Anxiety Dreams

i woke up at 4:30 this morning from a dream in which, for the sake of some activisty project, my partner and i were moving into a new house, kind of in a garden, but not with other houses. Sort of aeon flux-y. Max from the L-Word is there and while i know my partner is there, shes’ not in the dream. she’s always just around the corner. As night falls we start closing the walls which are open, and made of canvas. and then slowly they materialize into glass walls and doors. But as the walls got more solid i realized that there are people coming in towards the house to out me and they have my real name and will out me to everyone in my life. Max is there to protect me but he can’t do too much because the house is made of canvas. My partner never comes out from around the corner.

There are things in my life other than my sometimes-closet. I mean, it’s really a small, though significant, portion of my life. And yet somehow it features regularly in my anxieties. I don’t know why.

Coming out again and again and again

I’m visitig family these days and my cousins, all of whom are younger, all have significant others. The youngest is 16 and he’s got a new girlfriend he’s terribly excited about. The oldest is 20 and has bee with the same guy for at least 4 years. All my cousins, despite my secret predictions, are straight (so far, anyway). And the whole famikly is really open to them being in relationships that are probaby quite physical.

I’ve been feeling awkward and strange since I got here because I can’t talk about Lovely to any of them. Not that I couldn’t come out to this side of the family: I could. But my mom doesn’t want me to because I’ll leave and then she’ll have to deal with making sure my aunt doesnt’ blab to my grandparents (who really can’t handle it and shouldn’t have to, I guess) and the low grade generica homophobia that is going to come from them. It wouldn’t be fair to my mom and it would be a huge family event and so, yeah, I shouldn’t tell them.

And yet. My aunt, my oldest cousin, her boyfriend and I went out for a late night dinnery snacky thing last night and my aunt asked me if I was being fixed up back home. I talked like it was completely normal and I talked about not having a boyriend and not wanting to get married any time soon (not exactly true, the marriage thing, but what can you say if you haven’t got a boy). In short, I acted totally straight and it didn’t even ruffle me, I didn’t even stumble over it. I just had a deep urge to say, well, I do have someone and she’s awesome. I had a deep urge to say, well, my father does try but the reason he’s being as weird as I’m describing to you is not because he’s old fashioned but because I came out to him and he wishes I wasn’t in a relationship with a woman. I wanted to say all these things and I was unable.

I suppose it’s easier. Or better. Or something. I feel like I’m betraying Lovely every time I hide our relationship from someone. Because, barring the most difficult, dangerous situations, she would want to be out. She is less out than she wants to be because of me.

Once upon a time, for a very short time, we were living abroad and we were out to everybody. And that was good. I didn’t understand a year ago when I finally made contact with some queer women in Lahore why they felt like it was so hellish to live there, even when they had some support, like we do. Now I’m sort of getting it. Maybe we should move.

Anyway. I wish I could tell my family. I think they’d take it in their stride. Weird stride, but still.

“Friend”

When Lovely and I first got together, or were in the process of getting together (as you know, this took some time), good friends of mine would ask, “Where’s your friend? How’s your friend?” and they would mean her. I would answer and we would proceed with our evening. Usually, I was under some sort of stress because of something going on with her family or I was frustrated and confused about whether or not I should be dating her (we broke up, like, 5 times in the first three months). Having her called my friend wasn’t too problematic.

At one point, though, I said to one particular person who was making a little light fun of me and us, “Lovely. Her name is Lovely.” And possibly I said this a little sharply because he stopped dead and said, “I know.” And I said, “Yeah, okay.”

Some of my friends also called variants of ‘whatsername’ at the beginning, and then asked for the fourteenth time what her name was. It’s a common Pakistani name and hard to forget, but okay. With him also I eventually enunciated: LOVE-LEE. And then he remembered forever after.

Again, it was  time of ambiguity, my ambiguity about the relationship, so while these were minor annoyances, I was okay.

But I’m finding that it is wretchedly common for people to use “friend” about someone they know is your partner/girlfriend. It betrays discomfort with ones sexuality and choices. So, for example, when I was getting this apartment, I told the landlord that my partner or my girlfriend (using both at several occasions) would be joining me a bit later, he would always say, “And when is your friend coming? Is your friend coming for sure?”

Is this an attempt at politeness? If I’ve used girlfriend and partner, are you confused that I’m talking about my female best friend or my business partner? Is it a subtle protest against your characterization of yourself as being in a homosexual union, suggesting, ‘Well, you can do what you want, of course, and I’ll take your money, drink with you, be your friend, but I’m not sure I condone this relationship of yours by calling it what you call it.’ Is it a misguided attempt to include all possible permutations of the relationship? Is it doubt about whether, when you heard both girlfriend and partner, when you knew that snogging and sex were involved in this relationship, when you know that one person left a marriage to be romantically with the other, you’re not sure yet what the acceptable term for the relationship is?

How about the one I use, asshole?

That is what I am annoyed about today.

Anthropology

Check this out at The Lesbian Said What? Boobies on American TV.

You Trendy Lez, You

Lately, I’ve been reading online about feminism (particularly radical feminism) and its enthusiasm for women as superior beings. Way back when I learned about radical feminism, about 10 years ago, I learned about it being body-focused, body-centered, the liberation of the body. I read some Andrea Dworkin talking about penetration as a violent act and read it as a kind of drama piece, a monologue or something, rather than a treatise on the reality of human relationships. That’s not what she intended, probably, but who cares, I can read things how I like. The rest of radical feminism I read as being a woman-centred look at the universe. And I was certainly on board with that.

It occurs to me that I possibly missed some key texts in radical feminism. Otherwise, it would have hit me earlier that there’s a strong separatist trend in radical feminism, a desire to get these male buggers out of our hairs for good and just be women-on-women action all the time.

Speaking as a bisexual woman, I would like to say, ein minuten bitte.

First, the obvious: my dad’s a man, my best friend’s a man, my other best friend’s a man, my academic mentor is a man. My mom is married to a man, whom she loves and without whom she would be very unhappy. My mom, additionally, does not like sex with women and would not survive in a lezzie world. These are just some of the people I care about who would fall victim to a radical feminist holocaust of men. (Remember, please: I’m referring to a separatist strand of radical feminism, not all radical feminism everywhere for all time. Untwist knickers now.)

Second and quoting Philomela:

But…surely part of feminism is upholding women’s rights to have relationships with whoever they want, It also makes me think that many heterosexual feminists have no idea how power struggles and infighting play out in lesbian communities and relationships. It seems some heterosexual women don’t know that lots of lesbians are not feminists, that lots of lesbians perceive themselves and express themselves through certain sorts of masculinities, (in fact almost all of the women that make me go ooohh her! do  this)  that are often  seen as the antithesis of radical feminism.

When I was in university, it was possible to be a BUG – Bi Until Graduation – and I was lumped in with the BUG category because a) bi women are untrustworthy in their allegiance to queerness and b) I was Pakistani so for sure I’d go back in the closet when I went home (which I did, for a while, and I don’t apologize to anyone but myself for it). And if you were feeling BUGish, you would feel guilty about desiring men, doubt your own ability to stay the course of your beliefs as well as your feelings and belief yourself to be easily swayed by the cool factor. I thought I’d been easily swayed by the cool factor and that’s why my insides were turning to jelly at the sight, sound, smell, suhbat of certain women. This would not happen once I was out of this hellish den of hellish sinful sodomitic hell!

Quite.

Reading Philomela reminded me of all this just now. Of the sheer stupidity of thinking that bisexuality is a changeable state of being. Talk about self-oppression! “I am bi and with a man therefore I must be the enemy.” Meanwhile, straight women are going about saying they would be lesbian for the wo-man cause if only they could get up the guts to actually desire women. I know girls. Pussy smells funny. And you’d miss that lovely cock taste so much.

Being Bi is really fucking hard. It takes ages for your partner to feel secure that you’re not going to leave them for a different gender, that you’re not desiring the other parts in your sex life. And then there’s people constantly asking you, “Are you sure you are into men? Are you sure you’re into women? Are you sure? It doesn’t seem lke it, sometimes, that’s all. You’re not really the type.”

Kiss my ass. No bi person needs to feel guilty for desiring someone. There’s no superiority in partnering with a woman over a man. Love is love. Love may be political, but politics doesn’t dictate who you love; who you love explains your politics to you. Shows you your power and your privilege.

Asshattery. Making people feel like they’re not fighting the good fight because there’s a friendly penis in the vicinity. People are NICE. Some people are MEN. Get the fuck over it.