All posts tagged: love

On Friendship

Although I have spent most of my adolescent life consuming culture that taught me the opposite, I have always dismissed the idea of soulmates because I understand that this world works by chance and opportunity, and people make decisions that actively take their lives one way or another. So the idea that a certain someone is predestined to enter into my life didn’t make much sense – and I’m still not entirely sure it does now. But I’ll tell you what is starting to make more sense to me: the idea that soulmateship  is not limited to the stuff of romance and marriage. Early this year, I found a group of friends at University and – particularly in the past few months – I have found myself feeling an incredibly strong sense of home whenever I am around them. And mind you, I like to believe I have surrounded myself with beautiful, enriching friendships my entire life – but something about this feels altogether quite different. I live for our conversations, particularly if they make …

Swallowing Sadness

When I was a kid, I couldn’t swallow tablets. Not only could I not swallow them, I had an absolute, throat-constricting fear of them. So, the summer when I developed mumps was a particularly painful summer for both me and my family. My nightly treatment was a war zone: there was me, a stubborn five-year-old with swollen cheeks, distraught with fear at the idea of consuming something I could not chew; my worried mother begging me to try again as I spat out the pill for the fifth time; my frustrated father commanding she hold my nose and force it down. And then there was my gentle Grandpa who coaxed me from the chaos and took me to the kitchen. He patiently diced the miniscule tablet into microscopic pieces, and replaced my water glass with an apple raspberry juicebox. Then he sat and stroked my back as I shook and sobbed and swallowed until the tablet was gone. I’m not entirely sure if that memory is mine, or whether it was planted into my mind …

On Feminism

It took me a long time to realise I was a feminist, mostly because I always thought being a feminist meant burning my bra, shaving my head and becoming a lesbian. I used to quickly defend myself whenever I called out sexism and my guy friends called me a feminist. “I’m not like an actual feminist” I’d insist. God forbid, right? One day, after I said this, a friend asked me “Why not, don’t you want equality for women?” I answered “Why, of course I do”. And then she said the most liberating thing to me. She said: “Then you are a feminist.” See, the media always like to put up images of angry, negative, man-hating extremists that are nearly impossible to relate to, and then slap the “feminist” label on her. And even if women try to be feminists, an army of journalists are ready to pick her apart and point out all the ways she isn’t feminist enough: “Beyonce is too naked, too married, too pregnant, too sexy, to be a feminist.” Never mind the fact …