Feminism

As it's International Women's Day today, I thought I'd do a post about why I identify as a feminist.

My mother is an inspirational woman. For over fifteen years now, she's been working for a Bristol charity that helps women who are in trouble, particularly those suffering from domestic violence. She's always taught me that women can do anything, and it's thanks to her that I've grown up with strong feminist beliefs (she actually reminded me about International Women's Day when we went to lunch last week). She was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2005, and had to go through some pretty horrible treatments, but she's made a full recovery. I am inspired by her strength.

A lot of people, women included, don't like the word 'feminism'. This is for a number of reasons - the stereotypical angry feminist who eats testicles for breakfast, the mistaken belief that feminism is no longer relevant to our society, or just plain old fashioned sexism. Today, I'm giving the middle finger to those who would look down on me for calling myself a feminist. We don't hate men, and although some of us might be angry, can you blame us, with the way women's rights are slowly being chipped away? Some might say that feminism is more relevant now than ever.

As a woman, I know I'll be judged for a lot of things that a man in the same situation wouldn't be judged for. For example, I choose to be childfree. Motherhood doesn't appeal to me, and I don't think I'd be good at it. As a woman, I will always have to justify that choice. People will judge me, and brand me selfish for not wanting to reproduce. When was the last time you heard anyone criticise a man for not wanting to be a father? And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

For the last few weeks, I've been watching the US from afar, with a knot of fear in my stomach. All sorts of bills are being put forward that show how some American men (Republicans especially) see women as nothing more than incubators. One of the more worrying bills would have given the doctors the right to refuse treatment to a dying woman, if the treatment would harm her unborn foetus. Fortunately that bill was scrapped, but it still chills me to the core, knowing that some people think it's better for a woman and a foetus to die rather than just a foetus. How would they feel if it was their wife, or their daughter? Would they still stand idly by?

And that's why we still need feminism today. The fact that there are people in a supposedly civilised society like the US who view women's lives as disposable should set off alarm bells in the heads of every woman everywhere. We are not just incubators. We are not just mothers. We should have the freedom to be anything we choose to be, without people standing in our way. We deserve equal pay for equal work. We deserve bodily autonomy and reproductive freedom. In short, we deserve more.

Women have been through a lot of shit over the centuries, but there have always been women willing to fight for their rights as autonomous human beings, and there always will be. So today, Shrove Tuesday and International Women's Day, raise a pancake to the inspirational women in your life.

Short Story - Chopsticks

Chopsticks

I remember the first time she tried to teach me how to use chopsticks. I never did get the hang of it.

We were at the Red Dragon, in Chinatown. I was new to London, and June, a Londoner since birth, wanted to introduce me to all of her favourite restaurants.

We had met two weeks previously, at the Fresher's Fair, and immediately became friends. There was something about June that told me I could trust her. I felt a pull towards her, and at the time I didn't realise exactly what that pull might mean. I just knew that I wanted to spend more time with this girl.

I had never tried dim sum before. Until now, my idea of Chinese food had been a cardboard box of chow mein in front of the TV on a Saturday night. But June knew better. The dim sum was delicious.

She chastised me for picking it up with a fork. "Sophia," she said sternly, but with a playful glint in her eye, "if you're going to eat out in Chinatown with me, then you're going to have to use these." She shoved the chopsticks towards me. "Just copy me ... hold them like this ..."

She made it look so effortless, balancing the two thin sticks in her slender fingers. Perhaps it was in her genes. When I tried to imitate her, I felt awkward and clumsy, and the chopsticks slipped out of my hand and clattered onto the plate.

"Dammit," I growled.

June laughed. "Remember, I've had a lot more practice at this than you have. Try again."

I tried again, and failed again. June laughed every time, her playful, child-like laugh.

"Here, I'll help you."

She got up from her chair and came round to my side of the table.

Sometimes a moment can change your life. A bomb goes off, or a vital organ stops working, or somebody special touches you for the first time. As June rearranged my fingers around the thin sticks of wood, I felt sparks between our hands, electricity that ran through my entire body. I hadn't expected this, and yet it seemed to have been a long time coming. It felt inevitable.

When June sat back down, she looked completely different. Her dark eyes shone brighter; her hair had turned into finely spun black silk; her smile almost made me cry.

"Try it now," she said.

I had completely forgotten about the chopsticks in my hand. Careful to keep holding them in the correct position, I picked up a dumpling and popped it in my mouth. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

***

I didn't want June to know how I felt. So far, she was the only close friend I had in London, and I didn't want to risk frightening her away. June had never shown any indication that she might be interested in girls. She talked about boys sometimes, in that happy, giggly way of hers, and I felt a little sting every time she did so. She didn't have a boyfriend, but I was sure that she would, before long. Who could resist her?

I had to resist her. I had no choice.

One Saturday, I was lying on my single bed in my dorm room, looking up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that I should be studying, when my phone rang. Not my mobile - the white corded phone on my desk, connected to all the other rooms in the dorms. My heart jumped. Only one person ever called me on that phone. I leapt across to the desk, almost tripping over.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sophia, it's only me."

Every time June called, I could physically feel all the tension drop out of me. Just hearing her voice could make my whole morning. She had no idea.

June invited me over to her room to watch DVDs, and get ready for the party that night. When I got there, she gave me a warm smile. I tried to return it.

"Are you okay, Sophia?" She asked me.

"I'm fine," I replied. "So, um, are you looking forward to tonight, then?"

"Yeah, it should be a laugh, I reckon. Apparently most people from our class are going." She opened the CD tray of the computer, and put in one of her favourite Japanese animations. They bored me to tears, although I would never tell her so. Then she asked me, "Can you help me do my hair?"

Of all the things I remember about the many afternoons spent in June's dorm room - the smell of her incense, the way she stacked the books on her shelves, the colour of her posters - the feeling of being close to her is the one sensation that stays with me. I could sit watching boring DVDs with her for hours on end, just being happy to breathe the same air, and occasionally brush against her arm. And now she wanted me to put her hair up.

I loved June's hair - I loved it for itself, not just because it was a part of her. It was long and black and soft, the kind of hair that I, with my mousy brown straw, had always coveted. I savoured the feel of it in my hands as I twisted it into a bun, and finished it off with a pair of flowered, decorative chopsticks.

As I stood back to admire my handiwork, my heart began to drop to my feet. June looked beautiful. And at the party that night, I was sure I wouldn't be the only one to notice how beautiful she was.

***

I thought I could keep my secret. In a few years' time, June and I would be graduating, so I would no longer face the problem of seeing her every day. Until then, I would just have to hold my tongue.

Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way.

As usual on a Saturday afternoon, I was in June's dorm room. She was reading, and I was making notes for an essay. Somehow my pen flew faster and the words flowed easier when June was around. I was in such a good mood that when June asked me "Do you have any tissues," I didn't think. I just nodded, and said, "There's a packet in my bag."

Almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realised my mistake. As I watched June root around in my handbag, I was filled with the sensation that creeps up from your stomach and makes you turn cold, makes your heart pound, the sensation that says you've just made a big mistake.

Maybe she won't notice, I tried to reassure myself. Maybe she'll just pull the tissues out of the bag and -

Too late. She had found them

"Sophia," June asked me, an amused expression on her face, "Why have you been carrying around a pair of old chopsticks from the Red Dragon?"