Credit : Francis Riendeau

Story • Naturalness and Laughter

31 May 2019
px
text

Stories are written by people who don’t necessarily work or study in fields related to sexology. They convey emotions, perceptions, and subjective perspectives. Opinions voiced in the stories are those of their authors, and in no way represent Les 3 sex* position.

px
text

☛ Ce témoignage est aussi disponible en français [➦]

Translated by Zoe Yarymowich

To all the wide eyes, to those who mock with laughter. To the pointing fingers whose shadows are aimed only at me. I am proud to have made your day and to know that today, I was able to give you something to talk about. You widen your eyes; I have indeed hypnotized you.

Yes, I gave you the gift of conversation, you were able to laugh about what you saw with the members of your entourage… Namely: my hair. Because seeing me in the subway, on the street, and in the library, is certainly not unforgettable. So, thanks to you, I have become a clown, a street artist, a circus escapee, a fairground animal, etc. All this in spite of myself.

You know, they are like the leaves on trees. Even more numerous, even more beautiful. The month of July 2019 will celebrate my six years of hairiness. And yes, they are soft, and yes, they smell good. I’ve already found myself, after a few drinks, telling them that what I like most about them is seeing them, feeling them wriggle in the wind, feeling the wind making its way through them like a maze, feeling the wind bristle them with all its power. They are more alive than you. They will outlive you.

They are like the leaves on trees. For me, they are more. But for you, they are worse.

You know, I couldn’t be more laughably pleased to know that I disgust you. Because yes, it is laughable.

And I hear that I must justify this naturalness. While being born a woman, I often flee the woman in me out of fluidity. Who are you to suddenly demand that I justify the presence of what you have already, literally, burned? I do not owe you the explanation which, once heard, will be incomprehensible to you. What you hear and don’t recognize is Other - like a language you don’t understand; like the name of a city you don’t know. Why then would I participate in my own othering?

No, decidedly, I don’t owe it to you. In fact, I don’t even owe you the privilege of looking at my legs, my armpits, my areolas, my elsewhere. The reasons for your looks are too childish for me, they are heavier to bear than all this hair which is so light to me.

So I have to live with the fact that in your eyes, I am the opposite of how I assume myself. You are trying to make me heavy to carry. Know that you don't decide anything, except perhaps the fact that you give me the obligation to handle your disapproving looks. I am not what you make of me.

The breath of your words creates this wind, this rustling of leaves which turn over at the mercy of your judgments and which sweep away their importance to keep only the laughter.

hair, hairiness, pride, laugh, disapproval, stereotype, women, judgment, freedom, assume, othering

Comments

Log in ou Create an account . Only subscribed members can comment.