Pages

Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Ding-Bat Class?

I don't mind being misunderstood, so much as I mind being misunderstood and then ridiculed, as was the case in one of my gender classes.

It's a small class of six students. Just six of us. Five women and one man. From the first class I could see trouble: these students hardly talk. When Teach asks a question, you can hear crickets chirping. I hate those awful silences, so I talk. And sometimes I get flack for it -flack I can live with so long as we end up having lively, fruitful discussions that move the class past a boring, uncomfortable snail's pace.

But today was different. The question was whether women ever wish to be men, and why. Personally, no, I don't wish to be a man. But I understand why women would (all the other women in my class) considering the inequities that still exist in some societies, negative perceptions of childbirth, etc.

This girl, call her Curly, was presenting on the subject and said that men enjoy sex more than women. I objected: Do they really? And if they do, isn't this because we have been socialised to believe that men ought to be more sexually dominant?? She rebutted me on the basis that men are (I interpreted that to mean naturally and inherently) more sexually virile and dominant. She went on to say that men find it easier to have orgasms than women.

I argued that the only reason we think men find it so easy to live out these sexual roles is because they've been conditioned by society to do so. In another society, things would probably be different.

Enter laughter here.

I relate a tribe in Mexico where the women are the sexually dominant ones. They approach men, initiate sexual intercourse, and have much more fun with sex than the men do. In fact, the men secretly administer suppressants to these women to cool them down... I argue that if sexual aggressiveness is really a natural, in-born masculine value, wouldn't all men everywhere display the same sexual behaviour? Margaret Mead's research backs me up.

Enter laughter again.

The entire class gets on my case about it. Curly says that for men, any hole will do. I refute. This is not an absolute and I think it's important to look at the explanations behind our actions rather than just accepting the 'absolute finality' of the actions themselves.

Laughter again. Enter Ruthi getting a little pissed and annoyed.

I don't know. Maybe my point wasn't very well-made. Maybe they didn't get what I was saying, or maybe I missed what they were trying to tell me... It just annoys me, though, that instead of trying to get what I was saying or explain clearly what they were saying, they all had a laugh-fest about it.

I guess my persuasion skills need work. Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it was a classic example of miscommunication.
Or maybe I'm in a class full of ding-bats!

Monday, September 29, 2008

The Maddening Family

My weekend in a nutshell:

1. The Ride Home
Daddy gets the urge to check on me every 5 minutes for a two-and-a-half-hour taxi ride: asking where I am, how much longer it will take me to reach home, how many people are in the taxi with me...

2. Arrival
Mummy calls (all the way from Canada, mind you). Her complaint: why don't I sign up for some phone plan and call her more often? She talks right through my explanation that I am studying, not working and therefore usually broke, and continues to berate me about being so distant...

3. Inspection
Auntie Flo comes over to me, squints her eyes, pinches my skin, pokes my ribs, then says: "But gyal, you a get mawga. Dem nah feed you ah town?"

I guess, one day, when I have children, I'll understand...

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Friday, September 26, 2008

Tagged 2: Introspection

This tag courtesy of Ruth Rhytswell...

Should inspire thought...

Give the first answer that comes to mind...

I AM … living, learning, growing… and loving it!!
I WANT… more clarity, wisdom
I HAVE … a heart packed up with dreams, fingers itching to write, a mind that refuses to be still, an expansive imagination… many trades, some mastery
I KEEP… books, and I mean all my books: notebooks, textbooks, scrapbooks, novels, magazines, devotionals, diaries and journals
I WISH I COULD … rewrite history??
I HATE … crowded closets and overused words
I FEAR … dying and adding to the wealth of potential that remains forever buried in a cemetery. That will not happen to me!
I HEAR … the sound of a revolution… lol. Nah, actually, I hear cars passing outside…
I DON’T THINK … I could tolerate being average, I like to stand out too much
I REGRET … not trying harder…
I LOVE … life. And good food!
I AM NOT … never communicating, so pay attention!
I DANCE … in stops and starts (hey, that’s my beat!)
I SING … when I have a song??
I NEVER … procrastinate (this is the future me, lol)
I RARELY … keep still, always moving…
I CRY WHEN I WATCH … anything! (I am a sap!)
I AM NOT ALWAYS … straightforward
I HATE THAT … I don't have everything I think I need
I’M CONFUSED ABOUT … the theory of relativity (I almost believe it, I think)
I NEED … money, and more time!! And love.
I SHOULD … be quick to listen, slow to speak... and I should get going. I'm already late for a class, lol

What about you?

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

I Had Real Teachers

Not the archetypal zombies who do the job solely for the salary, take out domestic frustrations on unsuspecting students, live a lie everyday they step into classrooms, unknowingly committing mass murder... I mean real teachers.

Primary School. One Miss Taylor comes to mind. That woman pushed me into public speaking, encouraged me to write my two-bit poems and short-stories, even allowed me to share them with the class. Showed me off like I was her prized possession, the jewel in her crown... (in retrospect, it probably wasn't very beneficial for my classmates), but the unwavering belief in my greatness killed the shy and antisocial in me...

High School. One Mr. McKenzie. I'll never forget the day he called a few of us out of class. Told us the story of the professor who gave pearls to all his students and encouraged them to excel. Explained that while he had no pearls, he had carefully selected words...

Another Mrs. Kerr-Harvey. Gave me my first real zero... Lawd, you know I bawled down the whole school bout that! Me? Zero?! For a 5-minute late paper? I nearly died! Some days I wanted to kill her: for the first time in my life, a teacher refused to choose me (!!) or any other student for that matter, as a favourite, but doled out equal treatment to everyone... no wonder we ALL love her now.

Mistresses Wilson and Mullings. A darling pair. No they're not gay, but they've been teaching together at that school for so long that they're like the proverbial bench and batty. Always so concerned about what I was doing. And in sixth form when I slacked off and was falling into the lethal throes of depression (I was spoilt rotten and getting a rude awakening), these two queens worked really hard to pull me back into more youthful, light-hearted, yet focused ways.

University. Images of a Mrs. Spence quickly appear. "Wake up to your own power!" she daily drummed into a hall-full of women's heads. And wake up we did.

Mr. Gibbings. My Trini daddy/mentor. Sweet memories of uncensored classes; unaltered writing styles appreciated as distinctive offerings from unique individuals; archaic ideas bounced around like the fallible, questionable theories of other mortals... Empowerment through encouragement and open-mindedness... A good human being. A great teacher. Coined my favourite phrase, "What a pound?"

I had real teachers. Not this rubbish in the classroom that takes the sparkle out of kids' eyes, turns them into dull, monotonous machines regurgitating text-book edicts. Too many rules, one smart old lady told me. Too many rules that restrict action, thought, self-expression and self-realisation...

I had real teachers. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Famous For the Wrong Reasons

Ananda Dean. This little girl is famous in Jamaica right now.

Not because she won a government scholarship. Or can sing like an angel. Or can recite poems. Or is a netball or sprint champion.

She is missing.

A $350,000 reward is being offered for her safe return. It's been days. They found her schoolbooks.

The mother's desperate plea: "Please, I don't care who you are. Throw her outta the car at a police station or somewhere... Please, just leave her somewhere we can find her."

But I think she knows... I think we all know...
Yet we quietly pray, and desperately hope...

**UPDATE** Ananda Dean's decomposing body was found in bushes in Cyprus Hill, St. Andrew. RIP Ananda.

Monday, September 22, 2008

No Air, No Air...

::Tell me how I'm supposed to breathe
With no air
Can't live, can't breathe
With no air
That's how I feel
Whenever you aint there
No air, no air...::

:: became the anthem of a bus-full of commuters travelling from Papine to Crossroads/Downtown this evening.

Packed to capacity, the bus was an acrid mixture of human odour, and stifling body heat. You could feel the steamy vapour rising off the hot tar on the road, squeezing between closely-packed cars on the traffic-jammed route, seeping into the bus, inspiring sticky trickles of sweat down blouse-backs, on necks, on foreheads and behind ears; little beads of sweat on arms and legs and above lips; stuffy, hot air taking a slow choke-hold on every-one's lungs...

When the radio started to play Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown's 'No Air', the whole bus lustily sang along, directing their words at the driver...

"Driver, gi we some breeze nuh!" One irate passenger said, to many shouts of agreement: "Yes, AC, driver, AC!"

The driver, not missing a beat, took up a huge, flat notebook and started to fan. With a little smile, a shrug and eyes pleading understanding, he turned to his audience and sang, "No air, no air..."

The bus exploded with laughter.