In another post, written two years ago, I describe how saying things went.
Asked to tell the truth or lie, about being queer, I told the truth. It was the first step toward aligning what others knew about me, with what I understood about myself. It was liberating and empowering, but it was just the beginning. I mean, what did I understand about myself?
How about another story?
In 2014, I visited Colombia for the first time. It was a dream come true for this mom of four who hadn't left her backyard for over a decade. My own time, space, bathroom: it was unbelievably luxurious. I worked, visited the gym, adventured, rested, and made new friends. Those four weeks felt like the culmination of a dream, with scattered seeds of new dreams sown.
Among my future dreams were many ideas, to return to Colombia, to live, work, inspire, and be inspired.
Not among my future dreams: getting my nails done.
So, when the hostess of my Airbnb called her favorite nail artist for a house visit, I was a mere spectator. Chatting in clunky Spanish, I marveled at how deftly the artist adorned the hostess' fingertips with tiny sunsets of gradient color. Exquisite little palm tree silhouettes stood in the foreground and gave the illusion of ten tiny tropical days´ end. I was completely enchanted and lavished the artist with my best attempt at Spanish compliments.
Then she turned to me, looking expectant.
The hostess informed me that she wanted to treat me to a manicure. It was my turn to be adorned! All I had to do was choose colors and themes, and enjoy the pampering and festooning that surely every girl longs for and could never refuse, right?
Not sure what to say, I heard a sprinkling of "no"s and "gracias"es escape my numb smiling face.
The hostess sighed wearily, as though she were about explain a difficult and obvious truth.
She kindly said that I needed to do more, as a woman. My hair, my face, my clothes, were too plain. Being a woman, she said, was a job; one that I was not doing very well. The manicure was her way of helping me do better.
I stared at both of them, knowing that my androgynous presentation was intentional. The many reasons, I could barely articulate in English, so I had no hope of being understood in Spanish. When her lecture on my inadequacy as a female paused, I presented my stance in a way that I hoped would be both comprehensible, and close the subject for good.
"I did not accept the job of being a woman. It was never offered to me, and I never accepted it."
Followed with a that's how it is sort of smile, I said no more. And neither did she.
THE END
But like I said before, it was just the beginning. Especially as I realized the dream of living, working, inspiring, and being inspired in Colombia.
Having put into words that I did not accept automatic conformity to everyone's expectations of femininity has been helpful here, because it keeps coming up. Work dress codes and formal events in a country where the binary is so strong, have me showing up like
that's how it is.
Rather than feeling like a failure at a title I never asked for, I have long suspected I might be fabulous at being something else.
to be continued
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