Something happened today that I can only relate since I participated in this. I live in a beautiful RV park and someone arrived last night quite late with a gigantic RV. He parked next to me, I helped him, and that was it. This morning, he filled his tank of water and was getting ready to leave, when oh man, the bay door would not close.
My desk is just next to the scene, so I can see him slamming the door, calling his buddies and colleagues. He had an appointment with a client to pick up and was running late. After 15mn, I started laughing and after 30mn, I came out to offer my help. He asked for a plyer and I gave him a plyer, but I could see that a plyer would not do, so I offered that we test the latch with some tape. We finally found that the locker was not positioned correctly.
He tried several adjustments and called his buddies again. Lastly, he asked me to call someone in the park to help him. The manager came over and I explained to him what was going on. While explaining, I showed what would solve the problem and did it as I was showing. Then the manager closed the door and the guy tried to see from the side and slam. It worked. The door closed. Instantly, the two guys hugged each other and the manager walked away with a smile. It took about 1 minute for the guy to maybe realize that I was involved in the door closing.
This is women story, being successful in something and men being educated to never acknowledge it, congratulating themselves and saying “hello” and “good bye” where women shall have been congratulated instead. You feel suddenly transparent which is exactly what you were before, but acting as the person who is doing something, men accentuate this feeling to make it obvious that in the end, it is never your success but them, and only them.
I find this all story about Afghanistan interesting because in fine, what all women want are rights, and I feel that in Western societies, we don’t really know what it is to have rights. I found in the United-States that black women and latino women were very strong minded while white women were shadowed by white men. Feminism appeared in the United-States after white settlers and especially white women settlers discovered that native women were matriarcal and matrilineal. They had something that I would not call power, all this matriarcal thing is not about power. Native women had trust and their voice would count as the voice from heaven because they were wise and loving, capable of empathy for their people, judging what is right and wrong from their own perception of security to provide for the family.
In Europe, the old Roman Empire had already spread the rule that men were the trust and the United-States were built on this ideology. It is only after the end of colonialism from colonized countries, where women had been oppressed and enslaved, that voices arose into feminism. White women from the colonial countries wanted to be heard too.
I am a by product of the May 1968 revolution in France and I was almost 6 years old when the right of abortion was voted in France. It was established to prevent young women from aborting themselves in terrible sufferance and very often, getting sick and dyeing. Some of them would commit suicide. Some of them were ostracized and would fall into prostitution to survive. The right of abortion was a way to help desperate women who would find themselves unable to carry and raise a child.
In an article, “College Students Turning To Sex Work To Pay High Tuition, Organization Reports” – “According to a report from the Independent, experts, as well as students, believe that colleges are “burying their heads in the sand” when it comes to how widespread the situation is, especially since so much of it happens online through webcams and apps. As many as 10 percent of young people seeking a degree have turned to this type of job to pay. However, instead of attempting to provide support, in some cases, universities actually block groups that try to help students who’ve turned to prostitution to pay for college.“
I can see around me the society changing and young women being overly sexualized. In the films from Jennifer Siebel Newsom, I can see also the society turning men into male bullies and if they are not themselves bullies, those satellites of them become the bullying heroes. Karens have followed a trajectory to become what made them an impact today.
This guy with the RV thanked me… after a second though, but it already happened that I helped people, and they would become rude to never thank me. Several years ago, a guy fired me because I was quitting my job (after hours and hours of grueling work) and not letting me the opportunity to quit. He then insulted me to reinforced his pride but “it was not him”, it was “the girls around him” and he would only repeat to not feel involved. Bullies have so many patterns in common that have found a way on TV, movies and the internet. The Gossip world.
The guy with the RV was really kind in the end but it made me wondering if it was my perception or the situation that was wrong. Men have a tendency to play team work but in a very segregated environment. As raised playing football with other men, we can only imagine them spontaneously hugging each other while women usually play off in many parts of the society. Women are the tools, they are not the engineers and as off today, they continue to struggle having jobs and equal pay.
To get rights, All The Women need to be seen in a way. Fashion, dress code, lectures… The way women are seen can be sexualized or not and the way they cover up shows as much as them being naked, but the perception of nudity, not only being undressed, shows exactly what the rights of women are, when being fragile, they may know or may not know and them being accepted.
Sometimes, I wonder. Are we learning because we like it or are we learning to be accepted? Do we perform our tasks and do we go to work with joy or are we fulfilling the requirements from some kind of society? Did we choose our society like a man would choose a club or are we just following the hub? Sometimes I wonder what kind of woman I have become when I feel unseen and sometimes I wonder if “after all”, it is or it is not better like this. What is my voice worth to be heard? I have done so much work already and for what?
I don’t need a veil any more in this society. I am covered. I am given the insurance that what ever I do, it remains unheard only to hear them men cry later that climate change is killing the economy. This morning, I was reading an article “Climate change, logging collide — and a forest shrinks” and I was like “oh man, you know what, maybe this is your time to remain silent because you have been talking like chickens and now, you behave like it. Shame on you men. Shame on you.“
Do words make me feel better? Certainly not and I feel that as long we only want to be heard, there is no door to slam and close. What gives us rights is to do things as we envision them, be able to explain and develop an argument, do close the doors ourselves when involved and maybe slam them, if we have to. We don’t want to be heard as a noise. We want to be heard as a voice who has ideas and theories to develop. We want to contribute in making laws, rules, projects, planning and envisioning a society where women are not prostitutes, but loving person who feel empathy and care as much as they feel responsibilities and altruism.
In a men’s world, prostitutes were goddesses, independent thinkers and independent women who would provide for themselves, but prostitutes do not cary childs. They cary illnesses and gossip. In an Abrahamique society where “legitimacy” is religion, it is mariage that makes a woman because that is the only commitment that would make a legitimate heir. And poor is a woman without a male heir, she would age unfulfilled.
I remember some day in the RV park seeing a family with a grown child. Few weeks earlier, I had been in a restaurant with an Australian therapist and we were making fun about forks and spoons. American people almost never use a knife when they eat and I remember looking at this poor child with a baby plastic spoon who would never know to grow cutting his food himself. American mothers are over protective where French mothers would let their children cry and I feel that boys grow up with or without an handkerchief. As a former soldiers’ godmother, I know that soldiers cry and still, they are not calling for mommy.
Two days ago, I was working on my immigration files and I was wondering why America? Why did I feel so appeal about America? I did not know as much as I know now and I had a very childish perception. I did not know history, the people, I had no idea of its rules, but something made me like America, it is customer service. I have loved to make websites and each time something would be going wrong, I would just call and they would solve it. I have loved also the eccentricity. I remember one day ordering a CD from cdbaby.com. I was probably their first French customer and they sent a two page letter to celebrate my purchase with humor and kindness. I loved also the idea that if I would show love to this country as if it would me mine, I would feel accepted. This country made me feel a woman long before I passed the border. The deception came after and mostly because of men, machoism, egoism and all kind of *.ism.
Now I live in Hollywood and I wonder about customer service after being sold all kind of stories. Maybe I have seen only what I wanted to see and truth is that I don’t see the movies now as I used to see them when I was in France. In France, I would make my own idea of the bad and the ugly and would take it as a fantasy (it could never be that bad… ), something created for the purpose of a film, while now, I see the reality behind the fantasy, and the dramatic purpose of film making. I have grown up and I am glad about it. I feel relief from too many questions. I feel also the purpose and the directions that my life can take from now. I saw me change.
All along my journey in life, I committed to one thing. I had plants and each time I would not go well, my plants would die. Since I have been a child, it always worked like that and I would be desperate to see my plants die and I would work on myself to make them grow. I have always believed that my happiness would glow with flowers because indeed, I find balance with my garden and plants give me strength and this beautiful daily rendez-vous when trooping the colors, watching new sprouts, collecting the leaves, watering, nourishing, planning and organizing. My plants talk to me as sometimes, I would love to see people being able to talk.
I had a friend before, a long time ago. He was the best friend I ever had. He would talk to me the language of flowers and one day, when back home, I had to walk about 30 feet along the flowers he had delivered to me, live ones, planted in pots that he offered to honor part of me being a voiced woman, someone with ideas, with humor and some kind of intelligence. Someone who did not feel behind but part of the system. Someone who would jump on a situation to solve it and be involved. I did not feel I had to prove anything. I was just honest with myself, my belief. I was also honest with others by telling them, and being a story teller has been something where as a woman, I always had something to say.
Oh man, you see my old friend I miss you. This world has become difficult and I am not sure if I am accepted anymore. I don’t feel accepted any more. It’s like I played already the last joker and game is over. I don’t have any more cards and I don’t care about it. At my age, you know, I’ll be soon as old as you. I wish you were there to tell me that everything will be alright. I wish somebody had been there to tell me that everything will be alright. Someone I could trust. Someone like you, who would listen my silence and make me feel heard. Someone who would know without me telling. You made me so strong that now, I can’t even bend and I don’t know if this is me a woman any more or this idea I may have been sometimes.
Men in the United-States made me feel unsecured and from where I come, it was almost helpful. I feel I reached an epicenter from where things can only go better if I fight for it, if I battle as hard as I did in my childhood to become free from the pain and struggle of my environment. I know that if I close my eyes, I am no more involved and they will grow up too, in the same direction where I am going, toward the light and toward the truth. Toward the righteous way.
Oh man, you gave me so much already. I am thankful you made me a woman. I am thankful that you gave me those rights to always question, either myself, either others, either way good or bad. I am thankful that you forgiven me and that you carried the loads of my body for me, bones and flesh to make me a woman. There is so much that could have been you, the soul and the poesy. I know that my force came from you. I know that our smiles would make us together united in one way spirituality that was willing the good, ultimately. I know that we both made our part and that we are small. I am small, even having known you, and I will always be, because I have discovered something more important than growing in order to reach the sky. I think that most importantly, life is about reflecting the sky as being part of an ocean. I am a wave, you were a wave and we walked the same beach. What’s left is half your shell waiting for me and I am getting old for that, walking like a crab to survive the tide and the currents, rolling and walking above water.
There is still something Jesus in me and I wish that this light will continue to float, for ever. May be people inspired. May the wise find oh man, this thing that a woman may certainly have to give a sense her reality, there, at this time, when men though they had grown up with science, when men had made secret societies. I, women too, have secrets. Children are the society we thrive to grow our roots and our ramage. Someday, they’ll be some men and some day, they’ll be some women. May they be fit together to care and to love their children. There won’t be any trees without love. I know that.