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I learned that women have “ova,” as in “oval,” which literally means egg.
I was wondering about the “men” in “menarche.” Turns out it’s the same as the “men” in “menstruation.” It means “month,” which comes from “moon,” and has to do with
women and their monthly cycle. Moon has all kinds of meanings. In addition to being the thing orbiting the earth, it can involve time, or tides, like the ebb and flow of the ocean. So, “menarche” has absolutely nothing to do with “men.” So why spell it that way? What happened to the “o”?
The girl is always overjoyed. She goes to her mom with a huge smile on her face. She tells her it happened, and the mom smiles back and says now you’re a woman, congratulations. Please.
once I got stuck on something, wondering “Why is this happening,” I couldn’t seem to shake it,
A long time ago, all these important people
wrote about how dirty women are, and why that’s bad. So, basically, to become a Buddha, you have to be reborn as a man first. What the hell is that? I didn’t get it, so I was like, Jun, how do you do that? She was like ‘I don’t know.’ I asked her how she could believe any of that. It was crazy. Things got pretty awkward after that.
Although I must admit that when I glanced over their spines, something of the sense of confrontation, or stimulation, that I felt when I first read them came wafting back to me. I could remember everything about sitting on the concrete stairs for so long that my butt got cold, and how my feet would almost fall asleep. Strange how those things made me want to read all of those books over again someday.
I wish I could rip out all those parts of me, the parts already rushing to give birth. Why does it have to be like this?
Why can’t I stay like I am?
Still. For the past year, or maybe a bit longer, whenever I sit down at the computer, or walk to the convenience store at night, or climb in bed, or realize the cup sitting on the table will just sit there for eternity unless I pick it up—on any given day, I hear it. Still. This word spawns all sorts of thoughts. They like to sit off to the side and stare at me. I know that being stared at makes me anxious, angry, and depressed, but I can’t bring myself to look straight back at them. It’s just too scary. I know that if I give them my attention, I’ll come to the conclusion that those things
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Is this my life? I’m glad that I can write I’m thankful for this life
And all the good it’s given me But can I live like this forever? Alone Can I really be alone like this? Forever? I can’t take it—actually, that’s not true, that’s a lie I’m fine on my own
Right now, that relationship defined their world—I thought that was a tidy way of putting it. That doesn’t mean that it was puppy love. I mean it really changed the way they saw things, as if the strength of how they felt for one another had produced a sturdy faith in how the world would operate. When they gazed into each other’s eyes, they saw a world replete with promise, strong and soft. The world was there to make their dreams come true, and they could trust without a shred of doubt that it would make good on its promises.
I was convinced that it would be that way forever.
Is this what it means to live and die alone? That you’ll always be in the same place, no matter where you are? “Is that so bad?” I asked myself out loud. I don’t need to tell you that no one answered.
I felt like giving Makiko a call. I had nothing to say, but that was never an issue with us. I just wanted to hear her voice.
Looking back, it was definitely postpartum. I should have seen someone about it, but I didn’t. My husband didn’t do anything about it. At least, not anything to help. He was, like, What’s wrong with you? Having a child is a totally natural part of being a woman—How could it possibly take that much out of you? My mom did it. Every woman does it. Get over it—he said, just laughing.” “Unbelievable.” I drank the last of my beer. “That was when I made up my mind. If this guy gets sick at some point, if he gets cancer, and he’s in real pain, I’ll be there when he’s dying, standing over him, looking
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Yeah, my mom was free labor—free labor with a pussy.”
me and my sister were like Who do you love more—us or Dad? You know what she said? Your dad, of course. No hesitation. She didn’t even think about it. Can you believe it? We were shocked. We thought she’d get mad at us for even asking and say Of course it’s the two of you—how could you even ask me something like that? Neither of us saw her answer coming. She kept on going, too. I could always have more kids—but there’s no replacing your father. She literally said that. I felt like my heart stopped. I felt like my whole world stopped. My sister and I haven’t talked about that since,
Sounds familiar ;-;
Why am I alive? Why do I have to go on living? I hated my parents, hated my family. I really hated all of it. I remember clearly thinking this is it, family is the root of all suffering. I told myself I’d live my whole life without a family, dying single and alone. I seriously thought I’d do it, too. But look at me. I got married, had a kid. Got all wrapped up in other people’s lives. Haha. I’m attached to this person who never really had anything to do with me, and now he’s all depressed, not that we ever had anything in common, and I have to look after him, take all of his family’s crap
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new year, but the first month was the same old thing.
Lately I’d been having trouble sleeping.
Such a random sentence
A mud black feeling swarmed my heart.
“But she just acted like she didn’t even know why we were having this conversation. I can’t tell you
how that felt. My world was spinning. I was angry. I asked her: ‘Do you have any idea what you’re saying? Do you realize what you’re doing to me?’ She told me: ‘You were born in perfect health, with everything you ever needed. What more could you want?’ I was dumbfounded. ‘What do you want?’
Everything men do repulses me. I can’t tell you how good it felt when we got divorced and my ex left the house. It was like I could breathe again. Who knows, maybe it was mutual. It’s just, men can be such idiots. They can’t do anything around the house without making a ton of noise, not even close the fridge or turn the lights on. They can’t take care of anyone else.
Real asf
They can’t even take care of themselves. They won’t do anything for their kids or their families if it means sacrificing their own comfort, but they go out in the world and act all big, like I’m such a good dad, such a provider. Idiots. This guy was unable to take any kind of criticism. It’s something I guess he never had to do. He’d get so bent out of shape over the smallest little comment, then wait around for someone to inflate his stupid, flabby ego. God, that pissed me off. At some point, it finally hit me. Why am I wasting my precious time getting angry over all his stupid shit? So I put
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living with someone is nothing but friction, the collision of incompatible ideals. It takes trust to make it viable. I mean, love is basically a drug, right? Without love and trust, resentment is the only thing that’s left. And that’s where we found ourselves, real fast.”
a man can never understand what really matters to a woman. Ever. When you say this sort of thing, people are quick to call you narrow-minded, or say you’ve never known true love or whatever. They say you can’t lump all men together like that, but sadly it’s just the truth.
No man will ever understand the things that really matter to a woman. If you think about it, it’s just obvious.”
“I mean the pain,” said Rika. “How much it hurts to be a woman. If you say that, though, people look at you like you’re throwing yourself a pity party. They’ll tell you how men have a lot of pain to deal with, too . . . but sure. Who said they didn’t? They’re alive, now, aren’t they? Of course they live with pain. The difference is, who’s putting them through that pain? How can they make it better? Who’s to blame for hurting all these men?”
we’ll reach a point where the whole process can be separated from women’s bodies, and we can look back at this time, when women and men tried to live together and raise families, as some unfortunate episode in human history.”
‘What’s the secret to long life?’ You know what she said? ‘Stay away from men.’ I mean, she’s right, you know?”
What I’m asking is: Why do you want to bring a child into the world? What would possess you to do that?”
Why is it that people think this is okay? Why do people see no harm in having children? They do it with smiles on their faces, as if it’s not an act of violence. You force this other being into the world, this other being that never asked to be born. You do this absurd thing because that’s what you want for yourself, and that doesn’t make any sense.”
Have yet to reconcile this for my own life
“Once you have children, you can’t unhave them,”
Hey, everyone loves surprise parties, right? One day you open the door, and everyone’s there waiting for you, ready to surprise you. Here are all these people you’ve never met, never seen before, congratulating you, big smiles on their faces. Parties are different, though. You can go back through the door behind you, but when you’re born, there’s no leaving. There’s no door. There’s no way back to how things were before. I hate it to say it, but not everyone likes surprise parties. Most people go around believing life is good, one giant blessing, like the world we live in is so beautiful, and
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“but that kind of proclamation hasn’t stopped anyone else from doing it. People always find a way to justify their behavior. You tell yourself that’s the way it is, then do whatever you want.”
They never think about the poor kid being born. No one gives a damn how that child is going to feel. Isn’t that crazy? Once they’ve had a baby, most parents would do anything to shelter them from any form of pain or suffering.
But here it is, the only way to actually keep your child from ever knowing pain. Don’t have them in the first place.”
You’re betting on another person’s life. Not yours.”
the thought that no one on the planet knew that I’d been seriously sick for almost a week left me feeling alien.
I felt a dire need to call somebody, but there was no one.
This was an emotional dead end.
I let the landscape pass before my eyes, preoccupied with an awareness there were things that I could see if I were dropped down like a pin along the road, or in the corner of that rice field, or along that riverbank—but I would never have a chance to see them.
I think about this all the time.
We’re all so small, and have such little time, unable to envision the majority of the world.
If I could open up this door, maybe I would find them. Coming upstairs, carrying my bookbag. Mom opening the door for me. Saying welcome home in her red apron. If I could open up this door, maybe I would see my favorite sweatshirt and my bookbag and my doll, where we laughed and where we slept, the little heated table that we sat around. The wood post where we carved our heights. The red plastic cups in the cupboard. I’d open up that window once and for all. Maybe everything would be the way it used to.
I told her there was someone else. Someone I’d rather be with.”
