growing up

"Your feet may leave home, but your heart never will." That was the theme of this year's graduation at my high school-- the graduation I was supposed to be taking part in but wasn't allowed because one of my parents refused to allow me to graduate early.

But not being allowed to graduate doesn't stop me from going to the commencement ceremony and seeing all of my friends, some old and some new, enter a new phase in their lives, some of them leaving forever.

My friends Steph and Brandon, as well as my infamous ex TJ, are all leaving for the military extremely soon. TJ leaves in September, Steph with him, for the Air Force training base in Texas. Brandon gets shipped out in less than a month for Marine Corps basic training. He enlisted as active, so as soon as he's done, they're shipping him out to parts unknown, ready to be used as a pawn and most likely die for a tumultuous and hypocritical cause.

The latest incident in Florida, where a group of teenage girls attacked and beat a fellow class,ate and video taped it to put it on Myspace saddened me greatly. Girl's beating up other girl's. Just the thought of that really bothers me. Women physically overpowering another woman, and often, as I found out from a number of teenage girls (and boys) who work with me the fight is about a guy who both girls are interested in or something along those lines.

I never experienced girl's at my high school actually physically fighting with each other, although sadly we had a whole lot of verbal bashing and rumors going on, which really is no better.

Wow it has been a while since my last post, and as much as I missed this place, it was somewhat on purpose. Coming to a new country where although we speak the same language and life is very much the same in New Zealand, life up here is something different for me, not all bad, not all good either, but I have managed to work my way into a very comfortable spot where I am, in this small town, and now suddenly Im leaving in just over a month.

A lot has happened so far in 2008 for me, and I am hoping that going home I will be able to keep the strength that I have worked hard to build up while I have been away from home. It will be a short visit home, then I am off to do some more exploring of the planet, but I much needed one. I feel like I am going home a very different person than the person who first got onto the plane to escape to Canada, I'm returning on my terms and I have made that pretty clear with the folks at home.

At the supermarket today, I grabbed my favorite magazines off the rack- a terrible habit of mine, considering the money I would save by subscribing. Pausing between Seventeen and Newsweek, I realized how amusing and nearly contradictory it is to be a teenage feminist.

Even for all of the books on my shelves marked "Women's Studies," I am still 15. And that means that in order to survive the oppressive society known as high school, I have to be a member of the patriarchy, just like Guy Montag in the oppressive society of Farenheit 451. Always questioning, but unquestionably in line with the group.

The older I get, the less I seem to understand about the world and life in general. At five my life was about being close to my loved ones, being outdoors as much as possible and making new friends. Now I guess I really dont understand people a whole lot at all. I dont understand why men rape and beat their wives who they once fell in love with, I dont understand why children are starving and cold on the streets when there are people out shopping who already own twenty pairs of pants, I dont understand why parents are putting their children on medications to make them behave when really they are just not wanting to parent. But what makes me so angry and so confused about is how people can see all of this happening everyday and turn away from it, understand it or not, its there in our faces and it is our responsibility to turn this all around while we still can, and people just dont want to.

I am spending this week in the house I grew up in, my mothers house. We moved out of here when I was Twelve and into my step fathers house, my mother never sold this place but rented it out to a family instead. Now she wants to sell it, so here we are again. This week she is on holiday, so I am taking car of the place, and my cat, while she is away which is more than a little challenging. I am sleeping in my sisters old bedroom, as my old bedroom is the size of a closet (being the youngest and the unplanned child I lucked out on the bedroom choosing). Its odd to be back, to see the bedroom where I would come home from my fathers house and hide under that bed. Where I slept in the toy box as a little girl because I thought my teddy bears needed the warmth of the bed more than I did. This is the place where I hid as my parents fought loudly in the living room, where the police came to take away my big brother to prison, where I fell off the garage roof, while hiding up there so that I didnt have to go with the man who was abusing me who was supposed to be taking us to my fathers house.

On Sunday I will be turning 21 years old. I guess that is some sort of mile stone for most people, yet as much as I try to feel excited or proud of it I just really dont care. It's just another number, the same as it was when I turned 18 or 19 or 20. Most of my friends consider 21 to be the marker of when you finally become an adult. As though all of a sudden you have a birthday and whoa look how grown up you are. I don't. I starting growing up long before now, in fact as a child I always felt a little bit older than everyone else my own age simply because I had been thrown into growing up much to fast. 21 doesnt make me the Woman I am, it doesnt make me responsible or ready for the world. Growing old is not growing up.

Having recently become a Volunteer over at Scarleteen (Whoo Hooo!) I wanted to share my own story of how I stumbled across Scarleteen during some of the most confusing years of my life, and how that place has made such a huge impression in my life. So I guess I will start at the beginning!

My high school years were a confusing time for me for many reasons the big one for me was that I was still being abused by my fathers friend which made it extra confusing for me when I started to develop feelings toward boys my own age and entered into the world of dating, drinking and all that comes with those two. It didn’t help that I hated my school, it wasn’t that I didn’t like the people I had lots of friends, always had a party to go to and friends to talk too much with in class, it was the school itself. I was sent to a private, all girls, catholic high school. I am not Catholic, although I was raised one but I learnt very fast that families like mine are not very welcome in the church, and I was not upset by this as I felt it was a good excuse to get out of that whole scene at a very young age much to the horror of my mother.

I have to write an essay for Biology. I wanted to choose something that I was interested, like how progestrin inhibits ovulation or the method of action mifepristone uses to terminate a pregnancy, but those topics are too controversial. However, I still wanted to choose a topic related to reproductive health, so I chose amniocentesis and its effect on fetal development and maternal health.

Even so, I see traces of feminism around school and try to inject more into each day. In history, our textbook said that ancient Mesopotamian and Egyptian women had many of the same freedoms as men, which sparked a discussion on whether they were indeed truly free- when one pointed out that there were female queens and pharohs, my history teacher fired back that because they were women, they had to don fake beards and male dress, essentially acting like men.

I am getting old. At least, that is what everyone delights in pointing out to me. A close friend even sent me an Over The Hill birthday card. I suppose it might have something to do with the fact that I am now officially done with the birthdays that have coming-of-age milestones attached to them. I can drive, have sex, vote, buy cigarettes and drink. I am 22 and a full-fledged adult now.

Except I don't feel like an adult yet.

When we were little, my brother and I used to be afraid of the 'cool guys', which was our universal term for everyone between the ages of 14 and 20. We found them indescribably intimidating and couldn't wait to get there, to be cool and intimidating, as well. But the closer I got, the further the 'cool' got pushed along. At 14 I thought, "Well, maybe next year", but at 15 I still didn't feel any closer. Neither with 16, or 17. I have never been able to 'feel' my age, or what I thought my age should feel like.

I just completely freaked out, because I was supposed to babysit for free today for a school function, and I forgot about it and didn't go. Luckily, the same function is happening again in a few days, so I can make up for it. But it got me thinking on responsibility.

I want to be able to do charity work, and maybe start an organization one day. The problem is, I have to be organized to actually be in an organization. I can't keep shirking on things that I commit to, like even though I'll be babysitting on again to make up for it, I'll have to miss another responsibility- dance class. When I was sick a few days ago, my mom asked if I was absolutely sure I didn't want to go to school, as the people we carpool with would be inconvienienced. Now that I'm in high school, priorities and commitments are going to be a lot more prevalent, and I can't ignore them. When people are counting on me, I've got to go.

I am now offically 19 years old.

Which means I am only 11 years away from turning 30.

My birthday was mainly uneventful. My boyfriend bought me flowers, cake, oreos, cream soda, a sappy card and a sewing machine. We then headed out to dinner, rented some movies and spent the rest of the night cuddled up on the coach, until one of his friends came over and insisted on talking over one of the movies I was trying to watch.

Over the past year I have actually done alot. I completed a semester of college, moved twice, got pregnant, got my first job, quit my first job and did alot of other stuff too. I feel complete with what I have accomplished so far.

Recently, I landed what many consider my "first real job" in the payday loan field, where, as Matt so cunningly put it, I'm a "register jockey." It's a "step up" in the "real world," or so I'm told. But here's the thing: I have to dress up, I have to answer the phone exactly how they want me to, I have to deal with people who are rude, belligerent, and sometimes crazy, all with a smile on my face and a "customer service" mindset.

You know what I have to say to that? Eff this. Seriously, I am 18 and for the last two years every job like this that's come along I've tried for two weeks tops and said screw this, I'm going back to minimum wage because I won't ever have to grow up.

What's a day in the life of a young feminist like, from start to finish? Not a special day, not a day your autobiographer will write about, just a plain old, average day.

Take notes on a day in your life, or reflect on a day at day's end. You can make a checklist that goes hour to hour, you can be more creative and spin a line or two of prose for each hour that passes. You can tell us all the things your body does, and/or all the places your head and heart go. You can pick a day that started like any other, but brought you to an unexpected place: a morning that begins, for instance, with walking the dog, checking email and packing a lunch can culminate with the loss of a friend, or with something happening in your neighborhood that makes the morning's seemingly dull activities take on new meaning.

So, I didn't actually say that. But I finally broke down this week and told my mother the awful truth: I don't know what I want to do with my life, but all of her hopes and dreams for me are not in the running. I attend a top 10 school, was planning on going to law school next year, but this summer, working the 9-5 at an unpaid internship, I realized that it's not the life for me.

Aside from the fact that law is a profession whose training is best categorized by jumping through hoops to get a degree and THEN you start to learn the trade, I really really hate it. Listening to other people's petty problems and trying to figure out who is right and who is wrong reminds me of watching an episode of Sex and The City. And I don't want to watch neurotic people discuss petty problems my whole life. Of course, most of the people I spoke to did in fact have real, serious problems, but they came in to complain about their neighbor who was lining garbage up on their front porch, not the fact that their children had been taken away by the state, or that their significant other had been beating them.