I wrote a piece over on fvdedcollective.com titled ‘Bursaries and Virginities’ and it’s my response to a report about a university in South Africa offering bursaries to female students who remain celibate and undergo regular testing to ensure they are sticking to the terms of the agreement. You can check it out here. I feel like I’m not done talking about it yet because it really is a segue into a lot of deeper issues that weigh on my mind a lot of the time. I was angry when I wrote that post but now I feel like I can reason a bit better.
I was talking to a few of my friends in university about this and almost all of them said they would accept this bursary and the aforementioned testing just because they were already virgins and they didn’t plan on having sex before graduating from university anyway. But what I didn’t get is why they didn’t get that this whole situation was the biggest pile of shit in the first place. So I guess this is what I would say to them if they would listen to me and my words flowed as naturally as they do when I’m sitting in front of a computer screen.
I understand wanting to remain celibate as much as I understand wanting to have sex and I understand wanting to have an education and not having the funds for it at the time. I understand why this could seem appealing but I don’t understand why one has to choose. I don’t understand why sex has to be used as a weapon against a woman or anyone.
At the end of the day, I am a human being first. I am an intellectual being, I am a sexual being. I feel things, I want things. I have the capability to be anything I want with everything that I am. We are all sexual beings so why is sex something that I have to choose? It’s the choice that irritates me. It’s the fact that I have to choose between wanting to expand my mind or taking part in this fundamental act of life. It’s this notion that all I present to you is what’s between my legs and nothing more. Why can’t I have the possibility of both?
The reasoning behind this bursary was to minimise the spread of STDs and unwanted pregnancies and all that jazz. But do these things happen on their own? Do I click my fingers and demand to have chlamydia or have a foetus grow inside of me? It takes two to tango. Everyone is super quick to point the finger at females in almost all cases that involve sex. Be it rape, be it harassment, anything that involves consent or sex itself going wrong, females are seen as the problem and 9 times out of 10, I bet a female didn’t bring any of the issues on to herself. No one has stopped to consider the problem could stem from a male?
There are basics rights as a human being and from all I see and from what I know, the experiences of a female in this day and age are inexplicably tied to her sexuality. And it saddens me. We are so much more, we are not just sex. Too many times, I hear women saying they need to change what they are to change the outcome of situation that involves a member of the opposite sex. We have to do all the work or we need to be the defining factor. In my head, inequality is tied to the saying “from who much is given, much is required”. My one sole question that I will continue to ask is “why?” Yes, we are a bundle of intricacies and we do so much for the world but we’re not the only ones here. I just wish I knew why it was always down to women to be the sacrificial lamb in almost all situations.
Georgina ❤
Songs of the Week
And of course, The Life of Pablo but Kanye’s being difficult so either subscribe to Tidal or download it somewhere. It’s great. It’s in my top 3 Kanye albums, I’m not ashamed to say it.
I know I said I wouldn’t talk about boys but listen: I have no choice, I have to or else, there’s simply no way for me to articulate what I have to say, I apologise.
Let me first state the obvious: we are all entitled to an opinion. Whether we are asked to vocalise it is one thing but we all think things, there’s nothing anyone can do about that. What pisses me off is being on the receiving end of these completely unwarranted opinions and then having to receive the backlash of not agreeing with said person’s opinion.
Now, back to our regular scheduled programme.
There is an individual in my class who has taken an acute interest in my outward appearance and it’s grinding my gears. Really, really, grinding. I’m really over this notion that a woman can only wear makeup or decide to put an effort into her outfit or whatever and it automatically has to be for “the man”. If I say it is, then it is. If I don’t, who the hell do you think you are assuming it’s all for you?
It first started with a few hit and miss comments here and there like “Oh, who have you dressed up for then?” and “You look really pretty today, what’s happening?” Not only were these little sayings utterly unwarranted, they were backhanded as hell. So every other day, I look like trash or? Pardon? Then came the one that really just sent me over the cliff. Wait for it:
“If you wore makeup everyday, you would be perfect.”
Now, let’s take a moment to consolidate what this statement actually means, let’s break it all the way down. Let’s delve into the mind of this utterly filterless, brainless, sack of idiocy and try and decipher what this one-liner meant:
Your God-given, natural, bare face is inadequate for me to even consider finding you attractive (or looking at you or dating you, I have no bloody clue) and I have decided that it is makeup and makeup alone that can solve this conundrum. You have to look appealing to me at all times, so do it. Now.
Ladies and gentlemen, are you shaking your heads with me right now? Believe me when I say I didn’t take this comment lying down, oh no. It would have been a disservice to womanhood if I let such a thing come out of his mouth and leave it unchecked. But what gets to me above all of this is simply the fact that he didn’t get where he was wrong. He didn’t get that he couldn’t say stuff like that to me or to anyone and think it was okay.
This issue of male entitlement, I don’t think it can ever be solved. I think it’s a neurological thing, a difference in brain chemistry because it’s too damn common to just be down to conceitedness. I don’t understand how every little showcase of self-love has to be attributed to me wanting to please a member of the opposite sex. That’s not all I am, that’s not the entirety of what women are here to do. There are a gazillion and one intricacies that make me up but for some reason, a boy just wants to see it all as me wanting to impress him?
Here’s the big question: why do you feel this is so? Do you pay my rent or do you buy my groceries? Do you stay up all night and memorise chemistry mechanisms for me? Do you even care about my wellbeing, physically or even mentally? Are we emotionally invested in each other? Do you have anything to do with me besides sitting in the same classroom as me? Yet you just want to think every little iota of my appearance is based on warding off or attracting attention from the likes of you. You want to reduce me into nothing more but a billboard on legs, because that’s all it is, right? Give me a break.
I keep saying this and I will always say it: ladies, do you. I can’t stress this enough. Nobody can govern you, no one can police you. I know the privilege of self-expression isn’t as easy for some as it is for others but one day, I hope and pray, that a world will exist where women can do whatever the hell they want without having to explain or justify themselves. Until then, crush comments like the ones I’ve mentioned above and just generally tell people to shut up.
The saga continues. I had another run-in with my friend and let’s just say the blissful nothingness that occurred after the goings-on of last week’s post didn’t last for long. The timing was perfect for the blog post though, no?
“What happened this time?”
“I was walking down the hall and I walked straight into him.”
“What happened, woman?”
“He said the biggest hello to my friend but he couldn’t even look me in the eye.”
“Maybe he didn’t want your friend to get a clue.”
“No. It was almost like he was ashamed of it; it felt like he couldn’t wait to get away from me. He didn’t even say anything to me.”
“That’s extreme.”
“That’s how it felt. And then it made me feel really, really shitty about the whole thing.”
“Like you regretted it?”
“Yeah. I just wanted to redo everything and kick him out of my room that night. I mean, why should he get to ignore me when he came on to me? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Boys don’t make sense, get used to it.”
“Still. It’s all so fucked up.”
“But didn’t you both say it wouldn’t happen again?”
“Yeah we did, that doesn’t mean he should act like I don’t exist.”
“Do you think he’s told everyone?”
“I’m not worried about that, I just don’t appreciate this sudden switch on me. What’s even funnier, I’ve seen him more times since our little thing than before everything happened combined. Combined.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“I can’t do anything. I just have to live with it and pray he stops being such an asshole.”
“And pigs will fly shortly after, surely.”
“Stop. I just don’t get it. I mean, you can hook up with someone and at least be cordial after, right?”
“Easier said than done. Maybe he just can’t look at you without thinking about what’s underneath your clothes.”
“That’s so stupid. I don’t look at him and automatically think about his third arm.”
“Why you lyin’?”
“I don’t though. Oh well, my hooking up days are over.”
“You barely even started.”
“Exactly why it’s good to stop right now.”
Moral of the story: don’t think you can get away with it. I keep saying this and I will always say it; I’ll scream it even: you cannot partake in sexual tings (yes, I said tings), be it all the way or thereabout, without feeling something, anything. Be it remorse, happiness, guilt, closure or that sensation that swells up in you where even you can’t put your finger on it, that feeling of static, whatever it is: you will feel something. We’re human beings and sex is a combination of feelings, it’s a physical manifestation of emotions, whether you like it or not. At the time, it could feel awesome but then the aftermath will sneak up on you and it’ll have you thinking all kinds of things, bad things, haunting things. It’ll have you doing all kinds of things, just to escape or embrace the reality of what has happened.
Maybe it depends on the person: if you know you have guts of steel and you can go back to absolute normality with a person after the deed has been done, then bravo. If you can’t, put it back in your pants or in your bra or whatever. It just leaves a trail of awkward little balls of rage and semi-broken hearts all over the place. It’s a mess, a mess that could be avoided if we all didn’t give in to every little sexual whim that blew our way. But, then again, that whim is pretty demanding. Ah, what an impasse.
Or is my friend just being too naive? Are hookups a definitive end to basic friendliness? Surely, that cannot be right.
At the end of the day, the boy in question really just has a lot of growing up to do as do all boys who do this exact same thing to gazillions of girls out there.
In less strenuous news, I actually like university this year, like, a lot. Almost all my lectures are super interesting, studying over everything doesn’t seem like a death sentence anymore. Only downside, there’s so much group work and it is so annoying, I can’t stress this enough. On the other hand, lab sessions are so cool now. I got to work with hydrazine. Hydra-freaking-zine. That’s rocket fuel. Actual rocket fuel. I still get all mystified when I think about it. Even though I didn’t propel anything in to space, it’s still cool, shh.
Until next week or whenever,
Xièxie! (That means ‘thank you’ in pinyin (a variation of Mandarin) which I’m a total pro at now.)
I have been MIA for way too long, I know. I couldn’t think of what to write and I wasn’t even prepared to bullshit you or myself through something meaningless. They say time is the best answer to everything (they don’t, I’m just making it up as I go along) but that’s all I needed. I got my mojo back.
When we were little, there was always this curiousity towards the opposite sex. There was the whole “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” kind of thing. There was this air of innocent intrigue, keyword being innocent. From year 4-6 of primary school, the whole class used to chill together, we were all friends, good friends, friends that MSN’d together at 6pm until dinner was ready. I personally think I skipped the “boys have cooties” phase, I was born hormonally charged. I’ve always liked boys; I didn’t shy for them nor them me either. I think I had my first kiss when I was 8. I remember being so blasé when we’d play truth or dare as young’uns when first kisses were imagined by others and cherished on the top shelf of the mind of others, kept with all the much-loved memories. I didn’t see it as something monumental. It was just a thing. It was almost something I could do without.
Did your mum ever give you that talk that scared the shit out of you when you were younger? Did she ever tell you touching a boy could get you pregnant? I am so lucky for a mother who didn’t wreck my mind like that. I don’t think I knew the actual mechanics of sex until I was 11/12. Boarding school made sure I knew every single excruciating detail.
But what I’m saying is, when we were young, heterosexual friendships weren’t something that was out of the blue. They didn’t threaten anyone, really. Seeing a young boy and a girl being friends didn’t necessarily raise eyebrows as it does now. Drama evolves with time. It may have been around when we were prepubescent and it is ever so present now that we are grown but it’s just so much more in your face. The fact that you’re not meant to have a genuinely friendly friendship with a member of the opposite sex is fiercely shoved down your throat. You are almost taught to believe your platonic relationship is destined to become tinged by attraction eventually. Just wait on it.
For instance, let’s say your girlfriend/boyfriend has a best friend of the opposite sex. Wouldn’t you want to know everything about this supposed best friend; be everywhere when your significant other and said best friend are together and most importantly, know whether they are having/had sex or not? It is just impossible to have peace of mind when your lover has an opposite sex friend who was there before you. There’s no way you would allow for such a friendship to form when you are in the picture, no way in hell.
Once we reach a particular age, I’m going to say 16 as that is the legal age (stay safe, kids) even though I witnessed this and have lived this since I was 12 – platonic relationships between the sexes do not exist. You cannot have a friend who is a boy/girl and just leave it at that level. There is always that underlining tone of sex being whispered in the background even if you know in your heart that you’re not necessarily attracted to the person. I remember I was texting someone I had just met and we were in that phase of asking questions and once I got past the standard enquiries such as how old are you, where are you from, what university are you studying in, I went straight for “do you have a girlfriend?” even though I knew I wouldn’t ever be with this person in any way shape or form. Or the time I was texting someone whom I had again just met and less than an hour into our text-versation and establishing common ground, he was asking to meet with a wink emoji. The wink emoji. It’s almost primal, dare I say it. Maybe it’s our bodies’ way of ensuring we find a mate and by doing so, we are psychologically programmed to find a potential, secure said potential, establish then eliminate competition. Occasionally and unknowingly, you just catch yourself on the first step of this process and ask yourself “wait what? I don’t even like him/her, what the hell am I doing?”
I guess with age, what is important to me changes. I’m getting old, I am 19 years of age. Before I can blink, the –teen will be a distant memory. With age comes maturity; comes change that I can’t fend off even if I wanted to. My attention has shifted to what matters now but might not matter in 10 years. Tastes have changed, tolerance has changed. Things that mattered, don’t. Things that I couldn’t think about without feeling a huge swirl of emotion only make me smile now. Every little thing that happens to me is a lesson to be learnt, wisdom to be acquired, another gem to be kept. The drama evolves but it will always be around. Maybe when I’m 29, I’ll look back at this phase in time and laugh too.
Song of the Week
This song makes me bust a move.
And this tune tune tuneeee. This album came out the year I was born.
I will be back, promise. I’ve missed writing. I’ve missed you, blogosphere.
I’m sorry for my flakiness with this blog lately. I made an oath to post every week and I will keep trying my hardest to keep that oath. I’m just swamped in exam revision which is sucking me dry of creative juices. Don’t tell me that sounds dirty. Bear with me, please and thank you.
The 15th of April was the hottest day of the year (for the UK) so far. It was around 26 degrees and it was lovely and naturally, my skin had to breathe so I dressed down. I wasn’t naked, my chesticles weren’t in anyone’s face but I felt pretty so it must have exuded from me. That’s my big word for today – exude.
And here, we see Georgina unashamedly seizing the moment to slip a selfie in her post because, obviously, she was indeed feeling herself that day.
I got on the train and I was minding my business, reading Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie which is going so well, listening to Deathcamp by Tyler, The Creator which is also amazing and I noticed this man. He was not my type at all. Well, I can’t really say that because I don’t truly have a type. I thought I did but opinions change, growth happens, eyes open. But, I wasn’t attracted to him, let me just say that. But, like I said, I paid him no mind. I couldn’t have even heard him with my headphones in so if he was confessing his love for me, I would have missed it. The train was rolling in to my stop so I got up and walked to the train doors to wait and this man got there before me and he was on the side of the doors with the buttons so me exiting the train was down to him pressing them anyway. Train stops, he presses the button and I get off the train. I’m standing on the platform, looking at the departure board for my next train and as I look away from it, the man is staring at me as he walks away. He’s not looking at me in a stalker, I-will-kill-you way but in a I-see-you way, in a damn-you-could-get-it way. Now, I’m a bit of a jumpy person, I cannot be helped. The time between me looking away from the departure boards and me acknowledging this man looking at me was half a second and he was quite close to me, not in my bubble but close so I did a little leap accompanied by a little yelp, a quiet yelp so he probably didn’t hear. And you know what he did? He chuckled at me and walked down the platform, looked at me one more time, got on his train and waved goodbye to me.
The whole thing was endearing but I want to break down the mental chemistry of what goes on in my mind when a member of the opposite sex gives me the eye. Just me, I can’t speak for every woman in cases like this, to avoid stereotyping, I don’t want trouble.
On one hand, I am losing my mind with self-pride. My thought process is simply “YES, YOU’VE STILL GOT IT. SLAY THESE BISHES.” It’s a confidence booster, I can’t lie. I’m that person that can live off my own confidence but silently craves assurance from other people. I won’t beg for compliments but I really want them. Even if the person looking at me isn’t someone I would go for, it still gives me a sense that not all hope is lost, you know what I mean? I feel desirable, I feel sensuous, I feel womanly. Is it sad that a simple look of interest can evoke feelings like this in me? Possibly. Am I ashamed to own up to it? Not in the slightest.
On the other hand, I’m also losing my mind with how socially unjust it is. Hear me out. My thought process is “AM I JUST A PIECE OF MEAT TO YOU? DO I LOOK EASY? IS IT BECAUSE I HAVE THE MOST GRABBABLE PAIR OF MELONS YOU’VE SEEN TODAY OR BECAUSE MY ASS FILLS OUT MY JEANS AND MY THIGHS HAVE NO INKLING OF A GAP BETWEEN THEM, IS THAT WHY YOU’RE LOOKING AT ME, WONDERING WHAT MY MOUTH DOES, WONDERING WHAT I LOOK LIKE UNDER THESE ITEMS OF CLOTHING, WONDERING WHAT I’D LOOK LIKE SPRAWLED OUT NAKED ON YOUR BED? IS THAT ALL I AM TO YOU?”
It’s all very conflicting. It’s incredibly gratifying yet totally unwanted all at once. I want to be the object of someone’s desire but I don’t want to be this object that is only meant to be lusted over. I want to be more than a thought that generates arousal for you. I wantto be approached, who the hell doesn’t? I’m not about to die alone. It could be anything: you can slide up in my DMs, you can smile at me, you can do anything. Just don’t look at me as if you’ve already conquered me in the bedroom of your imagination.
But yeah, that’s just how it is for me. I’m a hot mess but a mess nonetheless.
Album of the Week: Tyler, The Creator isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, I know. He’s loud as hell and he says “fuck” as many times as I say “like” when I’m trying to explain something. But his music is good, I can’t say why I like his stuff, I just do. He’s grown so much from the Goblin era. He’s calmer, his music is a lot less angry. Give Cherry Bomb a try.
Georgina ❤
P.S. I made a Facebook, a bit late, I know but I’m trying to make a page for the blog but I want to make it all pretty so when it’s ready to be liked, I shall let you know. And you better like it, or I’ll kick your asses.
This is pretty long, just thought I’d warn you. It’s almost like an essay. Just my inner humanities student popping out, as you’ll be able to tell soon enough. Get comfy, get a cup of tea and try to understand what I’m trying to talking about.
Being on the internet at around 1 AM has never been a good idea, especially if you’re half asleep but too lazy to transfer yourself to bed but nonetheless, everything happens for a reason. I was half-heartedly scrolling through my tumblr dashboard when I came across this gif photoset. It was then that I realised the Universe was trying to get me to talk about something in particular instead of what I had originally planned to write about this week. I want to talk (or more appropriately, ask) about why life is so seemingly hard for a woman, anywhere and it seems, at any given time.
Friday: I was on the train home, reading the Evening Standard (it’s a newspaper) and there were these horrific pictures of these women who had been facially deformed by acid attacks, tucked away in the middle section of the paper next to an advert for something meaningless. There was a less than 200-word article attached to the pictures, explaining how a former-NHS doctor had gathered £50,000 to travel to Pakistan and perform facial reconstruction on these women out of the goodness of his heart. The article went on to explain how sulphuric acid is as cheap as 15p in Pakistan and why the women were attacked: out of jealousy; out of spite for rejecting a marriage proposal. I was mortified to say the least.
Saturday: I found out that one of the girls I went to primary school with got married. There’s something about marrying young that unnerves me nowadays. At one point, it was all I could think about: I would daydream and wish I could get married that very second because marriage seemed to be the solution to everything. But now, I think, I’m only now just truly beginning to understand who I am and creating, or better yet, discovering my identity. If I were to get married, how would I know who I really am? How could anybody really know who they are if they get married at such a young age? Do you understand my logic or am I just being difficult?
Anyway, I was showing my mum the pictures of the wedding and from there, we started talking about marriage itself. You always hear a lot of wives saying “marriage isn’t easy, it takes a lot of work, it’s all about compromise, you have to keep your husband happy and interested” and I’m sure most of you have seen how your mothers are with your fathers. Well, I started to ask my mum what it was really all about. I asked her if I would have to change or conform my personality, my being, in order to live a happily married life and she told me “No way. You have to hold on to your identity, you cannot become someone else, how could you expect to last long if you had to play a different person every single day?”
And naturally, I started thinking. It wasn’t until I saw that photoset that my thoughts really began to accumulate. Maybe this is just an African thing, no, a Nigerian thing, but wives are expected to:
Know how to cook.
Know how to clean.
Pop them babies on demand but finding out you’re pregnant when it wasn’t planned is entirely your fault.
A career? What the hell is a career?
Cater to her husband in every way possible. Keep him happy. Keep him satisfied. Keep him interested. If he wanders, it has to be your fault.
Keep yourself together, you are someone’s permanent arm candy now.
It’s just how we’re raised, it’s what we see and what we hear, it’s what is expected.
But, I must ask, why is this expected of me? Why should I have to be the chef, the maid, the baby boomer, the housewife, the walking beauty salon just to keep a marriage functioning? Why should I have to alter my body’s hormonal chemistry to ensure the sex feels “good” as opposed to a man simply putting on a damn piece of rubber? Why should I have to be physically destroyed all because I won’t marry you? Why does my life have to be so hard just to keep a man happy? Who comes up with these things? It’s all down to something we know as gender roles.
It baffles me how unjust the little things of this world are, even on a social, day-to-day level. A boy can bang all the girls from here to China because “boys will be boys” but a girl can lose her virginity and be diminished in an instant. A girl could choose to not have sex until she’s married or until she’s 100% sure she knows what she’s doing but she can be called a prude and uptight for something that has absolutely nothing to do with anyone else but herself. Girls are expected to be homely and want to stay at home so it’s almost a natural response to see a woman who has never been married, never had any kids but has an amazing career and a beautiful legacy and call her selfish or to say she doesn’t have her priorities straight but if a man does it, it’s totally fine. Do you see what I mean though? Even on a musical level, Beyoncé addresses her sexuality on her self-titled album and all hell broke loose but these useless men can scream about bad bitches and f*cking women on a daily and be praised for it and have the balls to call that trash music? Why does having a penis ensure such an easy ride in life when a vagina is what brought you here in the first place?
You might argue and say it is fundamentally so, women just have to be that way, women have to serve, they have to be submissive, that is what they’re there for. You could say our bodies are biologically designed to be nurturing and delicate so we must depend on another man to exist. It’s fine if you want to live your life that way but all I’m asking is, why is this so in the first place and why is it such a bad thing if a woman doesn’t want to be all these things?
I guess this is why I’d make a good scientist, I like to ask questions, as you can see. And maybe in 10 years’ time, when I’m blissfully married and my husband irons our clothes whilst I cook our dinner; runs errands whilst I look through this blog, I can answer all these questions because somehow and some miraculous way, all will be right with the world and women will finally be given the absolute respect and reverence and undiminished equality that we so absolutely deserve.
Even I don’t know why I feel so strongly when it comes to things like marriage because, hey, I’m still young and I do want to get married, it is an ambition of mine, it’s not what I live for but it is something I want. As long as it’s a partnership not a domination. I’m pretty sure I’ve scared off a reasonable chunk of potential suitors because what boy doesn’t get scared shitless when marriage is mentioned let alone by someone who is as strongly-voiced as I seem to be?
Regardless, I will get married in the fairly distant future to someone who will see the world through the same kaleidoscope glasses as I. I’m only being enthusiastically observant and sharing my question-fuelled, highly confused perspective.
A note to my future husband: you’ll never be bored, let me just leave it as that.
If I could come back to this world, knowing and not knowing what I do now, and have a choice of being a man or a woman, I would be a woman every single time. Without women, the world wouldn’t turn, simple as that.
Did anyone notice that I managed to talk about all of this without mentioning the single word that makes everyone run for the hills? I’m talking about the ultimate f bomb – feminism.
Georgina's Musings 