women – Page 32 – hannah ananas

Sexy, not Sex

I think that I am afraid of being sexy, due to the risk of falling under the description of “sexual”. I believe that there is a time and a place for sexy, and that it is an appropriate way to present oneself in the world… just not myself. Or do I believe it acceptable? …Yes, I do. Sexy, not sexual, is entirely acceptable in my book, given the appropriate time and place. As a teacher at school, no. As someone at a dinner event, yes. Being “hot” is not off limits to me, and yet I believe there is something deep inside of me that is terrified of it. Of being it, I mean.

Perhaps I merely fear that it would be interpreted as a call for sexual intercourse, therefore not only labelling me as “slutty”, but also attracting unwanted advances by men toward that unintended message. I want to be sexy, because I can be sexy, not because I want sex. I want to have the body, because I can have the body, and I find the body entrancingly beautiful. I don’t want it for some man, but for myself and for myself alone. However, I do not want to have to hide it, to keep it only to myself and to avoid allowing others to notice. I want to be able to go into public with it, because it is part of who I am, and I need not be ashamed of it. Just as I have gone into public in my pajamas or with a towel in my hair, I want to be able to go out dressed in “sexy”: comfortably.

Yet where is that distinction between sexy and sexual for me? i would say that it is intention, but I do not feel safe in such a distinction. I do not want to have sex with the people around me, and I do not want them to attempt to or want to have sex with me. But I am still terrified that I will come across that way. Really, though, I must be kidding myself a bit here – I fear this regularly, not just when I dress up or want to dress up. I have this fear present simply in the way I walk or the clothes I wear daily. I envy the way some women dress, and cannot consider my actually wearing the same outfit… even though it is beautiful on them, and likely would be on me, too. Why? Because of this inner terror of coming across as sexual and desiring something specific (i.e. sex) from those around me.

What’s with me? Is this really all just tied to one incident of things been utterly misunderstood about me? I’d like to think that the one incident doesn’t have such power, if any, over me still today. I’m not so sure, though. I will consider this actively over the coming days and weeks…

Post-a-day 2017

As though in response to this post from last night, the world presented me with this article tonight, from a pile of my old papers through which I was sorting.

Birthday

Today was/is (depending on where one is in the world right now) my birthday. Thank you to my mother and to my father for having and making me.

Now, people at school totally forgot about my birthday, and that’s okay. A friend was even giving me a hard time about details for an upcoming trip while I was in the middle of my birthday lunch at a nice little Nepalese restaurant, and that’s okay, too. I wasn’t looking too forward to all of that.

I have been working on my mental and physical health lately, and one part of that has been going to my gym more often. Instead of once or twice or zero times a week, and only for, perhaps, an hour, I have been going more like five to ten hours a week, attending all sorts of fun classes (boxing to ballet, angels training [a misleading name for the crazy-hard workout that comes with it] to yoga [yes, normal yoga]). The gym is all women, and we all have to have nicknames, so as to create a close-knit space (instead of the formality of Japanese culture and always using last names), so it makes for a really great environment.

That being said, I was really looking forward to getting to my gym today. Dinner with a friend was something great on the list, too, but the gym had the extra excitement of helping out my physical health while I enjoyed its being my birthday.

I knew that some of the ladies knew that today was my birthday, and so I was excited to be going somewhere where I could feel the love, so to speak, for my birthday. Just after I walked in the front door, the lady at the desk wished me a tentative English, “Happy Birthday…?” A huge grin and verbal thanks assured her of the success of her endeavor.

As I was changing for class, I heard some English being practiced in the common area, “How old are you?” So, I suspected I was about to be asked this question when I got into class a few minutes later.

What I did not expect, however, was to walk into my step class of older Japanese ladies, and for them to break into song, singing me “Happy Birthday”. And in English! I actually started tearing up a bit, it was so wonderful. If I had been hoping for some welcoming love here, I certainly found it, I found myself thinking. Essentially, it was perfect.

After class, a number of people kept wishing me a happy birthday and talking to me about this and that. Before the next class began (yoga), I made a point to interrupt the delighted chatter of the older ladies from step class, and to thank them especially for their singing and well-wishes. And I did it all in Japanese, and successfully. They were just so wonderful.

And then they all started asking me how to say the name of a bicycle that has a motor attached to it. Amidst all the Japanese, I declared that I’d have to do some research, because I could only think of electric bicycle and motorized bicycle.

But that’s not quite the point. The point is, I suppose, that step class is amazing – you could do yourself quite well by joining one wholeheartedly today. 🙂

Also, all of my thanks to all who played a part in my coming to be. 🙂

Happy Birthday to me. Watch out, World! 😀
Post-a-day 2017

Musical Theatre

I declared that I would buy season tickets for my mom and me to the musical theatre whenever I got my first full-time, normal-ish job. So, when I had my first contracted teaching job, I got season tickets. For two years, we stayed with it, and it was great. But then I moved here (Japan), and so we stopped the tickets for this current season.

However, I want to speak to two of the shows from those two seasons. The two shows to which I looked the most forward were The Little Mermaid and Evita. I quite likely know (or at least knew at some point) all the words to all of the songs in both of these two musicals, I love them so much. Until these past two years, though, I had never seen either performance (just the movies).

When we finally made it to the performance of each show, rather than being overwhelmed with delight, I was actually rather let-down. Why? Because my favorite songs were cut. Yup. Really.

In The Little Mermaid, the US theatre folk decided to make a different song for Ursula, even declaring it better for children. Except that this new song was significantly less exciting musically, and it had a terrible message being sent loud and clear, so to speak – I was hated, because I was ugly, so I killed my sisters in order to win my father’s favor. The whole reason I had ever wanted to see the stage production of The Little Mermaid was for Ursula’s song (“I Want the Good Times Back“). And it had suddenly disappeared. My excitement for the show went with it – it just became some average show at that point. Not that I don’t find the performers to be totally talented – because I do find them talented – I was just not so thrilled about the show itself at that point.

The story of Evita was similar, but not so distressing. Rather than replacing one of my favorite songs, the song just disappeared. (“The Lady’s Got Potential“) Also, I think one of my preferred verses of another song was missing, but I’m not sure. I just remember the rock song with the fabulous words, “Ka-pow, die!” was missing. 😛 Naturally, I was disappointed in the missing chunk of the show. Performers were still talented; the show itself was just lacking.

I’m not sure why I decided to share this in particular, instead of the silly afternoon and evening I spent at the gym, doing yoga classes and boxing classes, and what might have been a tai-chi class; chatting with all the ladies afterward; running into one of the ladies afterward at the supermarket; her asking if I’d bought my vegetables; my explaining how I hadn’t bought any vegetables, because I couldn’t until tomorrow, since the ATMs were already closed and I had no cash (jolly dreadful bit of living in Japan, really), so I had just bought a snack with the 100-yen coin I’d found in my bag; ending up having a fabulous Nepalese dinner with her (at her total insistence); rushing out as smoking was allowed just after 8pm in the restaurant; and then, again at her total insistence, being driven home the short distance from the restaurant by the wonderful lady. And I even remember her name still. Anyway, I guess the outline is all you get. Have a great one, world!

Post-a-day 2017

And Unexpected Story From… Somewhere

Tonight, for whatever reason (aside from the part where one thought links loosely to the next, those tiny threads of ideas drawing you quickly along the ever-unexpected path with them, until you eventually find yourself miles from the original thought, wondering how on Earth you got there), I was reminded of something I wrote a while back. As I mentioned to my friend when I sent it to her, it is rather messy, and it just kind of came out of me. One day, the words were just in my head, as though urging me to write them down, and so I did really quickly… It was almost like an ‘I have to do it now’ experience.

I have various theories as to how the story came to me, as well as to why my mind wanted me to write it down on paper (yes, the original is with paper and pen, not computer), but I find them unnecessary to include here, as none of them was present when I actually had the story pouring out of me that odd morning (odd, due to this near-overwhelming necessity to write this story, which had never quite happened to me in such a way until that day).

Anyway, it is sad – dreadfully sad to me, anyway – and it is terrible, and it is a miniature story that asked me to write it down, and somehow got back into my head tonight to get me to share it with the world (well, whatever portion of it will cross this weblog posting, at least). Enjoy… or whatever… you know…

“No,” declared Jessica, exasperated, “I’m not going to call him.”

Yet, even as she spoke, she knew deep down that she would be with him again. So she wouldn’t call him…, but she’d said nothing about texting. Or his calling her.

Soon enough, perhaps in a matter of hours, she’d be with him again. And then, in a matter of minutes, she’d be lying there alone, feeling gross, almost wanting to hurl. Or else hurl something… he wouldn’t hold her, no matter how she wished it. He never did… But, for a few moments, she would feel the pressure of him resting on her chest, and it almost would feel as though it were intentional, as though there were someone – right here and now – who wanted to be with her, who cared for her, who loved her.

Though she knew it wasn’t so.

“This is so messed up,” she would say to him… And she would mean it.

And yet she couldn’t stop herself.

He was in need, and she could help. Besides, she had been curious in the first place. Now she knew. Perhaps that was a good thing. If nothing else. And an icy feeling told her there was nothing else good about it all.

Jessica wouldn’t see how he only appeared to be in need – she was too trusting of him and his word; she had looked up to him for too long to question what he expressed to her. And so, in her time of extreme need for love, she would leave the love of her friends to go to him, and be robbed of what little she still had, knowingly sacrificing her own happiness and love to help, to serve, to please another.

Post-a-day 2017