necessity. Being weird is a necessity.

Most importantly, I would have never reached this point in my life, if it weren’t for the friendships I formed along the way. My greatest friends approached me with honesty, warmth, unconditional acceptance. They SHOWED me how to find myself again. They SHOWED me through their own honesty and kindness, that it is OKAY to be as fucking weird as you need to be.

Friendship has shown me that the only thing you need to DO in order to obtain friendship is to give what you want to receive, but other than that, just come as you are. Jim Morrison once wrote, "A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself." I cannot be anybody else. I am who I am and the love I receive is truthfully given to me. I entrust my friends with my deepest insecurities, fears and I come without pretense.  My friends approach me unguarded and vulnerable; they allow me see them wholly. My friends are the type of women that I strive to be.

To me, living fully is having the courage to be yourself, despite all of the negativity that seems to deter us from living to the greatest extent. My deepest friendships enrich me. Friends keep me connected to myself so that I may experience life more purely. My truest friends give me the courage to be myself, when I THINK otherwise. I can only hope to be half as good to them as they have been with me.
-Valerie

You are my role model, I love you Abuelita.

Congratulations to my Abuelita who passed her citizenship test today!! She immigrated here in the early 1970's when my mother and tias were very young. My grandmother walked for days with three young girls by her side. It was because of her that much of my family arrived to this country safely. This is one of the strongest women I know and she helped raise multiple generations of children. Not even finishing the 4th grade, It is because of her (and many other family member's struggles) that I can benefit from a higher education, a roof over my head and food on my plate. And as many women make the same dangerous journey she did some 45 years ago, today its become even more life threatening to be an immigrant crossing borders. But people do it for their family, just like my grandmother did it for hers. I know fully well that I am daughter and granddaughter of immigrants. If it wasn't for them, it could be ME risking my life for the future of my family, trying to cross invisible lines that separate people. Invisible lines that determine how we are seen, viewed and treated. What a different life I would have if it wasn't for my difficult decisions of my family. Don't forget the struggles of your ancestors because without them, you could not be who you are.

You are my role model, I love you Abuelita.

Message to contributors:

Contributors:

Feel free to contribute stories, personal/fictional (short) narratives, experiences, anecdotes, photos, videos, music, etc. Anything creative that “says” something about who you are or what issue you are struggling with now.

I want to refrain from asking for a particular subject or theme for every week because I don’t want to cramp your creativity. I think the initial guideline for what you can post and when you should post is simply based upon specific moments or events or remembrances of things that you come across that day/week that remind you essentially of who you are as a woman.

I want to keep it as positive (but honest) as possible. It doesn’t have to be didactic, it can be raw and contradictory, even, but it should always keep in mind that you are contributing this for other women and that we are all defining/shaping/progressing toward the strong, beautiful, successful women that we are striving to be.

Think about something that you saw in the news or a conversation that you participated in that made you extremely cognizant of who you are as a woman. Share that. Open up a dialogue. Write about your mothers, grandmothers, sisters, friends, lovers, etc., so long as you keep in mind that this is a space that provokes progression, kindness, and self-worth.

Welcome!!!

Dear Friends,

I have for a long time struggled with self-esteem issues and body image issues. For some people, it may not seem as though these issues are severe or detrimental, but when you get to a point where you don’t feel like you are “good enough” so you don’t try, it becomes completely invasive toward all other aspects of your life. Everyone should feel beautiful and strong, and sometimes, for some of us (me), it does not come naturally. I have to actively reinforce the fact that I am worthy of the things I worked hard to achieve and the things that I have accomplished (though I am not anywhere close to where I need to be) are “good enough.”

Let me get to my point: the times when I feel most enlightened, more in touch with who I am, and strong, are the days when I have had the opportunity to encounter other women who face adversity with dignity, a positive attitude, and the courage to be themselves no matter what. The days I am filled with a lot of love for myself are days when I exchange words with other women who exude love: for life, for living, for others, for themselves. When I meet women who don’t put other women down or don’t buy into patriarchal ideologies, it makes me feel stronger. I cannot put it any other way. It’s organic.

So, I want to start a weekly blog, where we can submit essays on issues or concerns or things that afflict us personally daily, and we can start a little dialogue, or something. We can give each other strength and fill each other with positivity. If you want to participate, I will email you with a bit more detail or structure. But say yes.

Thanks,

Valerie