My Womanhood is Purple

August 29^th

^{Look out.}

Womanhood is something that I love while traveling.  It’s buoyant, it’s radical, it’s simple and plain, loud and quiet.  We roar, we purr, we are slutty and we go home early.  We talk about it, we bond, we are jealous and envious and we hate each other.   We grow instantly and laugh and giggle over something silly and childish, like boys, masturbation, and books.  My womanhood is neither red nor blue, but rather purple, flowing between me and all other women, women I hate and loathe, women I love immediately, women who eye me with disdain and women who ignore me, women who hug me and women who lurk around me.  I bond with all of them because being a woman is everything to me.  I am neither red nor blue but I love the reds and blues, like the blood between my legs it is all and nothing of me.   I love the women who talk about it, the women who hate it and who will never talk about it; womanhood embodies all of it.  Womanhood, like a frayed rope, all together and nothing at all, ripped apart and held together by the very thing that we hate and love at the same time…a purple and red and blue and black and raped and survived garden of Eden which everything and nothing is our fault and we meet and gather and hate and love each other and everyone else and can bond over glasses of wine or cups of beer in every corner of the world. 

I can adore women from afar, from my couch alone in socks and sweatpants and ice cream, I can love them in bathroom stalls passing me tampons, I can respect them in hotel rooms talking about past failed loves and wonderful female accomplishments like making hard decisions and being intellectual and basically kicking ass in this male dominated world.  I love women who understand me, who understand my pain, the pain in my Pattaya hating soul, who can understand my hatred for hurt and suffering, who shudder when I shudder when the world’s women shudder.  I can love women who laugh with me, women who go off by themselves, who don’t need anyone else, women who used to need people but who have come to the point where they see that in the end all they have is themselves and they love it.

 I love women who don’t talk to me, women who befriend other women, women who are jealous, women who defy womanhood, women who hate women, women who don’t want to be feminists because to me they still are. Women…we are all women, bound together by this sameness, this magnificent ability to be women, to be one and the same despite all of these wretched, hilarious, hurtful, colorful, tearful and smiling differences we have.  I am purple, I am woman, hear me roar.