Feminism Test

This is pretty accurate (surprisingly.) I'm a Libertarian, so this makes sense.

Yes, this is for a class I'm taking :-). We're done with Race, now we're on Sex/Gender. As my husband said, "Oh noooooo...Watch out. She only looks small, but..."

Bring it on. ;-)

.....

Your Score: Revisionist

You scored 66% Gender-Abolitionist, 100% Sexually Liberal, and 60 % Socialist

You are the Revisionist Feminist!  You are, by far, the most philosophical, the most sexually-liberated, and the most politically extreme variety of feminist.  You are very, very freedom-oriented.  You abhor oppression in all forms.  For instance, your views on sexual liberation and reproductive control adequately reflect your devotion to personal freedom.  Not only that, but you also feel gender needs to be destroyed to maximize equality and freedom, because accepting socially-constructed gender roles binds women into false categories and places upon them an unneeded identity.  Gender should not be a part of one's identity, but rather an irrelevant aspect of their physical bodies, such as their hair length or nose shape.  Not only that, but Revisionist Feminists are political extremists and feel very strongly that the oppression of class society is a big part of the cause of women's oppression.  Basically, a Revisionist feels that cultural ideas of gender, political class, and repressive sexual morality all work together to oppress women, and the only way to truly escape this oppression is to challenge all of these problems directly and extremely.  You are a Marxist, a Gender Abolitionist, and a Liberal Feminist all rolled into one.
The other feminist types:
The Housewife
The Marxist
The Liberal
The Liberal Extremist
The Gender Abolitionist
The Radical
The Gender-Liberal
The Revisionist     

This is the The Feminism Test written by saint_gasoline

WANTED: Old Wives' Tales

So, my husband and I have been trying to get pregnant since October. Today was supposed to be the "safe" day to check (meaning, I would have been late for the correct amount of time), but then I got my period. My body is mocking me, I tell you. It lures me into thinking that this could probably be it...and then it spits out my joyful expectation in gooey...well, you know.

I've been to the doctor - I know when I'm supposed to be ovulating, I know that I shouldn't be drinking/smoking/taking drugs/base jumping (you get the picture), I'm taking pre-natal vitamins, and I'm drinking vats of water (for goodness knows what...but my doctor told me to do it, so I do it).

I've had it with sound, medical, scientific advice.

While I will continue to be a good patient and do everything my doctor tells me to do...I would like to open the floor to any pamahiins (old wives' tales) you have up your sleeve. For as long as it doesn't require me to do anything early in the morning (I'm a late sleeper and a late riser), I'm game. So please...any suggestions? (And yes, I've wiki-how-ed this thing...and I'm on it like butter on bread.)

In the meantime, I shall continue to drink all my pre-natal crap (that smell kinda funny), storm the high heavens with my prayers, and watch Sesame Street bawling my eyes out, wondering when in the world will I get to watch this show with one of my kids.

(Oh, and P.S. - have you guys seen Maria's daughter? She's all grown up! When did that happen???)

Forgiveness

"Racial harmony is less important than racial equity. Why can't we all just get along? Why can't we just have peace on earth? Why are 'those people' so angry? Here's what I've come up with. There can be no peace without justice. There can be no justice without equity. So if we want peace and harmony, all we have to do is provide equity. Who's ready?"

We were required to read Shifts of Consciousness for Well-Intentioned Liberals for class (adapted from Paul C. Gorski, Ed Change. More information here) for class. We had to write a short response to what we read, and this is what I wrote:

Of all the suggestions from our reading (there were 8 in all), the one I quoted above was the one that struck me the most. It got me thinking about the value of justice versus the value of mercy - of forgiveness.

Frankly, I am exhausted with all this racial introspection. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm just saying that I'm tired because it is very emotionally taxing for me to keep scrutinizing who I am in terms of what my race is - and how that affects others whose race does not match mine. So yes, at this point, oversimplification sounds almost too tempting to refuse because there comes a point when my mind is just too punch-drunk to keep thinking of new ways to understand the problem and its accompanying almost-too-impossible-to-achieve solutions.

There is a lot of anger when we talk about racism - and rightfully so. It is difficult to let go of that anger especially since racism is still alive and well at this day and age. But...and I'm saying this as an attempt to oversimplify as well...what about forgiveness?

Yes, it's difficult to forgive years of oppression. Yes, it's difficult to forgive the people who believe there is nothing to forgive. But isn't that what forgiveness is about? Now that I've thought about it...maybe this oversimplification isn't so simple after all. Forgiveness is difficult and entails a lot of work. The ability to forgive is almost as difficult as admitting that one needs to be forgiven. But in the midst of all the finger-pointing, the one thing that keeps going in my mind is forgiveness. Is it difficult? Yes. Is it impossible? No. It shouldn't be.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired. Ask me again in a few days and I might be back in fighting form. But right now, forgiveness seems worth the effort.

"The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.
But mercy is above this sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute of God himself;
And earthly power doth then show like God's
When mercy seasons justice."
(Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, 4.1.191-204)

Intent and Effect

Had dinner and had a long warm shower. I feel exhausted. I cried in class tonight, well, after class.

So there we were, talking about Conflict Theory and Functionalism - how the dominant class imposes universal norms on the subordinate class, creating false consciousness that fosters a hegemony. It was unavoidable, then, to talk about the different classes and how people who earn less usually go to schools that do not provide a curriculum that is as challenging and fulfilling as the curriculum of the schools where the more economically advantaged go. In effect, in a functionalist society, "poor" kids get "bad" education, and therefore land low-paying jobs; while "rich" kids get "good" education, and therefore land high-paying jobs. The "poor" remain "poor," the "rich" remain "rich." However, functionalists argue that if an individual tries "hard enough," he/she will eventually succeed. Conflict Theory (which yes, borrows a lot from Marxism) says that this isn't necessarily true, therefore the subordinate class must create conflict to instigate change.

The discussion turned into the role of education in our functionalist society and the roles we, as teachers, take in the propagation of one theory over the other. One of my classmates said that while it is unfortunate that class dictate who becomes successful in life, at the end of the day, she would prefer a surgeon who had good grades in school rather than a surgeon who did so-so in school - and in effect, choosing the surgeon who came from a "good" school.

Another classmate, however, felt that grades did not necessarily reflect the skill of a person in the real world. He gave himself as an example. He said that he did poorly in school, but he thinks he's doing pretty well as a teacher. He even went so far as to say, "I wouldn't want a teacher who had a 4.0 GPA in college to go near my kids. He wouldn't know how to speak to my daughter."

Well.

I might not have gotten a 4.0 GPA, but I did pretty well in school. I would've been excellent had Math not been a requirement (curse you, Mathematics!) and I am now maintaining a 4.0 GPA in grad school (whew, no more Math). But I don't want my performance in school to be held against me. Bad grades should not be used to make untrue and hasty generalizations about people's performance in the real world - and neither should good grades! I told him that it was unfair to make those statements, especially since it implied that I would not be an effective teacher. Schooling is not the only factor that influences a person's ability. I grew up in a third world nation where good education is a luxury, even though it is said that it is a right.  Does that not at least affect my effectiveness in the classroom with regards to being able to reach out to the students who are doing poorly in school? I think that that should be enough grounds to say that I would know "how to speak" to that that guy's daughter. Bad grades do not a person make, and neither do good grades. I refuse to believe that my being a good student deters me from being a well-rounded person! I told him that he should not be making generalizations about one extreme while desiring not to be held against the generalizations made about the other extreme.

Suddenly, Mark (not his real name), another classmate of mine said he had had it with the generalizations made in class. He took offense with how the class was using words like "They" and "Them" to stress how the subordinate class was this entity that was so separate from who they were ("they" meaning my classmates). As a teacher in a racially diverse school, he felt that the least the class could do was to name "them" if they were going to talk about "their" situation. African American. Latino. Asians. Poor.

Well, that opened a nasty can of worms. Immediately, my other classmates went on the defensive. He was telling the class the disappointment he felt and the others took it against him. Up until that point in class, I was limiting myself to the theoretical arguments about functionalism and conflict theory. There were a lot of generalizations going around and I chose not to play the race chip, even though there were only two other girls who were not white (one was African American, the other was Latina). I always find it interesting (to put it mildly) to watch white people talk about racism and class inequality and see them talk about it passionately. I often wonder what they would feel like if they were the ones who were different. But here was a white man (and in any society, that is the best representative of any dominant class: educated, white, male) and he was standing up for me and the other "people of color"! He was a virtual stranger, but I felt as if he knew exactly what I was feeling.

At one of the lulls that followed the heated arguments, I said that there is a difference between intent and effect. While the others might not have intended their words to have that effect, the effect is undeniable. Mark was offended, and frankly, so was I. He just had the chutzpah to say it, I didn't. And in the final analysis, I think effect is more important. Intent is debatable, effect is undeniable. I couldn't understand how my classmates' resentment over the perceived accusation of some mild form of racism takes precedence over Mark's real offense to the language my classmates inadvertently used.

The class ended soon after that because we really were at a standstill. Tempers were flaring and it was really very uncomfortable. When everyone was filing out, I shook his hand and said, "Thank you." I meant to say more, but I couldn't let go of his hand and I started to cry. I was so overwhelmed by his bravery to speak up for someone who was so unlike him. Finally, since I couldn't let go of his hand (because I could hardly stand anymore), he hugged me and he said, "Thank you."

Wow.

Dreaming A Nation To Be

School's definitely back. I wrote this as a requirement for a class. We were asked to think about "nation" - what it means, how is formed, etc. I ended up writing this. I wasn't bargaining on it being this personal, but there you go.

I can't wait to go back home.

Edited on: 1/15/2008. I added a few things to my paper so I edited it here as well. :-) Some parts from the original paper are left out, though, as they are very personal in nature.

***

My family and I moved to Grand Rapids on 2001. I had just graduated from college and idealism was flowing quite healthily through my veins. I did not want to move to the States – at the point when we moved, I had already begun living on my own and I wanted to stay behind and do my own thing in the Philippines. Kicking and screaming though, I joined my family.

I never shared my fellow Filipinos’ fascination with the US. I have tons of kababayans (Filipino for “countrymen.” Bayan means “country.” The prefix ka- is the same as “co-" in “co-worker”) living illegally in this country because it promises more money, more stability, and more opportunities for growth. I, on the other hand, am afflicted with the haughtiness that comes with the city-born and bred upper-middle class. Growing up, I already had money, I already had stability, and I already had opportunities for growth. Instead of viewing America as a land of opportunity, I thought it was the land of excess. I resented it because my country always saw itself as inferior in relation to America.

When 9/11 happened, my heart went out to those who died and to those who were left behind. To combat the growing hatred against foreigners that came in its aftershock, I remember seeing an ad campaign airing over and over again. A diverse bunch of individuals were saying the words, “I am an American.” They managed to pick individuals that looked nothing like each other, and their message was clear: stop picking on the foreigners. Despite best efforts though, for the first time in my life, I felt horribly different. Suddenly, we were the enemy just because we were different. We live in Grand Rapids, and we couldn’t be more different than all the other Van Somethings and De Somethings.

I decided to go back home after just 6 months in the US. When I got back home, I embraced my idealism with vim and vigor. I was determined to make something of myself, and I tried to turn my back away from my bourgeoisie background. What I ended up doing was a compromise between my idealistic and pragmatic self: I became a teacher, I helped shape the next generation…in an exclusive, prestigious, and expensive Catholic all-boys high school. I was teaching boys who had pretty much the same hoity-toity background I have, but I wanted them to realize that they could and should go beyond that. I still wonder how effectively I was able to do that.

Now, I live here in Grand Rapids again, with my husband, as a full time graduate student. I still harbor the same resentments I had before, albeit now with a tinge of sadness. It was a sad day when I grew old enough to realize that my parents were human and made mistakes – it’s the same now that I see that America isn’t so great after all. I am more forgiving of the US and its citizens. Ignorance more than hatred fuels so many of its people and while it is a constant struggle to remind myself to rise above the situation, I know I need to; the scornful look, the hushed voices, or worse, the quasi-benign, overly-saccharine smiles of condescension notwithstanding.

Reading about Beowulf’s journey to Denmark, to help a nation that wasn’t his own, I started rethinking about the guilt I felt at abandoning my own country. When Beowulf and his company arrived at Denmark, Hrothgar’s herald and officer said, “Stoutness of heart / bravery not banishment, must have brought you to / Hrothgar” (337-339). Beowulf saw a huge challenge awaiting him at Hrothgar’s kingdom, and he took it, and ultimately, his success there began what was to be his great legacy. His experiences in a different country allowed him to be a better ruler for his own country. I could only wish to do the same as a teacher.

I believe that a nation relies mostly on its people for its identity and I struggle with this because I am trying my best to define who I am in the context of my home country and the country that now educates me – so that I may educate my own people. I am but one person, but I know I help define my nation; in the same way I know that one racist (insert swear word) does not define this nation.

But it is problematic to define what a nation is because people are no longer limited by borders. My being over and beyond the borders of my country has made me think more about my nation and my nationality more. I now look and think about my nationality in terms of how it is shaped by my being here. I am more known for my nationality now more than ever (pretty much the same way that Beowulf was the Geat who saved the Danes) and I find that I have to disconnect who I am from where I come from long enough to understand how those two aspects of myself are intrinsically joined. I live in a constant state of juxtaposition and while the situation may not be the most comfortable, the realizations bring much comfort.

Yes, too many of us are hungry for food, education, attention, and the chance to make a better life. I listen to my classmates who teach in cushy districts and they complain of inattentive students and I think about the children back home who have to make do with the shade of a mango tree for a classroom. And they have to compete with ants to sit on the muddy soil underneath it. I think of the teacher who teaches 50-70 students at a time for a pittance, who chooses to remain in the country to teach despite the exodus of other teachers to become domestic helpers in countries far and away. But we laugh, and boy how we laugh. And we dream, and we have big dreams.

It’s snowing again outside and I’ll probably have another bowl of cold cereal for breakfast and that’s about as un-Filipino as my morning can get (oh, to have the warmth of a muggy, tropical sun, and the smell of roasting garlic and rice!) This paper has also taken a life of its own – I did not intend for it to be thing long and personal. But this is precisely why I am grateful to be here: to study, to be outside my comfort zone, and to learn things I otherwise would never have learned had I not left home – so that I could go back home and hopefully be a better teacher. A friend of mine said that there is a resurgence of the desire to either go back home or give back to our country within our generation of Filipinos living abroad. Dare I say, we are going to be the ones who will define our nation.

Call Me Algernon and Bring Me Flowers

Yes, I know, it's been ages.

I've done nothing but do school work and I'm getting pretty bummed out (yes, Thanksgiving festivities notwithstanding - but we did go Black Friday shopping...).

There are actually more things on my mind but I can't seem to bring myself to write them down - writing them down would make it more real, and I'm on ultra denial mode right now. I'll indulge in a few soul-cleansing sobs when I'm done with all my papers.

Depression used to control me, now I'm scheduling my next bout of it. This getting old thing might actually be good for something (yes, sadly, I turned 27 since the last post. Even that was pretty uneventful).

It's just that with the advent of all these memes, Facebook applications, and mindless surveys, it's easy to think that I'm already sharing my feelings. Or at least dealing with them. But I'm not - I feel like I'm whoring my superficiality to the world. I have one "friend" from Friendster (geez, can you see how bad it is? I have a Friendster, Multiply, and Facebook account! I also have Ruckus, Shelfari, and Snapfish accounts...And still I feel so detached from the world!) who does nothing but put up surveys he has answered. Really. That's. All. He. Does. I don't want to end up like him! I don't want to end up being someone's quotation-marked-friend ("friend")!!!

I guess, in the same way that too much pre-packaged food is bad for your body, pre-packaged feelings-sharing via memes, Facebook applications, and mindless surveys is bad for your soul.

Meanwhile...on to my mind. I have to go back to studying. Sigh.

Hazy Computer Monitor Glow, Blanket Around Shoulders, Typing in the Dark

...this is how I shall spend the night tonight. No sleep for me.

***

The other night, there was another Filipino in the bus. He had a cap on with the Philippine flag. I would've recognized my kababayan without the hat though. I found that I've developed a sort of Highlander Sense of the Other. Remember that TV show called The Highlander? ("I am Duncan McLeod of the Clan McLeod...There can be only one!" [Of course, when I was younger, I thought it was "McCloud" and I thought it was such a cool name. Well, it still is. Not just as cool]). Anyway, remember how all the immortals could just sense each other? Like there was this internal tugging of sudden, deep, and immobilizing recognition. It's like that for me now. I have such a heightened sense of the Filipino Other now that I'm in America's Dutch (read: blue eyes and blond hair) Hotspot.

Anyway. I was waiting for him to make eye contact with from across the bus so I could start a conversation. But in true Filipino-in-the-midst-of-foreigners style, he was too busy minding his own business. Meanwhile, I was trying to think of ways to start a conversation with him:

"Hey, nice hat," or "Pare, Pinoy ka?" or the classic, "Uy, tiga sa'n ka sa 'tin?"

Of course, I didn't know if he still spoke the language, he might have grown up here and all. But I figured, if he's wearing a cap like that (and believe me, that was a huge flag on that cap), he ought to at least understand Filipino.

And then I heard him talk on the phone. "'Ba malay ko, aalis daw sila bukas e."

Jackpot. Nag-Ta-Tagalog nga!

Alas, he got off the bus a stop earlier than I did and my new almost-best-friend never knew what a comfort his mere presence was.

It's silly to feel so forlorn about that whole episode. I know it's my own fault. I ought to at least try to make new (American) friends here. But as much as I want to...I don't. Does that make sense?

***

The real reason I couldn't sleep: I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow.

For years, I've had terrible dysmenorrhea. When I say terrible, I mean paying-for-the-sins-of-all-my-past-lives terrible. For almost half of my life, I've been in pain, half of the time. I often wonder what it would be like to spend one whole day without any kind of pain, or the anticipation of it. I'm in pain so much that I can almost not complain about it for lengths at a time. I've seen doctors for it but they always seem to try to medicate the pain and not necessiraly the cause. Even then, the pain has never gone away.

One doctor told me I had endometriosis. Another ran a battery of tests only to prescribe some totally expensive and useless pill. Another doctor told me I had to get pregnant by the age of 26, or else I won't have a chance to get pregnant (I'm turning 27 in 3 weeks...gasp...I'm turning 27 in 3 weeks. I just realized that now! But that's for a different post at a different time...) I've been poked and scrutinized and - well, let me just stop there. I don't want to get too graphic.

Tomorrow, I'll be going to a specialist. Yes, yes, I should've done that sooner. Truth to tell, I've been to all sorts of doctors and I thought I had already gone to see a specialist. Apparently, I haven't. Well, at least tomorrow I'll be going to a doctor who really deals with this sort of thing. I'm scared to find out what's actually wrong with me. At the same time, though, I really just want to know why I'm always in pain. I don't know what to expect. I have a feeling that there won't be anything significantly wrong; or worse, nothing significantly new to tell, and that is worse. And then I'll be left in pain, again. In the dark, again.

Sort of like right now.

Sigh. There's always adoption. (And yet, as I write that futile attempt at humor, I realize, it's not really funny.) But seriously, we can always adopt. We can always adapt.

I hate this. I really, really, really do.

Coming to the Surface for Air - Mindless Rambling

Yeah, I know. It's been forever. :p

4 major papers and 2 presentations later, I'm still alive. I've completely forgotten what it was like to be a student in the middle of midterm season. (Middle of midterm - so is that quarterterm? Obliquely to the right/left term? Forget it...)

And so I'm taking a deep breath and waiting for the next big thing to happen.

***

Saw that Bizarre Foods episode on the Philippines again. Boy how I miss home. I want to go home. Home, home, home, home.

***

Autumn's here. Love it. And so the world turns.

When was the last time you rode on swings?

My brother had soccer try-outs this afternoon so Chaddy and I watched. Well, it was hot and it was longer than we anticipated, so we ended up going to the nearby playground (which was shaded, hence the initial appeal).

I made a beeline for the swings and realized that I hadn't ridden in swings since I was about 9 or so. So away I went on those swings. Oi! The most amazing feeling! It almost made me forget about the tons of stuff I have yet to do for school, the fact that we have next to zero money, and the fact that I'm 26 and probably too old for swings.

I tried all the other stuff around the playground, too. They were too small for me to fully enjoy though (yay! Finally, something too small for me...of course, the playground was for small kids...) so I went back to the swings.

I didn't accomplish much today. I was supposed to finish my Faulkner book today, mail my petticoat to my best friend (she needs "something borrowed" for her wedding...wee! Hi, Sara!), and start on my Assessment assignment, but I ended up being on the swing this afternoon.

Well spent, I say. :-)

Unbearable Lightness of Being

I feel so wishy-washy; very faint and sketchy; very melted-ice-cream-y.

I think this is the effect of not having real work in more than a year. I need to work. (I shall regret these words, I know.)

There are parts of my brain that I haven't used in so long. *shakeshakeshake* My brain looks like the attic in which that Avon lady found Edward Scissorhands.

I've been looking at friends' profiles in Friendster to pass the time (I'm downloading a bunch of stuff again) and I miss home. I miss my old friends.

I hear that it's raining something fierce in Manila now and I miss my horror days when I used to live alone in our pseudo-haunted house.

I'm reviewing the traffic laws since I haven't driven in 6 years! I miss those days when I used to be self-sufficient and could drive anywhere. I don't miss my road rages, but I'm indulging in a few chuckles in relative-safe recollection.

Gah. I can't even make a proper entry. Have you guys noticed? Grrr.

"More nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

Ahlavet! Heard that from my all-time, feel-good, no-brainer, rerun-to-death series, Matlock.

***

I registered for 4 classes this term (12 units) and I'm a bit anxious to start this whole new phase of being a full-time graduate student. I'm thinking I won't stress out so much considering I won't have any other responsibilities (read: I won't be working anyway). But I am worried about being able to get into the groove of things.

***

My husband's coming in a little over 24 hours. And then we'll be off to Indiana for the weekend. I've spent most of the past 2 days getting our little "apartment" (read: my parents' basement) ready. If only I can do something about these walls...

***

I'm fretting. I'm fussing. Things are happening all around me and I feel so static. Huge changes are afoot. I'm more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.