Domestic Feminist?

So I've had a revelation in the past 48 hours. My husband, as amazing as he is in his own right, has yet to understand that living in America means carrying your own weight; even when you have the luxury of married life at home. This does not turn your girlfriend into your mother, or worse, a maid. The opportunity that he has been fortunate to have, and be working, does not negate this responsibility. Fighting and yelling does nothing to convince him of this fact, however, I need to start showing him.

For too long have I been putting my own ideals, values, culture, and needs on the back-burner. I have allowed myself to be his crutch, his enabler, his rock, for the past nine months; knowing he's had a rough time in a new country: learning a new language, culture, trying to get integrated socially, administratively, and into a family of white people that do not understand him or his culture. He has had to give up a lot, and make a lot of sacrifices. There are many examples of where I recognized this, and went "easy on him," with my domestic expectations, where I bit my tongue and cleaned up after him, and did not say much about double standards. The best example is with language; the French I spoke to him was another crutch. I told myself he was going out into the world to speak English with others, and this was hard enough; the least I could do was make his home a place where he could be himself, linguistically, and "let his hair down."

However, this has just further enabled his behavior of taking an inch, and walking all over me. Don't get me wrong; in any other department we are loving, giddy, profound, and can connect in ways I have never been able to with another person. He understands me. I love this about him. But the minute he is stressed, overwhelmed, annoyed, or feels destabilized by something , I suddenly have become his whipping post. Words are cast in my general direction that cut like a knife, or he teases me with things he knows are sensitive. I have put myself out before him, only to be trampled on when he is feeling the pressures of America are getting to be too great. It's not fair, and it won't continue.

So I am now investing myself in teaching him a lesson. I will not be fighting, not be screaming, not losing my mind as I have proven to resort to in the past. I will be short, sweet, and blunt. Frank. To the point. And I will not engage in a back-and-forth, I will tell him how it is - not how I Feel about it - and walk away. I will tell him "only children expect people to clean up after them." Or, "that's selfish" when he refuses to let me continue to do my work on the computer, after I had just gotten up to help him fix the car. It's not all about him, and he will need to start understanding that. I will only be cleaning up after myself, for example. If he leaves dishes out, they will STAY OUT, without a fight, until he puts them away. I won't be making the bed, I won't be making his lunch, and I will be doing only my laundry for a while.

Also, this catastrophe about cooking; he acts like I'm trying to feed him rat poison when I make American food. He won't admit he likes it, when he eats it. He ridicules me when I make African food. Then complains that he wants African food. I have been hitting my head against a wall, over and over, doing my best to learn how to cook for him, so that he could be proud of me. I have been trying a new American recipe per day, encouraged by the hope that I would find SOME dish that would please his pallet. There had to be something! He claimed he only liked "beef tips" because that wasn't American, that was simply an African dish that was slightly altered (grilled meet in sauce.) Last night he said the only hope for me is to go to Africa and have his mother teach me how to cook.

So you know what I realized? I am not a maid. I would LOVE to be a good wife, like I've been trying to be, and cook for him - it's only fair, after all, since I come home from work 2 hours before he does - but if he refuses to show me the appreciation I well-deserve, then it will not continue. I will cook for myself, and leave a little bit for him if he wants it. If he doesn't, "More for me! Good thing there's enough for me to have lunch tomorrow!" If he wants rice, he knows where the pots are.

I don't mind being domestic. I don't mind assuming some of these roles. But when he refuses to acknowledge that I am making a considerable effort, and doesn't wish to be patient with me, then I refuse to continue bending over backwards for him, until he gets the point.

I feel liberated. I know he's smart. He'll catch on...and if he doesn't, then there will be a lot less work around the house for me to do.

Money

So even just writing this entry sounds selfish; I am being the typical white suburban, middle-upper class female....even to be privileged to consider more perfection when I am vastly fortunate enough to have, in my possession, an apartment, TWO cars, a job, health insurance, and enough clothes, food, and accessories to last a lifetime.

I want to know since when did we start equating STUFF to wealth? Just because you have mountains of crap from Wal-Mart, does not mean you are wealthy. And just because you are wealthy, does not make you rich. Look at Brittney Spears, Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, and Janis Joplin - to name a few....wealth drives you crazy. Maybe there is some link there between the United States level of luxury, or availability of wealth; however fabricated and unsustainable it may be, thanks to *credit* -- to the level and nature of crimes, and occurrence of depression, drug use, and other psychological issues?

How long has God and the sages been saying that money is the world's Curse? Look around you. Where else do you see the elderly treated like an old version of DOS, outdated and burdensome? Where else do you see the sick as an opportunity for profit? Where else do you see class systems, discrimination, and other injustices, muddled up so so neatly and discretely into our social code, that we can no longer distinguish it from our own values of right and wrong? Where else do you see children bringing drugs, violence, and murder into schools to be "heard?" Where else do you see people turning to strangers with diplomas for advice and counsel, instead of their own friends? Where else do you see neighbors who avoid each other, except for a cold and wary "Hi," if they are unfortunate enough to catch your eye?

The more we have let money in, the more it has corrupted us. The United States has many redeeming qualities, such as freedom of expression and relatively unobtrusive levels of involvement of the government, in society and business. However, we are rated one of the lowest for levels of happiness - by immigrants and natives. We don't even know how unhappy and unfulfilled we are until we travel outside the borders. Those who never travel, can't understand why a part of them feels empty. Too much space, and nothing to fill it with. A big country full of opportunities; but void of God, love, and brotherhood.

These are the things that should, and do, count. We can't keep fooling ourselves into oblivion. Money has never, and will never, buy happiness.

Rhythm in the USA

Rhythm in the Midwest USA goes something like this:

Alarm
Coffee, (Cereal or Toaster Pastry), Watch the News
Traffic, (avoid the stoplights)
Work, (don't look at the clock too much)
Traffic, (avoid the stoplights)
Dinner, (heat up and save for lunch)
Work out?
Run errands, do chores, fill out paperwork (insurance, cars, bank statements, bills, budget)
Set alarm
Speak to Spouse
Sleep

The Idealist Finds Her Voice Again

So here I am. I'm suddenly 25 years old. The voice that comes out is strangely hesitant; timid, has been without an audience since a long time ago, when the world was still bright and endless. It was a time called college. It was a time when this voice was justified, was legitimized; when its idealism was bravo'ed for being intellectual and daring. When we still thought there was room left in the world for One Voice to change the injustice. To right the wrong. To awaken people.

Years later...I've found I've fallen asleep myself.

I have been through a whirlwind of Life...it's slapped me around, brought me up, knocked me down, and brought me to corners of the Earth I never knew existed. Sometimes I wish I never discovered. My idealism has been drowned out by waves of dangerous nativity; has been chased away by bouts of fear of my own weakness and limitations in the face of a dangerous world of lies and hypocrisy. I felt I had been ill-prepared for the truth. I felt I had been sheltered from how deep the Rabbit Hole actually goes. Now that I had been down...I wonder if I can ever crawl back to some semblance of normalcy. I wondered so often if those souls for whom I had been so quick to lie down on the train tracks, to rescue from injustice, really even deserved all this selfless determination I had given of myself in years past?

The world is not what we learn about in the suburbs. My parents protected me from reality, which served two purposes; leaving me utterly unprepared for how ugly human beings can be to themselves, and to others, as well as to equip me with the Idealistic forces - namely religion, the Golden Rule, and confidence in myself - to bounce back from these realities stronger and wiser.

Now as I sit in my apartment in St. Louis - the first real physician manifestation of my hard work - I wonder, what now? What can come of this new found wisdom? I am now an adult. I am now a "Ma'am" and a "Lady," officially. They told me it would happen, and now it has. I am months away from getting married. This is a branch of my life that no one would have expected, to this man who completes me and confounds me at the same time. I still ask myself, when the day takes a halt to catch its breath, such as now - Who Am I? Was the so-called Idealism I felt I was born and called to bring to realization, the almost tangible relationship I have with my Creator, all simply an Illusion? Is this not yet the time? Is the time coming? And how many others like me are there in the world who had these fantasies of high expectations of Change, who found themselves limited by the "way things work," and the sobering realities of ugliness and fear that linger in humanity? Am I destined for this life, as is, and nothing more?