On married life

I haven’t been around here for a while now. It’s almost embarrassing to see how old my posts are. Now, that the major turbulences of my life are over and I can slow down a bit, I find myself more willing to spare a few moments to pour my heart and the bile in it out. Naturally, as seems to be the case with me, what made me think of reanimating my blog writing career was rage. This time alternet is to blame. I am not a very avid reader of alternet, but I do visit once in a while just to see what ‘leftists’ think about various issues. As is my custom, I went to the ‘sex and relationships‘ section.  I found a few gems there, but my favorite is this one. Suffice it to say, I was appalled and terrified to see not so much people’s attitudes towards sex — that’s a subject worthy of its own, independent comment — but by how these people, both the contributors and the commenters, just randomly pick very specific and narrow matters, devoid of a broader context, twist, turn inside out and rape arguments to defend their stance and then feed it to others as ‘liberated’, ’empowered’ and ‘illuminated’ thinking. The first example — selling virginity: whether you call it ‘mocking the virginity fetishism’, ‘selling the concept’, a sociological ‘study’ or ‘work’, it doesn’t change the essence of what you’re doing, that is, selling your cunt. The second one — having countless partners: calling it ‘education’,  ‘experience’ or ‘having fun’ won’t cover up the essence — you being a used up town whore. (I don’t see how being a male town whore is any better than being a female town whore, a whore is just that — a whore.) However, this line of thought and these types of opinions seem to be prevailing in people’s minds these days. My incompatibility with the latest standards makes me wake up every day being more and more alienated, isolated and detached from society. The state humanity has put itself in is saddening, but mostly just disgusts me. The further I am from everything ‘social’, the more I learn to appreciate the solace marriage has created for me.

As a radical feminist, I never envisioned that being a wife could bring me so much joy. Looking at my parents and their friends, reading and hearing first-hand stories of failure at all possible planes, I never wanted to participate in ‘the family ‘. Meeting boys, guys, men, girls, chicks and women put me off sharing my life with someone. Not to mention that the idea and foundation upon which marriage was created, anybody with two brain cells to rub together would find simply repulsive. However short this experience has been so far, it has given me more than all the years preceding it. No amount of voluntary work could have taught me so much about respect, acceptance, humility, tolerance and altruism as marriage has. I was no stranger to dirty socks on the floor, raised toilet seats or other trivial matters of that kind, it was no shock to my system having to share a house with someone. What struck me was that everything seemed so ‘natural’ all of a sudden, as if it couldn’t exist any other way. Never before have I accepted another human being so totally — physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. Never before have I been so calm, safe and fullfilled. I still have dreams to pursue, goals to achieve, but the world won’t end if I don’t succeed. I don’t have to prove anything to anybody. I already have all the respect and appreciation I need.

On why my mother is a cunt — part 1

I never wanted my presence on the internets to be influenced by my personal life. I set a rule for myself to not share with random people my most private experiences, but this time I do need an outlet, badly.

Although reluctantly, and with reservations, I will tell a story about my mother.

Some of you might know it, some other might not — I am a 22-year-old mother of a 5-year-old. I had him when I was nearing 18. I do not want to go into details on how it happened that I got pregnant, nor how it happened that I did have the child, nor why I dumped his father. Suffice it to say, I was 18 years old, still in high school, with a baby to take care of.

I finished high school, started studying English literature at a university close to where I used to live and left my son with my parents. It needs to be said here that I, myself, did not think it was a good idea to move to a different city and visit my child only on the weekends — I’d rather have stayed home with him. My parents pressed me to do so, however. And I can’t say I am not grateful for that, but lately I have begun to question their motives.

Everything was going great — me being an outstanding student; my son developing into a wonderful, extremely intelligent person; my parents being proud of me (less proud though, than if I had gone to a medical school, as that is what they had planned for me, and they made sure I knew I have disappointed them).

They turned it all upside down when, in my second year of studies (after over 3 years o being single), I entered a relationship. All of a sudden, I no longer was the cherished successful daughter that is struggling to, against all odds, make something better out of herself than just a lady sweeping the floors (as that would be my ‘career’ had I not taken up studies). By that time, I was considered an animal that can’t control its instincts, because I moved in with the guy. There were fiery arguments going on over me getting pregnant again, over me failing my exams. I have proven them wrong in every respect — not only have my grades at school not changed and no pregnancy was taking place, but I got admitted to a different department to begin my second studies and got a job.

My relationship ended.

It is now January, 2008. I’ve been in a new relationship for 2 months. In March, I am planning to get married. I’ve known my partner for over a year. The reason why we haven’t been together for such a long time is that he used to live 6 thousand miles away from me. He moved to join me in Poland in November 2007. My mother can’t stand the thought.

She threatens to take away my child (‘you’re not raising him anyhow’), calls me up and flings insults, or does it in front of my child, smacks or punches me in the face in front of my child, deprives me of my child support money, which I was living off (350 pln) and so on.

What kills me is not what she does, but the fact that she does it, just because she knows she can. I am dependent on her. At this point, I can’t get my son to live with me, because my classes eat up too much time. It is even impossible for me to send him to a pre-school, because I often finish my classes late in the evening (8 pm or so), and no pre-schools are open that long. I cannot afford to pay for my studies, because I am only working part-time (I had to give up my translation work, and started teaching English), the reason being that I don’t have enough time to take up a full-time job (too many classes). Basically, I’m stuck.

Still, I’m trying to do my best. I’m doing good at school, good at work, I am doing shitloads of extra-curricular activities (to ensure that I will be admitted for PhD studies; I might include some details at a later date).

Even though my parents are prejudiced against my partner (and they have been prejudiced against both my former boyfriends), I wanted to be fair and brought him over for Christmas (upon their invitation, of course). I’ll spare you the details of how it all went, just take my word for that — it went really bad.

To give you an idea of how bad it was, let me tell you that during one night, me and my partner sat down to watch a movie (my son was already sound asleep). My parents started a huge big fucking retardfest of sorts — screaming and hysteria involved. They didn’t care to tell me what the fuck their deal was — I learned all about it when my partner was gone, and I still was to spend a couple of days there.

Turns out they were convinced me and him were fucking.

Ok, let me back up here.

1. you are parents, you have fucked, you know there are certain noises people make while they fuck;

2. do you realy think I am a fucking animal, because that is the only instance I can think of when I would be capable of fucking someone, while you’re half a metre away.

I told them that they apparently are mistaking me for themselves. Obviously, they are incapable of controlling their animalistic drives so they automatically assume everyone around does the same.

I haven’t talked to them since.

Personal — edit

Since nobody reads it anyways, I decided to whine about something personal this time.

In December, although just a student, I was given pemission to write an essay to be published in an academic journal, which, traditionally is granted to people who are writing their PhD thesis or higher in the academic hierarchy. The only condition was that I turn in the paper accompanied with two reviews, or rather notes saying that it is readable and meets the standard for an academic work. I got down to work and in May produced a 13-pages long essay on Christina Rossetti’s “Goblin Market”. In this essay, I have come up with a few things that I haven’t read elsewhere in connection with this particular poem.

I have given my essay to three people: a PhD and a Professor in British lit, and a PhD in American lit. Yesterday, I’ve received and e-mail with a response to my paper by the Brit PhD. She has written that I’m using a wrong style sheet, that my essay is too long and that I don’t give proper reference (she stated she had in mind my quoting Madwoman in the Attic with a wrong page-reference). Also, that I have put before myself a way too ambitious task and that she would just cut paragrahs such as, eg. one comparing the narrative voice in Eugenides’s “Virgin Suicides” and the narrative voice in Rossetti. For the other two reviews, I’m still waiting.

I have written back that I am grateful for the time she has spent on reading my work and her comments, but I have a few points to argue about. I have explained that the style sheet I’m using is MLA, which is universal, that the essay meets the word limit and that my decisions concerning the inclusion of bits that do not directly refer to “Goblin Market” itself, but provide some valuale points to the interpretation nonetheless, have been dictated by the standard I’ve noticed in other academic journals, like PMLA or Sout Central Review. She never wrote me back.

And only yesterday, a day after this “quarrel”, I got an e-mail from a guy who is responsible for the journal I wanted to publish my essay in, who did not have my e-mail address, stating that well, they’ve changed their mind and they won’t be publishing any students’ work. Only that when I talked to him in December, he told me that I’m the first student ever who has come up to him with an idea of publishing an article.

I’m chain smoking cigarrettes to restrain myself from going out in the street and shooting innocent pedestrians with my rifle. This is fucking unbelievable. Half a year I spend researching the topic and now, two days after I’ve submitted the essay, one day after I’ve “disrespected” the fragile little ego of one loony woman, he says to me — if you feel we’ve misled you, well then, I’m sorry. No, Mr P., I don’ feel misled, in fact, I’m very sorry for having my own opinion. It won’t happen again.

It’s not like everybody hates me. There is this one Professor, Andrzej Weseliński, who loves it when I say that bullshit is bulshit during class, who talks to me like we’re equal, who always listnes to my opinions attentively. He expects His students to think for themselves so, for instance during his course, we are to write a final paper on the sole basis of a close-reading of a chosen text, no critical bibliography included. Last time I talked to Him, he said I’m welcome to attend a doctoral’s defence about the third-wave of feminism and he encourages me to take an active part in the discussion. The loony Brit PhD hates Him.

I know everybody hates pdf but I wanted to show you that my essays are never just about what metaphors and epithets occur in a given text.

The Woman Question. Sisterhood, sexuality and subversion in Christina Rossetti’s “Goblin Market”

Edit: I went there today. The editor of the journal told me: “In humanities, one achieves something when they’re fifty”.

Oh, thank you, Poland, you’ve been most helpful

Here’s a video that was made by Państwowy Fundusz Rehabilitacji Osób Niepełnosprawnych (PFRON), an organisation concerned with the disabled.

This commercial features a guy on a wheelchair. It turns out the guy is just an actor, a fully able person. This, in itself , isn’t a reason to bitch about the commercial yet, though it is a bit “unfair”.

What pisses me off about the whole issue, is the explanation PFRON gives to the press — “It’s cheaper to hire a healthy person and healthy people work more efficiently”.

What is your logic??

An LGBT case

Some time ago I’ve contacted a Polish NGO, which was interested in hiring some people to do voluntary work with kids during holidays. I thought I’m a pretty good candidate, since  I’ve worked with kids for some time as a teacher in a Polish-Canadian pre-school.

They’ve replied yesterday and said that they’re not interested. The reason they stated wasn’t that I’m too young or that I lack quallifications but “since You’re co-operating with Lambda (a Polish organisation concerned with LGBT rights), You cannot be a part of our project. Our organisation has a foundation in catholic values.”

I had to pinch myself to believe what I’m seeing. I replied to this person that well, hold on a second, Lambda has a whole separate programme for catholic gays and lesbians. Where is the clash between catholic morality and helping gays, lesbians, transsexuals and bisexuals, or anyone else for that matter?

They didn’t reply.

I’m very proud that I’m a part of this; being among those people — who are so eager to do something to change the world, change others’ perception, to make everything for the better for those who have been marginalised for so long; those people who do it for the sake of doing it, not caring how much they could earn elsewhere during those several hours they spend in Lambda; not caring whether it’s Sunday or Friday evening — always leaves me hopeful that things may change.

I remember one time, when I was trying to fix myself up with a teaching practice, my mom told me: “For the love of Christ, DO NOT say you have a kid”. I didn’t, because they didn’t ask, and I got it. But still, the whole situation left me with a feeling of distaste.

Still, it is the Lambda case that really got me. Not only should I not and cannot be a gay/lesbian/transsexual/bisexual in this shithole, but I cannot even be associated with their community in any way. Those skills that I’ll acquire there  —  skills from the field of psychological assistance and group-counselling — are of no value “on the market”, since they’re obviously regarded as “filthy” in some way that is totally obscure and incomprehensible to me. And the best thing is that when writing this e-mail to this “catholic” organisation, I wasn’t even an official member of Lambda, I only wrote that I’m TRYING to get into that organisation and I wasn’t sure that the recruitment process will be successful.

LGBT in Poland

Last Saturday, the annual Equality Parade took place in Warsaw, Poland. The Parade is modelled after Gay Pride Marches. This is the only day in the whole year when gays, lesbians, feminists and other freaks are actually protected by the police. I thought outlining their situation briefly is a good place to start off.

As far as the law is concerned, Poland really keeps up — the constitution states that discrimination on the basis of gender or sexual orientation is illegal. The reality couldn’t be further from it. A public coming out is suicide. Due to the prevalence of a large-family-oriented discourse of the church, Poland is now facing a threat of legislation eg. forbidding homosexuals to work with children — in schools, kindergartens or children’s homes. Polticians defend their stand by equating homosexuality with “paedophilia”.

And even during the Parade itself, which has been nearly banned in 2005 by today’s president of Poland, wherever LGBT groups and their supporters go, there goes Młodzież Wszechpolska (MW), a radical, christian nationalist party of the young. In other cities, where simmilar parades have taken place in the past few years, the members of MW have thrown stones at the marchers, beaten them up and forced them to run panicked in search for a safe place to hide. The slogans MW uses are: “Gas the fags!” or “Dykes to the concentration camps!”, or “A normal family=a boy+a girl”. They keep updating those slogans every year, so don’t think the boys (I have seen only one girl in MW when I have encountered a group of them and she served as a kind of an “ornament”) don’t have their PR-specialists. This year it was the cork — it is suposed to symbolize the protection MW provides its members with, the protection from venereal diseases, especially AIDS, as all fags and dykes are obviously HIV positive. I still keep the cork in my drawer, just in case I might some day need it. Oh, and it has a fancy instruction with it.

Will be updating on the topic.

Introduction

I’ve been around for quite a while spreading feminist propaganda on StumbleUpon. Lately however, the place has been overrun by redneck Christians, fluffy kitten lovers and glittery-unicorn-obsessed 12-year-olds. There’s some serious censorship going on there. So I say: fuck it.

I have and will still be posting mainly when I’m pissed.