Posts Tagged ‘society’

naked and the rain

February 13, 2010

“My heart sits on the sideline while my mind plays the game.”


Ever felt naked?

Not like, ‘oops-I-forgot-to-put-my-underwear-on’ naked but the real ‘holy-fuck-people-can-see-right-through-me’ naked…

In my past experience (which is a whole like 18 years worth) I’ve never felt truly naked, I’ve always had one layer of protection on at least, and those who have made me feel naked were probably quickly removed from my life.

I’m a protective sort of person, apparently even my sleeping position says so, besides the way my body contorts while I’m dreaming unmentionable things, I know I’m protective because it’s how I’ve grown up.

I visited home yesterday, my first day back in two weeks (pathetic, I know, but I didn’t have enough room for my guitar on the first trip) and already that place that I had called home was more of a house again. Sure, nothing much had changed (I lie, a fair bit had changed) but even though my furniture hasn’t been moved within the last three years and I’m pretty sure the dints on the wall will never be fixed, it wasn’t my room anymore. There wasn’t any me in the house. There was nothing to stake a claim there, and I didn’t know how to deal with that.

I’d lost my home just with the simple point of moving away to go to Uni, and the thing that annoyed me was that nobody had told me how much it sucks to feel as though your life has been lifted up off the ground and is floating somewhere in the atmosphere. I miss the ground, I don’t trip so much.

Still, I guess there is a sort of happiness attached to my new room, even if I can’t dance in it like a spaz. All my stuff is here, even my name scrawled on the wall (Arscott forgive me) and in time this place may become a home but currently I’m without port.

I don’t think I ever expected to feel this way, I’m fairly good at adapting so to find that I hadn’t actually adapted, was un-nerving. I don’t really know what to do with myself so I’m writing here, and I will probably spend the whole night writing and ignoring the raging party that’ll be engulfing the courtyard.

So to summarise:

Home isn’t home and Uni is just that… Uni.

You never know though, all my dreams may come true and I’ll be out of here quicker than you can say ‘home’.

– Cal.

The marks, are they there?

Rough against the smooth lines…

Brush over them, a story to read.

Can you read the marks?


just to be sure

February 10, 2010

“If I could change the world; mould it to my own design, then I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be the world anymore. What it is and what I want it to be are two very separate ideas and they can never be truly one.”


I feel like a liar.

Not to say that I’ve been lieing, but I have been compromising who I am.

I spent majority of the past two years alone and I never realised the affect that it had on me. I never saw myself through everyone else’s eyes.

I’m narcissistic and self-righteous, I want what I want when I want it and I’m boisterous enough to tell people that. I’m cold-hearted, I lack empathy or sympathy and I’m pretty sure my own mind works against me when I feel sad. I have little or no belief in anything or anyone. I’m paranoid and I believe it’s survival of the fittest by any means necessary.

I’m not sure if these are natural attributes that have just become recognisable over time but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t this blinded before my isolation.

In my time alone, when I worked and I studied and I did anything I could to get ahead and prove everybody wrong, I forgot what it was that I really wanted to do it. I’d forgotten what I had spent my whole life  doing, and that was telling stories.

Take it from me, someone who can blatantly with a smile on their face, stories are my forte. They twist and wind around my mind with barely decipherable plots that boggle even myself sometimes, but those are the stories that have grown over years of observation.

I’d forgotten in my haste to prove myself to others that I am just one person and that others will not always bend to my will. I can ask them, persuade them or even try to blackmail them, but whatever it comes down to I know that this, in itself, was my world that I was trying to pull others into.

Strong-willed and emotionally decrepit is who I am now, and I’m not so sure that I can find my way back to who I used to be.

I want to be the brave person I always thought I was. I want to fight the battles of the world the way I always have: with words and pictures and sound.

I want to prove to myself that I still know who I am, that the things that used to always matter to me, still do. I want to prove that my heart isn’t as cold as it’s sometimes percieved to be. I want to prove that I’m human, and that I feel that way too.

I’m confused and wondering how on earth I got here.

I love who I love.

I write what I write.

I am who I am.

I can’t change this but I can change my perception of the world I live in. I can fight oppression and I can bring people to their knees in a way that doesn’t leave my morals to suffer.

I am strong and I am brave.

I am an 18-year-old Media Arts student from the University of Canberra. I sometimes lock myself out of my room and I always find myself flustered in attractive company. I like women but have a certain soft spot for attractive, polite men. I am feminine and I can still appear that way even when sweaty and bruised from learning MMA. I am genderqueer and I’m learning to accept it, no matter what it takes.

I am who I am, and just to be sure, I’m going to check myself in the mirror.

This blog doesn’t say much to you, probably, but it says a lot to me. My own personal review of the way my life twists and turns without my direction from myself. I hope I don’t bore people because I know that sometimes, I even bore myself.

Confused and cornered but a little bit more graceful in defeat…

– Cal.


Tip toe-ing softly, nobody can hear

Crouched and waiting…

Are you watching me?

Watching me, watching you…

Hidden but sure.

Just to be sure.

you dont have to

February 3, 2010

“Could you imagine your life any better? Yeah, I could too.”

My mother: You know, you don’t have to have short hair to be gay.

This was a breakthrough point for my relationship with my mother. I’d been cutting my hair short for about 5 months now, give or take a week, and all I had recieved in return for my stylish new cuts was: “You looked pretty with long hair.”

So does that random snippet of conversation mean that it’s finally alright for me to be gay in her eyes? Does it finally mean that she’s stopped trying to tell me to ‘give the nice boys a chance’.

I’m not sure. I don’t know. It’s all a little too confusing for me currently.

But being at Uni now, this hair that I have, these markers that I portray to the world, they are now my world.

I’m not sure what people think when they first see me. Maybe it’s ‘Oh, she’s gay’ or maybe it’s ‘Oh, she’s one of those crazy, punk girls’. I just don’t know, so being able to look the way I do makes me feel more confident with my sexuality and gender for some reason. I can’t understand why it does but it reminds me that I am what I am and just because people don’t know it or recognise it, it doesn’t devalue it in anyway.

Another problem I’m finding is meeting other LGBT folk. Personally, I think we should all wear signs on our head. But then again, some people might actually have gaydar compared to me who has… none.

I always thought when I moved I wouldn’t feel so cut off from the world but right now, this is the most cut-off I’ve ever felt. I want to meet people like me, I want people to accept if they aren’t like me and I want people to know who I am but I can’t exactly shout it from the rooftops, now can I?

A little lost and confused but at least I’ve got all my subjects chosen, now I just have to pay for the first semester, my books and all the software I need. I’m anticipating a $5 000 drop in my savings account but oh well, hopefully this will turn out to be worthwhile, and if not…

– Cal.

not quite sure

February 1, 2010

“Dear blog,

Today I had the most absolutete worst, completely disgusting and degrading day of my life. If all start with the fact that I forgot to wear underwear, which is actually a more common occurence than you think, but truthfully, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was I got caught, and by the neighbours dog no less, but that isn’t the problem. The problem was…”

“Dear bloggee,

I am a piece of paper who, quite frankly, doesn’t give on ounce of brain space to your pathetic ramblings. If you could please cease and desist with all forms of communication I would be quite obliged to take you off my ‘eraser’ list.

P.S. Your teddy bear is the one who’s been stealing your bras.”


Why can’t inanimate objects talk to us?

I swear it would make life alot easier, and also save me from attempting to move the relatively large furniture around my relatively small dorm room. But no, furniture and all manner of inanimate objects were excluded from the communication list.

What am I rambling on about? I don’t really know, it’s just easier to let out my frustration this way instead of slapping a few dorm member across the face because they insist that the blonde is their natural colour even though their eyebrows and all manner of body hair beg to differ.

Anyway, aside from my own random ramblings I’m just… I’m not quite sure.

I’m in a city, going to pubs and clubs and I still feel so out of touch with the world.

All I want to do is find someone else who is gay or queer or whatever they like to be called. I just want to find someone who understands my perspective, but it’s proving harder than I thought possible.

So instead of actually doing something worthwhile, like I don’t know, sleeping perhaps, I have decided that now is the perfect time to write you all a little recount of my past weekend.

It started like this:

Friday 29th: Birthday; I spend the day avoiding certain people, making horrendous phonecalls and generally being a nuisance around my hometown. (That of course included going around the the grand total of five pubs in town and hustling.)

Saturday 30th: Post-Birthday and ‘why-on-earth-did-I-do-that-last-night?’ day; travelled to Canberra and visited family while continuing to make a nuisance of myself, even getting hit on by several very drunk 40-odd men.

Sunday 31st: Last day of January and my ‘officially-an-adult’ day; unpacked and moved very slowly into my dorm room all the while attempting to make as little eye contact as possible. I’m not entirely good at being social but I think I made a fair impression as well as somehow finding people to call “friends”.

Monday 1st: Technically not a weekend day; floundered around my room in the early morning because the lights are so damn bright, had a shower in the shower which had very bad water pressure and then I managed to stumble into the food hall and grab an apple for breakfast. After that I ventured to a waterpark where I splashed around, got sunburnt and shocked people with my lack of swimming attire (I lost my bikini top going down a slide, HUZZAH!). Spent the afternoon setting up my internet and shopping for necessary food before returning for dinner and then partying it up with the old ressies.

Overall I think I’ve made a good impression but god knows what anybody else thinks.

I’m overtired, hungry and have someone else’s underarm sweat on my shirt so I think that means it’s time to go to bed.

So night-night people reading this. I’ll update when I have something to update.

– Cal.

writing it all down

January 23, 2010

“If I could write down every word in my head it would be quite a contradictory story.”

Writing things in a blog always makes them come out so much smoother, well, that’s what I’ve found anyway.

Not much to say today.

Researching environmentalism and it’s link to the LGBT community. Why, you may ask? Top secret stuff.

Okay, not really top secret but I’ve been reading too much information on Uganda’s new Anti-Homosexualist Bill to care enough to actually tell you all.

Maybe tomorrow?

I’ve got too many ideas swirling around in my head, and none of them make much sense.

So, to summarize my day so far:

Checked e-mails.


Checked e-mails again.

Researched again.

Eventually found enough edible food to qualify it as a meal.

Ate said edible food.

Researched again.

Threw out old clothing. (This caused a sliver of water to run down my cheek though I’m sure I can blame it on a non-existent cold if I’m ever asked.)

Blogged. Blogging… Writing this damn blog.

Writing it all down, as the title states.

I’ll update tomorrow and continue on with my crazy mind adventures.

– Cal.

Tipped and toed.

“Higher, you must be taller.”

Pushing, straightening; legs surely breaking…

“Stay and be firm.”

Staying, falling and breaking.

Too tipped on my toes.

double post: nudity and fear

January 22, 2010

“I have a funny feeling that Santa Claus is behind this.”

It’s a double post today. Why? Because I’ve got so much to say and so little time.

Okay, so yesterday, as I was avoiding the cover letter I had to write for a scholarship fund I somehow decided it would be a good idea to go through my old computer and have a look what’s on there.

Oh and behold, what did I find?

Pictures. Of me. Nude.

It seems my fascination with sexuality, gender and nudity goes back further than I can remember. Not to mention the need to express all my ideas in photographic from.

In my stumbling I found three hidden folders, each containing a photographic series in which I’m nude. Now if the time stamp on these such folders is correct then the first series, titled: Sex with Light was taken when I was 14 and I believe that it was also a joint project with a fellow photographer friend of mine, whom I haven’t seen in years.

The second series was: Bare the Truth and was taken when I was 15. It displays me and four of my friends either nude of partially nude with different drawn versions of the sign ‘Bare the Truth’ as it were.

The third series, and probably the most dastardly for someone of the age 15 was… Erotic Language. Yikes! What on earth was I thinking at young, clean age 15?!

Then I realized that I’d  been watching porn since I was 13 so it didn’t really matter that somewhere in my fifteen year old mind I found it alright to pose erotically using the aid of sign language to actually point out the differences of male and female sexual culture.

But, that was then and this is now. I like to think I’ve gotten a bit more subtle. Apparently not. You see, looking back I can tell that majority of those messages I was trying to send, they’re about all the same things that I’m currently fighting for.

I had thought I’d evolved (and sure my technical photographic skills have) but the way my mind processes such issues as sex, sexuality, gender, eroticism and society seem not to have changed since that tender age. (Though I do use tender in reference to my buttocks which seems a little bit fuller in some of them photographs than it is now. But then again I can’t swivel my head 180 degrees on my neck either.)

Seeing these earlier expressions made me realize that I wanted to show these to the world. Young, and counting as child porn, yes but I feel it was the most untainted view I had on some issues back then.

Right now my focus is on sexuality and gender, trying to fill in the gap between normal and abnormal (in society’s dictations). But some of the ideas I must have had back then were just… well a little mature of my age. Seriously, what 15 year old things about eroticism in terms of sign language? (I believe I was influenced by a young deaf girl I had met on one of my many travels in those days.)

It’s a little unnerving, but it also gives me a sense of certainty. I’ve been doing this for awhile I’ve realized. Sure, awhile is four to three years but better than nothing.

And the fear…

I’ve written something similar to this before, in my very first post as it were, but I don’t know how many people and read that and for starters, if I don’t self-express somewhere soon (why does that sound so dirty to me?!) I’m probably going to end up screaming at some inanimate object.

And nobody wants that.


What on earth would I be afraid of?

Um… Life in general actually.

You see in my ‘practically-a-new-years-resolution-and-goal-post’ a.k.a. Wanted: Dead or Alive, I set myself many standards and many things to achieve.

I’d almost forgotten the fact about why they were still undone.

Self-doubt, not the ‘oh-i’ll-wake-up-in-the-morning-and-it’ll-be-gone’ type but the crippling, ‘please-don’t-take-the-covers-off-me-I’m-dying-inside’ type.

I’ve written majority of this before but I’m writing it again because it never really disappears for me. No matter how much I talk about it, try and get over it, think I get over it, realize I’m not over and fall flat on my face again, I can still never seem to anticipate it.

My self-doubt is an odd beast I think.

I’m terrified of not having my dreams come true.

And I’m terrified of having them come true.

So how does self-doubt fit into this equation?

I doubt that if I get everything I want that I’ll be happy, and I doubt that if I don’t I’ll probably still have the same feelings.

I want to change the world, but I also want my life.

I haven’t yet figured out how these to mix evenly enough to coincide in my heart yet, and I figure it’ll take a little bit more time.

But now, being in the questioning society that I am, other thoughts have begun to seep into my mind and further feed my fear of the future.

“What if I turn out not to be queer?!” – Kind of stupid really and even the thought of kissing a guy is kind of gut-wrenching, no offense to them or anything.

“What if I decide I don’t like what I’ve done to my body?!” – Another stupid one really, it’s a bit too late to go back on several tattoos and many piercings. But then again, with the rate of plastic surgery, who knows?

“What if I hate what I’ve become?!” – This is probably a more legitimate one. I’ve always promised myself that I would be a righteous person. Fight for the little people. Bring perspective to an ignorant world. But what happens if I turn out to be my own worst nightmare?

That’s what stops me from falling asleep at night.

It’s officially a week till my 18th Birthday, so it’s also officially a week until I move into my Uni accommodation.

Suddenly my future is right there and my door and all I want to do is turn on the TV or pretend I’m not home.

But since, knowing myself and my huge ego, I won’t ever admit this to anyone vocally. I’ll admit it to this blog because well, I don’t know if I’ll ever meet any of you in real-life, unless of course you’re reading this as one of my few friends who know the truth about me.

But anyway, there it is. Fear of the future and what I might become, but a fear that nobody will ever know because my pride eats up the air I breath it’s so domineering.

I’d like some thoughts about this… Or at least some advice.

– Cal.

femme is not a gender

January 20, 2010

Today I had the unwelcome experience of being question by another member of the small LGBT community I belong to.

I was asked how could I be both genderqueer and a femme.

I’ve stated this before but I’m going to reiterate: my queerness in terms of gender takes two forms; a. the days I feel particularly masculine and exert this physically to society and b. the days I feel without a gender, like I’m floating in the middle of a giant gender ocean meeting no harbour.

What pissed me off about this question was that after I answered, they told that I wasn’t correct.


I’m not correct about what labels I choose for myself?

I was told that someone who associated to society as a femme could not be genderqueer.

I swear I could almost hear my knuckles cracking on their own accord.

You see, it took me a long time (a year at the most, which is a long time for me in regards to my ideas of time) to coalesce myself into the person who states proudly: “Hi, I’m a genderqueer kinky bottom femme who sucks at cooking and anything domestic.”

I, myself haven’t met any other genderqueers, and I have yet to stumble across a genderqueer femme, so I guess that lends to the theory that we might not be very common.

But for me, the gender association of ‘femme’ in which I present a more feminine approach to society is a choice. I wasn’t forced to suppress my gender because of it. I chose to be a femme because I liked the way it makes me feel.

Now I admit, some days, I wish that I could just be cis-gendered. I wish everything was just laid out plain and simple for me to understand. But it’s not, and that’s one of the things that makes me who I am.

Not understanding my own gender took a lot of understanding and researching on my part, it look a lot of exploration in regards to what felt comfortable to me and when.

‘How would I change my appearance to suit the gender assignment of the day? ‘ was a common question in my mind and slowly I fashioned myself an identity that allowed me to accept my gender, however I was feeling at the time, and still maintain the femininity in my outside demeanour.

So what made this person so openly question who and what I was?

A lack of knowledge I’m hoping. They barely knew me, though they did know of me, but I found it hard to consider judging someone and even second-guessing them before I even knew them. The thought is incomprehensible to me, and yet it happens a lot more often than I would care to know.

So this is my little rant session, trying to vent all my anger at being, not discriminated against, but misunderstood in my own ‘supposed’ community.

I might also stress the point that I ran into a horny teenage boy in Omegle today. Omegle of course being the latest internet chat craze where you talk to complete strangers for no reason.

Anyway, he stated something that worried me: ‘Yeah but all lesbians are bit a bi, aren’t they.’

It looks like the youth still have a long way to go in terms of sexuality and gender understanding.

But that’s me for today.

Over and out.

– Cal.

wanted: dead or alive

January 14, 2010

“If people were cookies I think you’d be double chocolate chip with macademia nuts.”


Back to the world with 2010 and along with a whole new head of worries.

I’m back, moreso, my computer is back. Holiday was long, I got sunburnt and eaten by mosquitos as well as being insult by text messages because I kissed one of my straight friends for New Years Eve. Bollocks.

I’ve been meaning to write this for awhile, (i.e. it’s being sitting inside, stewing about in my mind while I painted my nails again an again) so I’ve decided to let it all hang out. My dreams for 2010, my expectations, my fears and all that loverly denial I have. So where should I begin?

I’m petrified of…

Myself. Yes, that person staring back in the mirror is terrifying to me. Her hair is messy, her skin is bumpy and red, let’s not even describe the state of her make-up and her smile is crooked; but none of this is really the problem.

That girl in the mirror, she’s not me and it’s taken me so long to realise it. You see, I’m the short-black-haired girl who wears dark lipstick, talks about gender and sexual equality, sex in general, contradictory religion, patriachal society and it’s effects on feminism. I’m the girl who spends majority of her time alone, writing or painting or composing. I’m the girl who walks down the street amid taunts and who somehow still keeps her head high.

But I’m also not her. This person that I am is simply a product of what my life experiences have created. To be truthful…

I have long blonde curly hair, I don’t wear make-up all that much and I don’t really like confrontation. I prefer to stay quiet than to talk up a storm and I prefer to hide away everything I create because I don’t believe anybody could really understand.

These two people, one of them Cal, the other with an unmentionable name; they don’t fit together. They’re my past and my present and neither can represent my future; not how they are right now so I’m at a loss.

I’m confused. I’m confused because in two weeks I’m expected to go to a place, make new friends, live my dreams and just be a person but that’s something I don’t know how to do.

I don’t know how to show people every side of myself. I’m an enigma, even to me and it kills me inside at times.

I can label myself all I want, but in truth, I’m the girl whose dreams exceed her means. I’m the girl who walks with her head high but whose feet stumble on the ground because she’s too scared to wear her glasses. I’m the girl who still won’t smile wide because the memory of her braces is too startling to consider what she looks like without them. I’m the girl who composes music but can’t read it; the girl who can’t sequence properly and who has to read majority of things three or four times before it actually makes sense. I’m the girl who wishes on stars, believes in fairytales and wants nothing more than to be rescued.

But I’m also the girl who knows better than that. I’ll stumble and trip, smile through insecurity and pretend that I understand what my eyes are seeing even if it’s all jumbled in my mind.

I won’t be rescued from myself; I have to learn how to rescue myself first before anything else can be done.

I have to learn how to accept this multi-faceted person and that nobody is ever going to know each side of me; not yet.

I have to learn how to accept that labels, no matter how much I might despise them at times, are beneficial to not just my understanding of who I am, but everyone else’s too.

I have to learn that fear is empowering, and that’s going to be a long process.

I dream of…

Pictures… The way the actors move and say those words I’ve written. The storylines that weave a pattern in my mind and that I cannot rightfully put down on a sheet of paper but try over and over again because it’s all I can think about.

Conversations… The talkshow that I’ll produce and the people that’ll make it amazing; the views they’ll have and the success that’ll come with it, as well as the acknowledgement that I’ve made a difference.

Music… The double meanings and the chords, the rhythms and the melodies that I can share. A refuge for those concerned, dreaming, confused and wishing. I could create a world.

I’m a dreamer, and I can admit some of my dreams may never come to fruitation but I’m sure of some. These are the ones that I’m going to fight for this year, and that I promise and swear to you all, I’m going to do…

1. Publish a book – the already completed “As You Were” that catalogues the possible future I might have if I give up, something that is used for me as a retaliation to all my inner-insults.

2. Photograph the truth – all the people in the LGBT community; each label, each couple and each piece of language that echoes in their mind. I’m going to capture it somehow, and you’re all going to see it.

3. Hold an exhibition – I refuse to sell the art or give it away, it has to have meaning before I can do that. People and their perspectives have to give it meaning, so that’s what I’m searching for.

4. Make a movie – expose the trials, tribulations and discrimination against transfolk. Something I can’t rightfully understand but something greatly unappreciated: the struggle some of these people go through.

5. Start a talkshow – I’ve got things to say and damn me to hell, I’m going to say them, but I know I don’t have all the words, so what better way to find all the others?

6. Work how I want – stripping and prostitution. Sexuality, gender and sexism is so easily displayed in sex; you can read person in it and I plan of reading alot of people, not because I think it’s cool but because we’re all human and sometimes the world isn’t as simple a place as we would like it to be.

7. Date who I want – finally not categorize the people I see and just want who I want, whether it’s the foxy red-haired femme polishing off her third martini or the butch at the pool table giving everyone else a whipping. People are beautiful and I want to see it.

So that’s what I want, and it’s what I’m going to get as well. Doesn’t sound like much at all, does it?

I believe the world…

Can give real equality, not just to the LGBT community but to everybody on this whole damn, retched planet. REAL equality, that means country vs. country, race vs. race, religion vs. religion, job vs. job, sexuality vs. sexuality and life vs. life. No-one more effected than others, and no-one more forgotten.

Can overcome it’s war with words, unless of course we’ve all forgotten our education and have taken to sticks and stones again.

Can be environmental again, really admire nature and the way it controls us, and not the other way around. To care about the environment in all ways, not just the parts that immediately effect you.

Can make a difference to poverty and create a proper global economy that we as humans can be proud of, instead of using and abusing each other.

Can give a voice to those who can’t rightly speak – Give the people real nerve to make hard decisions when it comes to disabled people. I believe in euthanasia.

And I’m in denial of the fact that…

My parents don’t believe me when I tell them I’m gay, and that they’re thinking along the lines: ‘As soon as she finds a nice boy he’ll straighten her out’.

My extended family thinks I’m an extremist because I choose to speak out about things that immoral and that I can appreciate the beauty of tattoos and their meaning, whether symbolic or otherwise.

My friends don’t bitch about me behind my back, because they’re meant to be my friends right?

So, here I am world.

The odd, quirky, eccentric person who wakes each morning a little bit different than the day before. A person with a loud mouth and stretch-marks on her bum (the only claim to fame she has). A person who enjoys pornography and finds sex fascinating. A person who still has no idea who she really is, but is determined to find out, whatever the cost.

I’m wanted: dead or alive.

– Cal.

walking into my past?

December 5, 2009

“If only I could run, I’d run so hard and fast that I may turn into the wind. And then, I would run again.”


Don’t I know you?

I’ve come to a conclusion: Unless I leave this great land called Australia I will forever be haunted with people from my hometown.

Or maybe I just need to go to the other side of the country?

This is the facts: 1. I am going to Uni next year at Canberra. 2. There are about 50 odd people from my hometown in Canberra. 3. For some reason we all go to the same pubs and clubs. 4. They think they know me.

Worst yet, two of my ex-classmates are going to be doing the same course as me, staying in the came accommodation and living in the same bloody dorm! I might be ready to pull out the cricket bat yet.

I know, I probably picked the worst place to go considering that many of the hometownians were already there but I’m not rich and I can’t afford to go anywhere else. Plus I don’t think my car would make it anywhere else, it’s pushing pretty far these days.

But I’m wondering, is having them around going to make me a bitch? I know myself, I know that when I feel threatened I usually have two reactions. Reaction number 1 is to punch that dickhead down, Reaction number 2 is to verbally assault them. Can you tell I have little self-control in terms of anger?

I should grow up, you know, get over it, but I just keep thinking about those things they said…

“Look at the fucking blonde slut… She’s bloody anorexic!”

“Aww, poor emo is depressed. Boo hoo.”

“Fucking druggo, why don’t you go work the corner like a good little whore?”

“Yeah, of course she was ‘assaulted’ more like she bloody asked for it!”

“Ugly, faggot dyke. Looking for some hairy, fat pussy are ya?”

And these things, they make me angry, and I can’t help it. When it comes to flight or fight, I fight and I fight hard. But for the past two years, because I haven’t been at school I’ve never been able to combat those words, to push back the rumours so even though none of them even saw me anymore, I was still a topic of discussion.

So now, I’ve worked my arse off so that I could get away and then I find out that all I’m doing is walking alongside them. Ahh, HELP ME!

These people made my life hell. I promised myself over and over that I would change the world, that I would make it different; that I would make A difference. Now I’m beginning to doubt.

I was going to prove them wrong but now my thoughts sort of go along the lines of… ‘What if they act that way and I can’t stop it? What if I end up leaving because like before, nothing was right. What if all these ideas they’re stupid and nobody will see the world that I see? WHAT IF?’

And I’m at a loss. I want to be a person who is whole and emotionally healthy and who can cry when they feel the need, and be calm inside and not have to feel like I’m continually pushing back against something. Because at some point in our life we all get tired of pushing.

And I’m so tired.

I don’t know what next year is going to be like, but if it turns out to be anything like my past I’m not going to be able to survive it. I’m going to have to run, like I always do. And this time I might not come back.

– Cal.

Feet thudding; pounding

“Where art thou going?”

You ask me a question; unanswerable

“Nowhere dear sir, nowhere at all.”

should i write it on my forehead?

November 23, 2009

“Nurture vs. Nature. Does it really matter anymore?”


‘What’s a femme?’

It seems this is a question I get asked far too much when trying to describe myself to people. You see, my description goes along the lines of: ‘Hi, I’m a kinky genderqueer femme dyke and feminist who sometimes doubts herself and who, majority of the time, is invisible. How are you?’

As soon as I hit the word “genderqueer” I see heads turn, but they never ask what that word means, instead it’s always: ‘What’s a femme?’

The irony is that they’re a femme, a straight femme of course, but still a femme. Then when I do explain what it is I’m met with a pause and then the famous…

‘But you’re gay.’


That’s a wrap.

I can’t take anymore.


Being a femme in a small homophobic community where the closest LGBT association I have is a two-hour drive away is something that requires a lot of talking. I’m almost at the stage where I’m going to write a report on it and hand it around the next time someone asks me, ‘What does _____ mean?’

But aside from my hometown I’ve found that in the LGBT community that I have been apart of, there is really no such thing as butch or femme here. This might be because majority of them are still finding their gender or are still trying to work out if they really are gay, but even then, in a community that I’ve chosen, I feel out of step.

My invisibility comes not from not being seen as “gay” or a “dyke” but because this community I associate with is young andfrom the fact that there is no real gender classification here. A lot of them have no idea what it means if I were to throw out the word “cisgender” and even the word “genderqueer” creates many raised eyebrows.

So I can’t adequately write about femme invisibility from the point of view as “femme” being particularly or not particularly acknowledged as a gender choice (for me, anyway). But I can say how a lack of knowledge can perhaps make you feel even more invisible. One day, maybe when those tomboys find their inner butch or when those sullen looking androgynous girls fit their feet back into those heels that I can just see are sitting in their closest; maybe then I can complain about my invisibility, but not now.

So, a little ragged and a little off-topic, but I think it has some zazz to it.

– Cal.


P.S. Don’t ask me what “zazz” means because I sure as hell don’t know.

P.P.S. This is my warped reply to the following posts:


Standing tall;


Did you hear that?

The deaf call…