girlhood

This began with you in mind

I thought you would like to see me: do, be, succeed.

Today I’m more aware of myself and my desires.

Today I am invested in seeing myself: do, Be, succeed.

It’s mostly been that way for a while, the former, always thinking of you or them before me.

It’s a girl thing…

yes, really, if you were conditioned how I was conditioned at least.

accommodation, sacrifice, molding, enduring; alla that plagued me for a few decades, sitting upon my chest like a grumpy cat.

but it wasn’t my cat, I hadn’t even invited it in, the cat showed up, unassuming, storylines riddled with tropes and characters meant to tell me how to accept the sitting, the heaviness of girlhood. smile through it, even when scratched, even when all the space on the bed is taken over and you lie uncomfortable for hours, just take it, but don’t move. do not disturb the cat.

conditioning is like that, it demands not to be disturbed

but if you are brave or fuck it, even when you fall upon the moment without bravery, you can not unsee. You can not unsee what has held you down.

Girlhood tropes of cattiness, of damselhood, of inherent servitude. The learning up to be a mother, the assumption of serving the world, a family, dinner.

I sat at an empty outdoor bench meant for 6 people, a group of 4 women approached, fresh fruit in hand, they B lined to the available counter top seating, sitting in a row snapping photos of sliced open papaya, whole coconuts and the flowers that dripped around the hand assembled fruit stand. I continued my popcorn, a fat cat jumped up on the table and begged for a lil bit. I dropped fluffy kernels to the ground as an act of out smarting him, he didn't know I wanted him off the table but he obliged for the promise of a snack.

A woman walked up and asked if I would share the bench with her, “of course”, I carried on feeding the fat cat at my feet.

moments later her previously ordered fruit platter arrived. She looked a lil shocked, I diverted my attention. The woman, wearing glasses, a tank top and shorts remarked to me about the size of the platter, I confirmed it was big for 1 person but I’m not one to complain about fresh fruit on a tropical island, she repeatedly offered me some fruit. Even with whole papayas in my bag from my own walk through the fruitstand I took her up on the offer. I’m not one to deny fresh fruit on a tropical island.

Our soloness stood out, most people arrive to paradise with a spouse or a gaggle of giggling homies to take pictures with as the before mentioned group. But we, two single Beings stood out and we chatted about that.

“are you here alone”?

I live here, I told her

“oh, wow’?!

how about you, how did you end up here alone?

She was on a solo trip, leaving Chicago’s winter to torture others. She told me about her studies, a woman in her late 20s becoming a doctor.

I smiled deeply, thinking of the commitment and effort, of the long road she was on. She said she’d settled on Chicago after a few other stops in the United States, before her US journey began she grew up in Saudi Arabia, a hard and oppressive place to exist as a girl and woman, offering hard to hear recollections of her former life, very matteroffactly. “I escaped” she told me, in her early 20s, a small window of opportunity presented itself and she left with little to nothing, leaving her family behind, her mother, whom she said misses her but is so proud of her.

I gasped at the thought of her never able to return, or hug her family again.

she returned the question, inquiring about my presence , alone, on an island. I indulged her in my journey as well.

Paradise called and I answered, although I hadn’t visited beforehand I decided to pack up my life, sell most my things and relocate to a tropical island  that I think is my dream location, also leaving my family, but certainly less cinematic in my mind, I could return if I desired.

What came from her mouth next, shocked me, changed me a little bit too.

“You’re so brave”!

I sat across from her thinking what she said was a more suitable description of her character than of mine. I must have stumbled to get the next words out of my mouth because my bench mate chuckled, picking up fruit after a long pause from eating to share her life with me. What!? you are so brave I mean, you left! and may not return, I mean you saved yourself. I tried not to become emotional for her, not too empathetic, maybe she had already accepted all as such and was not needing a stranger to pity or cry for her. I kept it together.

We sat across from one another peacefully marveling at one another’s existence, sharing stories of what we felt about the ocean, things we liked about the US and it’s major cities, where else we have traveled. the fruit platter slowly disappearing, the fat cat laying still, batting his fluffy tail.

She said it more than once, that I was brave for following my heart, I examined those words, seeking their truth, I decided to agree.

When she stood up from our bench, we exchanged smiles, we offered one another many many blessings and good fortunes on the next leg of our individual but now intersected journeys.

I sat for a while longer thinking of us escaping the conditions of girlhood. The expectations to stay put, serve others, not choose ourselves. In that moment we were survivors of girlhood, the weighed down feelings of obligations rinsed off in the warm ocean. 

The grumpy cat satiated by something other than our submission.

Two women full on their own desires, savoring their bravery with fresh fruit on a tropical island.

A new version of girlhood unlocked.

xo,

Lisa