Girl (arrived) in a Cherry Pond

Freshly arrived in a cherry pond at the wholesome age of almost thirty -three. Finally standing on my own two feet, shoulders less hunched than they’ve been for a while. Yes I feel like I’m home. I feel like a woman and all that jazz. Is it totally not PC nowadays to feel your gendered-ness? Well fuck that I say, because life’s too short and the thirties even shorter. I’ve decided to put things down so I can remember them later; the things that matter, the things worth remembering about one self and more importantly the things that need reminding all the time. There’s way too much trash out there about how a woman ought to be. Of course I’ve known that. All of us know it. But I’ve known it in much the same way that I’ve known that Mars is a red planet , or that communists have beards , an inclination towards good scotch, bob dylan and talk about SOME VERY IMPORTANT things, or that Vijay Mallya is an asshole.

Now into my thirties the trash that women are fed has come closer home. It’s suddenly become touchy and feely. The offense it causes me has become directly proportionate to my body weight, ageing skin, and things in my closet that I can no longer fit into. Shit, was it all always this superficial? I’d like to believe I’m shallower than most women. I really hope there are a whole lot of you thirty something’s who don’t give two hoots about any of these things and love who you are, just the way you are, without nerve wrecking questions about your intelligence, body, health, men, love, soul-mates, freedom, power, motherhood, money, aspirations, life goals amongst other things. Unfortunately I know there’s many of us out there living with some fear or another, panicking about end goals, convincing potential landlords that we’re ‘morally’ upright/uptight women who will make for respectable tenants, posting politically correct ideas on rape on Facebook but wondering nonetheless whether the last creep to make a pass at you was somehow about you asking for it anyway.

The thirty something’s. When I was 20 I had once told a man that by the time I’m thirty I’d probably be ugly and have osteoporosis. He had said “I think you’ll be gorgeous when you’re thirty”. He broke my heart after two weeks. And yet ironically those words of his come back to me on bad days as balm. Which is when I know that my memory is so conveniently selective when it comes to the people I’ve met and the things I’ve experienced.

This blog is about a woman in her thirties living in a post globalized, hyper capitalized world. It is about me being chicken shit on some days and brave on others. Asking questions and looking for answers that I feel if I don’t ask or answer now they will haunt me for the rest of my life and the choices I’m yet to make. Like a pendulum I swing between being a Believer and a Cynic, a Plain Jane and a Diva, a Goddess and a Whore, Sanity and Validation, Leisure and Work, Freedom and Bondedness. This blog is about all these things that make my life incredibly rich.

This blog is about me making sense of my resistance.