To the Partner I Am Not Looking For
Hi there! I am fully aware of how for many people, that I am trying to write here, is as if I am a sad girl, longing for “love,” in some kind. Yet, in all of my consciousness, sober, and without any influence, I want to write this for the me now and in the future.
So, here it goes,
I never need a partner. Yes, you, we, read it correctly. I never need a partner. I made this decision based on what I know, what I have been molded into, what I have experienced, my own stories.
As a child, growing in a conservative and patriarch circle, I was constantly taught that a woman’s fate lies in the hand of (her) man. Even, no matter how amazing God in Heaven is, I was constantly being reminded that “He” would listen to penises first, before vaginas, simply because penises are ought to rule, to define. Vaginas don’t.
By the time, I never had the choices nor resources. (And it’s not like I can know what lies beyond the circle. I was a fucking child).
I was stuck in that circle. I needed to stick with that norm and status quo, to stay “sane” and “attributed,” otherwise I would be kicked out of the ‘circle,’ ‘alone,’ ‘unwanted,’ ‘unidentified.’
I also followed through the other code; vaginas stayed with other vaginas, not penises. (It would be unruly to do so).
Vaginas must think like other vaginas
Vaginas must behave like other vaginas
Vaginas must never ask questions, just follow the flow
Vaginas don’t become, we are mere extensions to the world created ‘by’ and ‘for’ penises (like “God”). We are the second fiddles.
Vaginas make room for penises, even when penises don’t reciprocate. Maybe it has something to do with their inherent function: “to penetrate,” “to invade”
Most importantly, I was taught that all vaginas want the same thing; stability, being owned, being domesticated
Obviously, I didn’t. I have never. I will never.
But I needed an identity. My vagina was the one stuck with me. So, my stupid logic succumb to it. Because I didn’t know I had choices. I never even knew what choices were. It ran for long, long, long, beyond my sanity, loosing me in the process.
Simply told, I sucked being a vagina.
So, I fled, trying to be a penis.
I acted like them, I behaved like them
I became aggressive, I fought, I shut my ears for healthy discussions, going with my fist instead
I became loud, I enforced
I became unhealthily competitive, obsessed, and unapologetic
I became heartless, emotionless, wordless
I became façade
I became cool, I became a fucker
I became unruly
I acted with my head, “less” with my heart
And yet, somewhere deep inside me, I know: I lied. I didn’t live fully myself.
Because I was never a penis. I was always a vagina, I am a vagina.
I have always been, I will always be.
My vagina is the part of me, the best part of all.
Still, I never fail to wonder: what if I have always been both a vagina and a penis? Most importantly, why must I always define my identity, just to fucking live the values I want to instill in myself and in this world I too, will leave behind?
So, even as young as I am now, I am already, and have always been, torn in between two worlds, “Am I a penis enough, or a vagina enough?” The kind of struggle is fucking real, even as I write this.
Let’s just say, my privileges: the books I have read (and more to come), the people I got to see (and more to encounter), the places I got to be (and will be), taught (and will constantly teach) me beyond anything could tell:
“Why do humans always have this urge to stand in extreme edges of choices and differences? “Man” or “woman,” black or white, good or evil, religious or atheist, left-ist or right-ist? Why can’t we just define what we believe as ‘us,’ ourselves, even if it against oddity, combining the two, three, four, five worlds?”
Thus, I lived by that faith every single day, at this very seconds, and the many more to come
I am competitive, and deep down I am sensitive and feeling
I am confrontational, and I always strive for knowledge and people to understand my point, instead thriving to prove I am always right
I have a head and heart which works completely in-sync, in a state that is almost impossible to be elaborated; you need to see me, and measure me by yourself
I respect tradition and conservatism, despite I live by the playbook I define as my own
I have goals and ambitions for me, and deep, deep, deep down, I consciously and voluntarily take my (small circle of) people’s matter (dream, goals, etc), as the part of me. This is the room I enforce inside my life. Because that’s how I “love,” how I function as the citizen of earth. Still, I will never drop mine, just because the social code said so
I am fiercely independent. I go, do, be, behave, decide my own why, how, what, and where. Nevertheless, deep down, if you matter that much, you will see what a crybaby, or an easily insecure or unsure person I am (Oh, and how a great critique I am to myself)
I am those women all; Eowyn, Merida, Deborah, Athena, Cleopatra, Hella, Queen Elizabeth I, Martha Tiahau, and Frigga, Kartini, Jane Austen, Esther, Ada Lovelace, Marie Curie, and Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
I am not a penis, neither I am a vagina
I am me, something I never want to define. Something I just will always live by
Consciously, I am fully aware that I live in the world where the norm coded that someone “must be” with someone else. Yes, I will never succumb to it.
But, it would be unrealistic to state that those beliefs didn’t, don’t, or will never penetrate or disturb the calm and serene place inside my system. It is unrealistic to state that I will always immune to it.
Even, logically, this very writing was made because in one way or the other, I am disturbed, again.
So, I’ll say that I write to reinstate and instill deeper something inside both my consciousness and unconsciousness; I don’t need anyone. I need myself. I love me, I support me, I fill me, I soothe me, I save me, I look up to me, I stand up for me.
It is not some sort of selfishness or lonesomeness. Rather, I will always argue how this is the most unselfish thing a human being must always do.
Because, as I have told, I play by my own playbook, norms, and codes. I am fully aware of how complicated (even controversial) they can be. So, rather having “you” or other people to force themselves to “fit” me, I create my own boundaries to make, especially in personal matter.
I don’t need, nor I want a partner. Because I am sufficient on my own, and I don’t want to be unfair for anyone else.
Besides, now I have learned and implemented something: I am, bearing a vagina, is complete, sufficient, whole. I am enough.
I don’t need a penis (nor its baby(ies)) to “validate” I am a human being “enough,” or to state I am deserving to be on earth, the place created “by” and “for” men.
But, as we all are aware, there will always be a limit to what I know. So, maybe, one day, “you” come, then tell, assure, and nurture something I never knew, yet is crucial in making me, even more me. (As much as perhaps, for you, I filled the gap in your unknowingness to make yourself better)
After all along, after all this time
Even then, we both have to understand this; we don’t need each other, we don’t complete one another, we don’t fill any gaps in ourselves. (Most crucially, we don’t heal nor change one-another. We must fix our own issues, not other people’s responsibilities, no matter how “loved” they are).
We are two people completely content being us, we co-exist, we are independent-whilst together. We supplement each other in ways beyond words can describe (I can’t tell now, because obviously, I still have no idea what I don’t know, in this matter, no?)
And again, for myself to you and me, I will always state it loud and clear: It will never be my responsibility to make you feel you have lived up your penis enough (like, by “putting me in my place”)
However, at “that time,” I will, what the mainstream would call, “love” you beyond words, beyond measure, beyond any “normality”
Still, if “you” never come, I am complete and fine on my own. So, if that is the scenario, the ‘you’ I have been addressing all along, is myself
Sincerely,
Myself, the first and forever love of my life
February 10th, 2020
In Between Reading “The Moment of Lift,” by Melinda Gates
(And seeing how she became more of herself, because despite in her whole privileges and all, she chooses to be independent, outspoken, smart, although choosing to stay silently behind as a mastermind, with her own voice, by being in her equal relationship with her husband)
Prominent Queen est. 1995 