—If you had to think of clothes for your partner what would it be? (Okayama prefecture, 17 year-old female)
Tegoshi: Black and white and full of skull patterns. Isn’t more interesting if I make him wear something that I would wear?
(credits to this translation by faith_alive@lj)
Keepin’ the fangirling to a minimum today, even though there’s LOTS to fangirl over.
. . .
So, continuing on from my last entry. I think it’s about time I talk about something I’ve been meaning to talk about since like last month. I need to cut back on the fangirling and this journal needs something more angsty than ~omg a C on my History midterm~. I’m not particularly mad, so this isn’t your typical teenage angst/rage entry. I’m just frustrated. Confused. Maybe a little sad by the way things are. As a warning: sensitive, controversial subject below.
There’s this one aspect of my life that I’ve never gone into much detail about, because in spite of my tough talk and my I-don’t-care-what-you-think-I’m-anonymous attitude, the fact is… I do care. In real life too, thanks to those evil bullies from junior high, I’m scared to death of anyone who may have the slightest thing against me. Luckily I haven’t made a single enemy in high school, but anything can happen within the next two months. I’m so scared of being judged and being secretly hated and repelling strangers, friends, and family for who I am, which I can’t control. It’s time I address this once and for all.
I had volunteering as usual a few Saturdays ago. The coordinator was out sick and so were several teachers. Seemed he was incredibly contagious and he infected them with some sort of paralyzing condition. D:
Me and Christa monitored the door (it locks from the outside so we have to open it for people) for half an hour before heading up to our respective places at 10:30, like we always do. But without Coordinator there to tell us our jobs, 10:30 went and passed, and before we knew it the clock read half-past-eleven. Oops. :D
We talked about our lives before and during high school, revealed all these secrets both of us have been harboring. She told me about how outsiders have this party girl image of her due to the type of people she hangs out with. I told her about how I finally, gradually fixed myself up in high school. It went on like that for a while, back and forth, just opening ourselves up like we were doing to the doors.
Then she told me about two of our friends who have recently begun dating. Two friends. Two girls. Out of respect I won’t mention their names, even fake ones, but that really shocked me. Their parents and Christa and most of our other friends are totally cool with it too. She said Lynne was weird with it at first, though, being a close friend of both.
That would have been the perfect opportunity for me to tell her about me. Of all people, Christa would be the most understanding.
Something — I don’t know what — held me back.
For as long as can I remember, love doesn’t know gender. Even back in the first grade, it didn’t really matter to me if it’s two guys or two girls or a girl and guy or whatever. Love is what matters. As long as the love is there, it just doesn’t matter.
And that’s the case with me. I don’t see gender; I see people. Some time in the ninth grade it dawned on me that boys aren’t the only ones in the picture, and that I’ve been that like for the longest time. I just didn’t realize it, or rather, I ignored it.
I tend to fall for boys faster (even now) but then what about my friend Angel? If I’m definitely not straight and not entirely gay… what the heck am I? I don’t know if I’m bi or if it’s just a torturous drawn-out phase of curiosity. Bi-curious. That’s what they call it. But I’m just not sure.
There are fleeting mentions in this journal of my crush on Angel. She’s a girl. I’m a girl. This is not socially acceptable, therefore only one other person in my life knows about it and that’s Markus. He’s a boy, though, so he doesn’t really count. What I’m really afraid of is letting my female friends know.
I know where they stand on the issue. Franky, Lynne, Angel, Laney — that good girl crowd. They talked all about it during a lull in a Biology lecture last year. My friends adore gay boys because they’re cute together. But when it’s two girls, that’s a different story.
It’s similar to those jerkface guys who make fun of gay boys, and yet they think it’s hot when two girls make out. My friends aren’t against homosexuality, but they’ll have problems seeing those girls in the same way after knowing. THAT’S what I don’t want happening to me. I’m so close to graduating, and with me living some kind of dream high school life right now — liked by a fair amount of people, no enemies whatsoever — I don’t want anything to destroy that. I don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable around me, either.
I’m not creepy about it at all. I think that’s what most straight people (my friends included) are scared of. Once they know about the true you, they no longer see your actions as friendly. Accidentally brushing up against them automatically means rubbing against them. An innocent smile becomes a flirtatious gesture, and everything you say has a hidden connotation.
And then there are the stereotypes. No stereotype ever applies to everyone, but these are plain ridiculous.
People have this stereotype that bisexual girls are “easy” and promiscuous. That we find everyone hot. That, since you’re bi, it must mean you have two significant others, not one.
Me, I can’t stand it when anyone touches me, and I definitely do not want to get with everyone I see. My friend Savannah is drop-dead gorgeous, but does that mean I like her romantically? No way, not one bit. The senior locker room is small and cramped, and girls change in there all the time with no shame, but I don’t freaking stare at them. And about the having a boyfriend and girlfriend at the same time thing — I hate even the idea of having multiple partners. Sometimes I’ll stop reading a book if I discover that a main character is cheating on someone; I hate it that much.
The world needs to understand that bisexuality does not make you a perverted whore with a high sex drive. It only means you have the capacity to love someone regardless of gender.
I found this in the comment area of an online article. The second comment is a reply to the first.
Rose wrote:There is no good argument against gay marriage.
There is no good argument for it. The good reason against it is that is is filthy, disgusting and immoral.
So what the second person is saying is… love is filthy, disgusting, and immoral? Well then, how does a happy gay marriage compare to a miserable heterosexual one on the brink of divorce, or an unfaithful one full of affairs and secrecy?
Argh. It’s… I’m sorry. It just makes me so angry and frustrated that there are so many people out there who insist that gay people have no right to love. And then there are those who believe that homosexuality is a sinful choice. Please, like I CHOSE to be this way. I can’t ignore how I feel, okay?
Angel is my friend, and I know full well she’s straight. It hurts that it’s impossible for her to like me back, unlike those popular guy/loner girl relationships that at least have a chance of happening. Her smiles, her enthusiastic waves, her company — such little things that make me so happy. Like once, she wanted to sit with me in my little library study room to do homework. I can’t even describe how much joy I got from that insignificant gesture. I’m just grateful that she exists and that we’re friends, but at the end of the day I know I can’t go anywhere with this.
The majority of the time, I’m completely accepting of my feelings. But then there are days when I hear that nagging little voice that tells me it’s all wrong. That it’s filthy, disgusting, and immoral. I guess I’m so used to the hateful remarks that it’s beginning to affect me mentally. Even though I’m more straight than not straight, it bothers me all the same. Except for this and all my other little quirks, I’m a normal girl. I’m not a freak, and I have to keep reminding myself this because there are loads of people out there who would love to tell me otherwise.
I wish I could change the way society thinks. That way, all the hurting and hate and young lives cut short due to bullying would stop. I want nothing more than to live in a world where people won’t criticize you for who you love.
Even though this is an inappropriate time because of the entry topic, I’m still continuing on with this thing.
Color: Lime green with some matching embroidery thread wrapped around his neck as a scarf. I stuck a teeny plastic purple flower sticky (the kind used for nail art) on his belly. Just because.
Place: The window above the kitchen sink, looking out into my yard. You can see Mama’s car and snow from the past month that has yet to melt. Didn’t feel like wiping the window clean for the picture, lol. I was once shoveling snow out on the sidewalk when I glanced up and into this window — and realized that I (and random strangers) had a perfect view of my disgusting senior portrait that my parents had chosen to display in the kitchen. Why is this my lifeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Other: One of the original eight, Teddy is officially my bear. When I first bought them, my friends each claimed one as “theirs,” but I got Teddy first. He likes Joey back but shows his affection through cruel pranks, appropriately reflecting his title, “Mama’s Little Devil.” :P I named him after Timmy, a boy I had a massive crush on back then; “Teddy” was the codename I used when discussing Timmy with my friends. :D
Until next time,
~ Mimi :/