I had reached the bottom of the stairs on the side of the building when I heard something like a twig snap right before there was a cry out in panic. I turned quickly and looked up as a woman was flying towards me down the stairs. Jumping out of the way wasn’t on the menu, so I braced myself to catch her. I must have crouched too low, misjudge how high up she was, or just had a bit of dumb luck. I ended up catching her around her thighs. The woman was now practically sitting in my arms with my face smile deep between her chests. Oh, but that wasn’t the only bit of fun boys and girls. The impact of the two of us coming together had caused her to tense up and then relax now that she was no longer in… And, the butt trumpet played a merry tune. Of course, all I could do …show more content…
“What woman had ever apologized when they were wrong to any man?” she asked, and the women nearby giggled and the men just shook their heads in defeat. “However, if you insist on an apology, than…” “Forget it,” I said giving up. Even if she was to apologize now it wouldn’t be sincere, but forced. “Perchance you wish some form of compensation? A few new cars, a larger estate or a week or two vacation somewhere tropical?” It only took him a moment to realize the type of person he was speaking to. An expensive dress, tailored made shoes, and wearing jewelry that could buy his entire apartment complex and still have a few thousand left over in change. The reason why the back stairs were covered at every corner with security now made sense. They were there to protect her. His best course of action was to get the hell away from her before he finds himself back in the news sprawled out on the sidewalk again behind another woman. “No need,” I said evenly. “Everyone gets upset from time to time. I’m sorry for getting angry at you.” “I am glad to see that you’ve come to your senses.” “WHAT!” I
"For what?" She scoffed in disbelief. She had felt that he did not owe her an apology.
"I know you didn't mean to, and an apology is not why I brought it up," Hannibal says. "I don't care about that; all I care about is you. And besides, it's not like I haven't hurt you before."
“Sorry, it was wrong of me to do that to you.” Malvinas murmured after a long silence.
What is culture? Culture is the idea of what is wrong or right, the concept of what is acceptable within our society. Culture serves us as a guide, taking us to the "right way" and helping us to make sense of things that surrounds us. There are many different cultures around the world. A lot of them are similar in specific ways and others are just completely different, this difference explains why we think that people from different backgrounds are "weird".
She grabbed Aya’s cold hand that almost seemed foreign to her and lightly squeezed. “For everything. For being so awful when we met. I-I’m so sorry. I n-never had the chance to tell you how important you are to me and o-oh god we never had the chance to...help you...walk. Please forgive me.”
I do not wonder that men have always felt threatened by strong women. Male insecurity is manifest in the patriarchal infrastructure of society and its enforcement of gender roles that require female submission to the male model. In her book, Writing a Woman's Life, Caroline Heilbrun quotes Deborah Cameron's sardonic statement, "men can be men only if women are unambiguously women" (16). Heilbrun considers the ambiguous women, those who challenge convention. I've developed a deep appreciation for these ambiguous women, for the power of their narratives.
Imagining if I transformed into the opposite sex for a week, my experiences of truth and reality would be quite different, yet strikingly similar to my life as a woman. Although my peers would accept me the same and know nothing altered, my mindset would have done a complete 180 degree flip. Although it is the expectation that humans identify with a single gender, multitudes of modern Americans refuse to succumb to this idea and prefer to identify with a sense gender fluidity. “The term "gender identity” . . . refers to a person's innate, deeply felt psychological identification as a man, woman or some other gender, which may or may not correspond to the sex assigned to them at birth” (par. 2). Some refuse to accept that gender is as one may say black or white, male or female. However, if I transfigured into a man, I would need to adjust my sense of reality in regards to the new expectations that come with the given gender.
“You know, it’s okay though,” my voice softened to just a whisper. My hand released his chin to run my fingers through his greasy, blond locks. “It’s okay. I know, I’m broken. I’ll accept it. Step six out of seven of the grieving process. Although, I’ll admit, I might still be on the fifth step: anger.”
I was born on March 08, 1995 at roughly seven pounds. When I was extracted from my mother, I was given the gender of a male with the appearance of my male body parts. My mother used to say to me, growing up as a toddler that I had so much hair like former American Football player, Troy Polamalu. People had always assumed that I was a girl, therefore my mother had to correct them and say, “No, he is a boy”. Growing up a toddler, I was always wearing some type of jeans with a sports shirt and shoes that were mostly colored black or blue. As I grew older, I gained interest in baseball, wrestling, and the military. I always wanted to play with action figures such as GI Joe and wrestling celebrities in addition to imaginary flying in an apache helicopter or taking command in a battle tank. Advancing to my pre-teen years, I wanted to play baseball, which is considered to be mostly a boy sport. It was at this moment, that my gender was a boy. Progressing to my teen years, I started to observe my father and learn my gender on his roles as the man in our family. I noticed that my father was already taking charge in the house and giving me orders that I needed to complete. Going through middle school, most boys had some type of sports backpack while the girls
When growing up with diagnoses such as autism spectrum disorder and depression, my gender identity was the least of my problems for a long time.
I am not out going enough to do slightly embarrassing things in front of many people, so I decided to break a social norm at home. I broke a social norm by asking my mom permission before I did anything. I did this experiment on a day I had class at the MCC but not at my high school. I first started asking her question through text. In the morning, I would ask if I could get ready for school, eat breakfast, got to college, do my college work. Then I would ask if I could leave the college, come home, and enter my house. Once I got into my house, I would run into her room before I asked a question. I asked if I could use the bathroom, get some food, eat food, and watch T.V.
My mother never told me the complications of becoming a woman in this world. Maybe she thought I was strong enough to figure them out on my own. Or quite possibly, she couldn't tell me, because she never really knew how to face the complications herself.
“It’s okay, I get it,” I said turning around not wanting him to see me cry,” you gotta do what you gotta do to survive. You taught me that.”
A secret agent. A professional football player. A fire fighter. These would have been my responses when asked that inevitable question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Family, Media and Peers are said to have influenced my views concerning the role I am to play society. All of these factors had one thing in common. They all were influencing me to behave according to my gender. Everything from the clothes I wore to the toys I played with contributed to this. Even now as a young adult my dreams and aspirations are built around the gender roles that were placed on me.
“ No, not until you tell me what I did wrong” I screamed with tears building up in my eyes.