usually, i try, try try to understand people's point of view, where they are coming from, and why they believe what they do. usually i am very tolerant, so forth so forth. but there is one thing i can never ever budge on. why? because it is part of me. this opinion in life is part of me. i can't let it go. i am not good at tolerating the opposite in people that are close to me. what is this opinion?
it's about our dear friend pornography. to me porn lies in the category of "grossly perpetuating viewing women as sexual objects for men's pleasure". yes. that is true. argue you with me. but, if, maybe. but still. i will not budge. this opinion is part of me. it runs through my blood. if i let it out it will leave an angry splatter of words that usually i would be able to keep to myself, were it about something else.
honestly. i can't deal. it makes me angry. like wanting to throw stuff. breakable stuff. it makes me want to cry. it also makes me want to scream, denounce humanity, and hide in a cave for eternity. i'm not arguing that other stuff that perpetuating women (or men, in some cases) as objects doesn't exist. it does. it exists. it's a shame, too. but this. this. porn. porn is like... the lowest of the low. well, besides maybe rape, pedophila, and so forth. i guess we will say the lowest of the low for a person not criminal/mental enough to commit said other crimes. and yet, so many people just participate in it anyways.
but honestly. it is one thing i cannot bend on. why? because i can't. why can't i? because it is a strong belief. for me, this is one thing where there is no compromise.
in general, i am an accomodator, a peace maker, a back patter. this is very uncharacteristic for me. that's why, i guess, it can be understood to be so important to me. again and again i have to go through this argument. again and again. it is tiring. it is old. i am sick of it. why can't a woman's perspective on women's bodies be taken seriously?
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Thursday, February 09, 2006
What ever happened to.....
Tonya Harding? I never would have thought about it, but today I was procrastinating and looking at wikipedia sites about figure skating, when I ran across a link to a page about her. We all remember her, the kinda white trashy figure skater whose boyfriend tried to wack Nancy Kerrigan? (in the leg). Well, here is your answer folks:
No joke.
No joke.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Bbay Part do deux dos
December 30, 2005 7:10 Mumbai time:
The first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is open the curtain and observe The Morning Walk. My bedroom window looks out over the wall of the society, below are parked cars, being wiped down. Most are small- Maruti, Honda, Hyundai, and most, interestingly, silver. Over the wall is a park.
It consists of some dry grass and dirt patches where boys play football in the evenings, some large trees covered in the dust of India that covers everything except during the Monsoon, and new, tiny trees protected by metal cages. On my far left, near the entrance is a playground, painted yellow. The one time I entered the park, I saw a blanket there, tied under the slide like a hammock. Curious, I peered inside. A baby, wiggled about, and entertained itself. The baby's mother was sweeping the pathway, at the other end. I stopped, watching a moment. A feeling came over me, like I had walked into someone's house, intruding on their daily routine. I quietly slipped out the gate. The woman continued to sweep.
Around the periphery lies a pink pathway made out of pavers, with another path bisecting the rectangular/oval path. Padding along this small oval are the Morning Walkers. Old men with pot bellies under their shirts, thick glasses, capri pants, striped socks and sneakers are walking. Middle-aged women in sari and sweater, with sneakers are walking, some with sari-end pinned over their head. Women who remind me of my mom- dressed in a 'nice' shirt, capris, and sneakers. Young people, in jeans, shirt, with headphones attached to their Mp3 players.
Around, and around, and around, each one passing by my window ever couple of minutes. No one notices me, peering down. So every morning, I open my curtain, and laughter escapes, involuntarily. The joy of the Morning Walk.
The first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is open the curtain and observe The Morning Walk. My bedroom window looks out over the wall of the society, below are parked cars, being wiped down. Most are small- Maruti, Honda, Hyundai, and most, interestingly, silver. Over the wall is a park.
It consists of some dry grass and dirt patches where boys play football in the evenings, some large trees covered in the dust of India that covers everything except during the Monsoon, and new, tiny trees protected by metal cages. On my far left, near the entrance is a playground, painted yellow. The one time I entered the park, I saw a blanket there, tied under the slide like a hammock. Curious, I peered inside. A baby, wiggled about, and entertained itself. The baby's mother was sweeping the pathway, at the other end. I stopped, watching a moment. A feeling came over me, like I had walked into someone's house, intruding on their daily routine. I quietly slipped out the gate. The woman continued to sweep.
Around the periphery lies a pink pathway made out of pavers, with another path bisecting the rectangular/oval path. Padding along this small oval are the Morning Walkers. Old men with pot bellies under their shirts, thick glasses, capri pants, striped socks and sneakers are walking. Middle-aged women in sari and sweater, with sneakers are walking, some with sari-end pinned over their head. Women who remind me of my mom- dressed in a 'nice' shirt, capris, and sneakers. Young people, in jeans, shirt, with headphones attached to their Mp3 players.
Around, and around, and around, each one passing by my window ever couple of minutes. No one notices me, peering down. So every morning, I open my curtain, and laughter escapes, involuntarily. The joy of the Morning Walk.
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