Tuesday's assignment for wijvenweek is "guilty pleasures and flaws". Hmm, I don't know about this one. As a certified postmodernist, I am a big advocate of loving whatever you love without feeling guilty about it, unless you are hurting someone else by experiencing your "guilty pleasure" of course. Watching Bridezillas on tv is just a passtime for example, while kicking kittens is a guilty pleasure. Stuffing your face with pizza is eating, stealing your neighbour's mail is a guilty pleasure. Ya dig? Why should we be ashamed of loving what we love? Who is the eye in the sky telling us what is deemed worthy of our time, and what isn't? Ah, but I shall refrain from making every.single.post. in wenchweek about feminism! You probably don't want to read me go on and on about how James Bond is considered a classic franchise, while most people would roll their eyes at you when you'd tell them you LOVE the Bold and the Beautiful. Or how superhero comicbooks are geeky cool collector's items that get big Hollywood movie releases, while girly animated series hardly ever reach cult status (unless they contain schoolgirls in short skirts). Or how admitting you love videogames as a girl garners you lots of geekboners and bro-points, while a guy who loves My Little Pony is a sorry sight to be seen. No wai José, I shall not put my Feminazi costume on today!
So, talking about guilty pleasures is off the table, since that usually turns into implicitly girl-hating crap anyway. Let's talk about flaws then. Riding the bus home from an interview, I contemplated the significance of the mistakes I have made in my life and how I could write a nice story about them. My thoughts quickly turned towards more meta-concerns: how to take it to the next level by honesty, yet not expose me and my loved ones too much? How to reach some sort of morale after long and winding sentences? How to write towards some sort of higher significance? Should I start writing in Dutch? What to make for dinner? Also I needed to pee? Ah, the bus, womb of stillborn inspiration. Thing is, of course I have made mistakes. I have daddy issues, which has led me to seeking the approval of every man in sight for much of my teenage years. I have been a bitch and had fun making others feel bad. I have picked my nose. I have lied to my parents. I have skipped school. I have kicked my cat. I have been involved with a guy who was not actually up for grabs. I have watched porn. I suck at cleaning the bathroom, and I hate that my skin is too sensitive for daily shavingz. I am human, basically. SURPRISE! Those things don't define me. I never feel guilty about them, or reminisce about how to overcome them. Or at least, most of the time I think I don't.
Secretly, my flaw is probably my insecurity. I demand a lot from people, but the standards I set for myself are at least as high. Most of the time I think I live up to them: I have never failed (or mediocre'd) an exam, I have passed all life's thresholds I should have passed by now (except for getting a driver's license, ugh!), I am pretty, I am funny, I am smart. But two weeks ago, when my boyfriend pulled me close in the middle of the night and told me - completely out of character- he often felt he almost didn't deserve me, and how he would brag to his colleagues about my accomplishments and other assets because he was so crazy proud of me, I broke down and cried. And I realized how much, at 24, I still need his approval, anyone's approval, everyone's approval, and the certainty that I won't stand alone tomorrow, set up to fail. A load of worries and cares fell off my shoulders while I laid there in his arms.
Lana sings my sorrows.
I want to be the whole world's girl, grandma
Tell me do you think that's wrong?
Don't cry, honey, crazy girl
Don't you know you are the world?