There was a hackathon weekend during my period the past month that I skipped. I was tired and could not get up at 7:30am to catch the 8:00am starting of the event. The other reason would be because it’s an all women event. What can I possibly miss right? For a technical hackathon with all ladies, surely it’s not as exciting as if there were more men than women… I’m a sexist against my own gender. I’ve observed in the society what and more importantly who holds the power. I’ve been let down by other women who try to impose their value on me, just another mere female that is lost and weird and needs guidance. They are so kind-hearted, I hate it. They are so supportive, I hate it. They are so selfless and cheerful, I hate, hate it.

I played action figures instead of dolls (they creep me out). I played adventures instead of dressed-up tea-parties. I’d rather be dead than looking proper and prim and ready to serve just because. In my mind, what society wants with a woman has nothing at all to do with me. But I also seethe, oh, how I seethe. When I see dedication page on the books: “For Joanne”, “For my wife without whom …”, “For mom whose love…”. When I have a dedication to write for my book I will say “For my father who loves me enough to show me how the world really works. For my hubby who doesn’t care what I do as long as I will agree to having his kid one day.” Let the flow be real.

“I’m nothing if not confused” many a person uttered that line with such finality you’d suspect they’re gonna be alright. That fatalism brings its own solution as I resigned to spend my weekend with the “guest” who for once knocked on my biological door on a Friday. Kindly enough. I thought it would be easy too. A bit chatty and uncommonly “sociable” are the side effects of being a bit high from internal chemical somersaults and blood-loss. It’d be fun with the in-laws.

Except, I over-slept. Still in bed at 11 o’clock on a Sunday while I should be serving tea for these other guests. I was in a cozy, hazy dream and only vaguely aware of my companion’s “subtle” cues of should-be-obvious-but-not-to-me noises as he got up at 10:30am. I guess I should be the one with the tea and breakfast ready. My bad. I wish I didn’t have to see that glance from the in-law’s eyes. The utter disapproval or disgust that she must have reserved for me all that morning. It mirrored my own. I wondered how much a failure I am for not being a good host, a good “daughter”, a good companion to an exceptional and long-suffering son.

The wound is a familiar one. You’d think I’d have learned how to take it by now. Then again, maybe not. I realized something though. It is my fault. For still looking for others for validation. For still blaming myself for being who I am. For still taking this passive-aggressive crap as a matter-of-course. I am my own human-being. I will live with it. In the meantime you can serve your own tea, pretty please.

May your flow be smooth.