Okay, so doing a series of posts about Uni didn’t pan out. However, I’ve recently started watching vlogbrothers on Youtube (which I suppose officially makes me a nerd fighter?) and I realised that they basically talking about anything that comes to their mind. Sure, a lot of times, content is planned, but basically watching their channel has started to open my mind and make me remember all these narratives I have in my head, some of which I even often repeat to myself, probably because I have no one to tell them to. Watching their vlogs, I often think that I could do that too (even having a vlog channel with my sister in a few of them), but then I realised I could just use this website again. Let’s face it, making vlogs isn’t really my thing; making blogs is.
So, this is probably going to be a series, because there are many narratives I often tell myself, and speaking widely I often forget them. Today’s narrative is most likely going to be about my childhood.
When I was a little girl, I was kinda girly. I liked Baby Born and Barbies, and I think one of us had a Susie Stretch. I even had girly PC dress up games, with Barbie, and Angelica from Rugrats. It was pretty ridiculous, but see the thing is, at some point I began to get jealous of my sister (which is funny, because mum’s always saying she’s the jealous one) because she was a tomboy, and probably more importantly, she was closer to my dad. For many years, I tried to get my dad’s attention, and in the end, I did it the same way I later tried to get boys’ attention: by becoming more like them. Dad’s the reason I’m now such a fast eater. Although, to be fair, I was already a fast chips eater, because I liked to play pick up sticks with my food whenever we got McDonald’s. But basically, I became a fast eater because of dad, because whenever we ate together, he’d always finish way ahead of me, so I started to race him. Eventually, I managed to finish first. However, fast eating became a habit. A not-healthy one, apparently.
Anyway, I didn’t actually make the final idea to start being a tomboy until my social awkwardness was pushed too far one night. My primary school often put on discos, and I often went. I remember closing myself up in the bathroom, refusing to go back out, though I don’t remember why. I remember making a vow, for some unknown reason, to be more like a boy, because I thought maybe I’d be stronger then.
And I’ve often looked back on that moment, feeling both grateful and pitying myself that I thought it made any difference to my strength at all. Most of the time, I don’t think it made me any stronger than I am now. It just made me who I am. I couldn’t go back to my former self if I wanted to. If I did, I’d only feel wrong and out of place. Which perhaps says something about me that I was able to do it back then. Back then, as always, my social awkwardness made me feel shitty. But these days, I call myself awesome as well. Back then I never did. I tend to think that for girly girls in our culture, they are treated more shitty, put down more often, and that perhaps besides the awesomeness I am now, if I’d stayed that way, I’d be more subject to it. So in that way, I’m glad I changed. Perhaps I even am stronger, without even realising it.
There is another thing I’d like to talk about before I finish this post. My mum always accuses my sister of being jealous of me. This has always ticked me off, especially given the knowledge that throughout primary school, teachers always told her to be more like me. This drove a lot of her early bad behaviour towards me back then, including one time lying to her friends that I wet the bed. I didn’t wet the bed, nor did I have friends, but I sure had a lot of people around to make fun of me. Back then, I didn’t think of my sister as so unloyal at all. In fact, I pretty much assumed that all family had to be nice to each other as a rule. So when I found out it was her that started the rumour, I nearly screamed my guts out. Until she told me that they had basically pulled it out of her, so I forgave her. It wasn’t until many years later, when I was more mature, that I found out that none of that was true. And despite how devastated I was when I first found out, at that point I didn’t have the heart to scream at her as I would’ve then. But I deeply regretted not having done so, as horrible as it felt. It seemed unjust that she never got at least that punishment for her behaviour.
Anyway, I’m digressing, that wasn’t the point of the story. When my sister later went the same school as I did, in high school, she was basically told the same thing again, that she should be more like me. This was the first time I’d ever known people had told her that, and she revealed that whole history to me. I’d never known this as a child. If I had known, it would’ve sent me into a spiral of loathing: ‘Why would you want her to be more like me? No one should be like me. I have the worst problems…’ But I know why. Because I’m polite, respectful, a good girl. In this case, my sister had been caught writing bad things about her teacher. And her teacher (and that teachers husband, who was also a teacher there) had it out with her and mum. They withdrew her from the upcoming class trip to New Zealand, even though we’d already paid, and refused to refund us. We had no say in the matter either, that was her punishment. Eventually, my sister just left. (Although, I should point out, she had also bullied other classmates, so…)
Norm, the teacher’s husband from this story, also came up to me at some point and told me to my face that my sister should be more like me. That was the first time anyone had done that. I felt insulted, as I would’ve in primary, only perhaps more mildly. I was tempted to repeat back what I would’ve said back then, regretting the fact that it took so long for me to figure out what they thought, but I said nothing. My words froze in my mouth, and he passed me by.
I’m not even sure if I even told my sister of that incident, I don’t remember. Oh well.