Sisterhood.

Alongside the easing of lockdown, my time has been punctuated by small efforts (I am currently trying to practice Daily Yoga and cut out alcohol) and life-affirming trips into nature, all this between the hours I wander from room to room in the throes of I 'Should be doing something'. I have been doing something, I have been busy disentangling myself away from the cold-comfort of Facebook and Twitter, at least I have made the step of removing the apps from my phone. Of course I still have access, both are accessible on my laptop and from time to time I pop in to look at what other people are doing. We all know by now that these places are not without a health warning and as much as people make me laugh, a percentage make me long for the climatic disaster that now seems inevitable (is the end of human race really such a horror?) When I am not being driven to nihilistic musings, I am led into deep thought about other things (realising that perhaps these humans are not all bad). Coincidences, are rarely that, more a subconscious leaning towards the contemplation that lingers on the back shelf of your mind. Lately, I have found myself finding, reading and watching all around the subject of sisterhood and I have taken that off the shelf to give it a bit of a dusting off. The first admission on taking that subject off the shelf,  is that I am, I guess, qualified to talk about it.  I say, qualified, but in a reluctant whisper because up until now I have avoided thought about the subject, you see for a long while I didn't really think I liked women.

There is a point in my Girl's childhood when divisions were drawn and you were asked to join your side. One minute everyone is climbing trees, picking slow worms for pets, sneaking on to roofs to look at your mate's saucy playing cards and the next minute there's rules to be followed: girls to the left, boys to the right - no more swimming in your pants or picking scabs off your knees, my girlfriends slow down, 'til they move no more (I cannot keep still) and they love to just sit and talk. The chat is all earth bound and grounded in detail and minutia, loosing its previous fantastical, imaginary game flow- the chat repeats and stays on a few subjects and I want to move because I am bored easily. Boys chat less and when they do its function is to make someone laugh, I prefer laughing than whatever the girls are doing. All of a sudden, as if overnight, hair becomes such a big, fucking deal - the length, the shine, the bows, the clips - mine is short, course and curly and the girls let me know I am not quite bringing the cards needed for that table. The rules grow more robust and I get labelled a tomboy, even though in my imaginary games I am that bitch from a 50s movie, you know the one who invented femininity. As I moved through secondary school the groups get tighter, less diverse, more rule-orientated, I begin to feel less and less comfortable with the girls as they become women and although I manage to maintain good friendships I never manage to feel 'at home' in a big group of them, or manage the openness needed to form lasting relationships. The mistrust begins...

Recently, I stupidly stepped into a twitter conversation. I thought I was defending women, but those I stepped in on thought differently. I objected to the idea that any set of (in this case white) women should be described as homogeneous group and that men could be allowed to brush us off as one voice, instead of  a collection of many different voices. Twitter is a bitter place of misinterpretation and reaction and instead of solidarity (which is what I thought I was after) I just got butt hurt and my feelings a little crushed. It was a bit of an adventure, over on Twitter I have always treated my opinions like my butt hole, keep 'em covered and if gas escapes - leave the room. I guess my gut reacted badly and the stench I left could not be disowned. After spending a few days ruing the day I stepped out of my big-panted bubble I was left wondering what was so spicy to make me loose control? I guess even though I am aware of the many injustices in the world my heart will always be broken the most over the injustices that women suffer, because I cannot dismantle myself from my interests, that is the human in me.  One day, it will be clear without the clumsiness of this sentence what the word woman encompasses, until then I want to acknowledge the greater injustices that disabled, black and brown and trans-women suffer.  I am heartbroken over the factions that women are enduring and creating, the separatist groups we are forming take me back to childhood days when I was first expected to take sides. I now, as then, don't want to take sides, to form groups that are immobile in their chat about minutia and repetition, I naively want to play altogether topless in the sand, collect slow-worms as pets and be free to pick scabs off my knees, most of all I want to talk in words punctuated by fantastical language and imagination, I guess I still want to find my sisterhood.