identity

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Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
who is the fairest one of all?
Is it the one over there, that skinny girl
or the one with the curves who should give the title a whirl?
Does it go to those wearing the latest brands
or those from the thrift store stands?
People who embrace their “natural beauty”
or those who wear make up as if its their destined duty?
Those dressed nice and straight laced
or those who take trends and happily deface.

…

Snow White you say?
Are you sure your opinion does not sway?
What makes her so special?
Her beauty is not so pure!
She sleeps with 12 men
and never goes outdoors…
(If you argue, take a look
at her skin which is as white as paper in a book)

No. I should not be crude.
My self worth is not based on how she is viewed.
Insulting her does not make me happy
it just makes me seem crabby.
No amount of name-calling will that change
I can only assess the problem in front of me, this issue I estrange

How dare you say I am not beautiful, not the fairest?!
You have no proof on that, I do suggest.
More than that, I know you’re wrong,
In my mind and heart your words do not belong.
I am beautiful, I do declare.
Your opinion, forever more, I do forswear.

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The Girl That Fat Built

So much of my identity has been shaped by my body and the way the world around me has treated it that I often find myself wondering, “If I’d had a different body, who would I be now?”

Some of my earliest painful memories are of becoming aware of my weight as an issue—my parents’ noticeable concern for my young and rapidly changing body, being called fat by my peers, the inability to share clothes with friends, the list goes on.

As my fat seemed to be under attack by the world around me, I subconsciously began to fashion armor around it. My attempts at protecting myself began with denial, not letting myself believe I was a “fat kid.” At eight years old, I still had the sense that I was fantastic and beautiful and I wasn’t ready to give that up. However, as people grew meaner and more eager to inform me that I wasn’t as beautiful as I thought I was, I came to a sort of sad acceptance.

But because I was a rambunctious and attention-seeking kid, I decided that maybe I could use being fat to my advantage. Continue reading →

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Do I Control My Hair or Does My Hair Control Me?

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I feel I can safely say that the majority of women I have crossed paths with throughout my lifetime have, at one point or another, completely obsessed over the locks on their heads. What a woman does or does not do with the “filamentous bio-material” that grows from follicles in the skin on one’s skull seems to carry heavy social messages to the world around us.

I believe my hair tells a long and continuous story. The really ridiculous and really awesome things I have done to my hair are like little mental chapter markers; the hairstyles I’ve had are connected to memories of personal struggles and important events that have taken place throughout my lifetime. On one level, the long story of the obsessions I’ve had with my hair and what I have chosen to do with it is purely personal. Yet on another level, a much larger level, this post about the relationship I have with my hair can reflect the many struggles and external pressures that a large number of American women share.

Continue reading →

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Bodies that speak

I’ll put my name in this post because it will make more sense.This is Renita.

So I was born in Cleverly, MD and I have lived in Maryland for 21 years I lived in Oklahoma for one year and I am 22 years old. However when I open my mouth and begin to speak something strange comes out – an accent. I have no idea why or how I sound the way I do. My mother who was born in Nigeria doesn’t have the accent and neither do my cousins who I spent a significant amount of with have one. So I have no idea where my voice comes from. Interestingly enough when in America and in other parts of the world (I have traveled a bunch) whenever I speak people accept that I am from Nigerian as opposed to when I say I am from America.

Usually the conversation goes something like this

“where are you from”

me – “Maryland”

“no I mean where are you really from”

me – “my family is from Nigeria”

“oh so where you born there”

me – “nope I was born here”

“oh so you lived there”

me – “nope I have lived here all my life

This conversation has happened many a time. It is very hard for me to explain to people that I am American and they never truly seem convinced. So more often then not I say I am Nigerian it is a lot easier then the long conversation. Or if I really want to make the person that I am talking to upset I say “I was born in America but I am from Nigeria”. My thing is that everyone has an accent to anyone else. There is no unified way that Americans talk. There are different southern accents, there are new England accents, new york accents so on and so forth. So why the obsession which trying to pin point where a ‘body’ is from based on how they sound. I mean if I wanted I could make my self sound American which probably means Caucasian (which by the way a lot of people that come from Nigeria and move here do). But sorry I am not going to make it easy. This is the way I speak.

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Face Transplants

I saw this article relating to a face transplant that occurred in Maryland within the last week or so.  This article is extremely relevant to the book we just discussed (Autobiography of a Face).  The man who received the transplant needed one due to a gunshot wound and damage from about 15 years ago.  The article can be found here:

36-hour face transplant ‘most extensive’ ever

The story is an amazing one.  The medical technology and techniques that we now know are phenomenal.  I wish I could interview this guy and ask him how he feels about having a new face after hiding behind a mask for so long and having to use a breathing tube to breathe.  The transplanted face came from a donor whose other organs were also donated to save 5 lives.  The article states that the recipient’s new face is a combination of his own face and the donor’s face and a little bit of customization.  I wonder how this man feels about having another person’s face fused into his.  I also wonder how that impacts his identity.  How would you feel?  Would you be relieved to have the new face so you can appear what is “normal” to society?  Or would you have some reservations and other ideals about how this re-creates your identity?

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The Embodiment of Death

The chapter for next week about the embodiment of death – in terms of finding ground between the ‘body’ and the ‘self’ – resonated with me for various reasons. One of the biggest things I noticed was the unwillingness to deny that a person’s identity has left the body after death, which is a theme that has become prominent in various science fiction stories. Iconic characters such as the vampire or zombie relate the idea that after death we do not have to give up our bodies. Reanimated bodies, such as Frankenstein’s monster, also seem to feed into a belief that the remains of a body can be recycled to create new life (or something similar). Furthermore, the father in Pet Sematary who buried his dead son’s body within the grounds that were known to reanimate bodies did so to cling to the fact that his son would return once again after identity and body united.

These representations in literature and media walk a line between trying to beat death and keeping claim over your body, but ultimately there is something in the characters that lacks humanness. Vampires, zombies, Frankenstein’s monster, and the little dead boy from Pet Sematary all lost their identities after death and were changed completely. Something about the mysterious nature of death – one that we cannot completely have knowledge about, yet we all will experience – feeds into these representations of bodies that face the unknown. The characters definitely find an imbalance between the ‘self’ and ‘body’ being continuously connected, but for the most part these characters illuminate a world where bodies are meat and fodder. Identity may change after the cross between life and death, but the body will withstand composition (albeit disfigured and sutured, I suppose).