My Definition

My Definition

I don’t understand women.

Aung Sang Su Kyii, why did you not meet your dying husband? Simone De Beauvoir, did you not want Satre all for yourself? Zips fall like petals and underwear blow off like dandelion fluffs, but sorry Erica Jong, I don’t fancy the zipless fuck.

Great women, you all are, but. Well yes, there is a ‘but’. I’m not like you all. I like making safe decisions in relationships. It doesn’t mean that I don’t take risks in life. I embrace the unpredictability of life;

I fear not failure or judgment. But.

I’ve never met a successful woman. At least by my definition.

Who is she?

She runs after her dreams; She does what she loves. She doesn’t conform. There is no work-life balance. There is only life. There is no dilemma between family and freedom. They are congruent.

She has it all. Who is she? I’m afraid she is a chimera. It’s a catch-22, really.

If she is emotional, you call her faulty. She is irrational; her dreams are impossible. If she is distant, you call her the Ice-Queen. An unfeeling spinster.

Then, I look around at the women in my life.

Grandma, you brought up five children amidst the bullet rains. You put food on the table, though it was just porridge and soy sauce. You schooled your children, even if they were daughters. But you put all your beans on your only son. He left, yes he left. He wasn’t even at your deathbed.

Aunt, you gave up your broad-casting career, to marry this knight in rusting armor. Was it worth it? Your in-laws despise you for giving birth to a Tiger daughter. He doesn’t care, yes he doesn’t care. He wasn’t even on your side.

Mom, did you really think I’d turn out an oddball? If you didn’t give up your job? You don’t talk about it, doesn’t mean that I don’t know. Housewife. That’s what you fill into occupation forms. But you’re afraid of me growing up and you’ll lose your job.Your love is like a sun. I love the warmth, but I am sunburned.

Cross your legs. Straighten your hair. Now why do you want me to pierce my ears? You say: Because you’re a girl!

Gosh. What poor reasoning is this?!

Mom. Female is a gender. Not a condition. Does not wanting petroleum and fish scales on my face, make me lesser a person?

Damn conformity! But. I’m afraid.

I fear looking into the mirror. I see no image. I can’t see myself as a matronly woman, tied up with diapers and milk bottles – I can’t see myself as a highflying corporate superstar, with fat paychecks and all that bling – I can’t see myself as the poet, the visionary - I can’t see myself. Must we choose? Must I choose?

At 14, I was a misandrist. At 15, I found my dreams. At 17, I had it all. I thought, at least.

They say, when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to begin as soon as possible.

W ell-

At 18, the rest of my life ended before it began.

A failed three-year relationship. This relationship, this story... what a joke – a cliché!

Girl makes a decision. Chose A over J. She promised to never regret. This love was eternal.

He thinks she’s demanding. She thinks he’s is uncaring. They grow apart. And yeah, they break up. And now, J is back. Heck. Since when did her life – wait, my life – turn into some disastrous romantic comedy?

Never mind. It’s God’s will.

But. I think, I think I’m getting somewhere. I don’t have an ‘ambition’, but I know what I want. I want to attend a women’s college, in the United States. I want to cycle across continents. I want to start a social enterprise. I want to study Neuroscience. I want write a play. I want to travel to Iran.

I want someone who listens, who understands; just someone to lean on when I am

scared. I want a perfect marriage. I want a family. I want this undying love. I just want to grow up and grow old with someone. I want ‘till death do us part’.

They say the answer to life is 42. Maybe that’s the right age for marriage. Or that’s when mid-life crisis happens.

Perhaps, the answer is 24? ... Or 34? Well frankly, I don’t know. But at least, I’m getting somewhere. I know what I want. What is a successful woman? I hope. I hope I’ll be my definition.