Catwalking on Eggshells
Be pretty tomorrow, so one may find you respectable. My former boss once said to me.
Nevertheless, I’ve always tried to take all the juice and glory from places I’ve worked in. Thankfully, it wasn’t long until I rediscover happiness in my work after moving from one place to another — in a city I live in, or in my workplace. Was never the type that seeks a dream job, I wish to live the dream in every work I do.
I have always loved the arts. Instead, what came to my frustration is the process of paraphrasing the things I learned, dismantling my previous wrongs. To be compassionate, to be accepting of the beauty, appreciating even the most non-sensible ones.
A small talk I had earlier with one artist friend included him grumbling about his ‘latest out of the usual work’. To which people kept asking ‘What’s the meaning behind all these?’ — assuming that all his works owe them substances and some historical sense, a mastery behind it. “Idk; I replied to these people, I honestly didn’t know yet” he shrugged. And I told him that, I consider myself lucky enough, to have enjoyed his work without having to interpret the works, none to the senses that it covers any hidden messages.
It took me eight long years to settle with my thoughts, not to overanalyze the artworks in front of me. It took me long enough, to see things objectively, in a formal and adaptable aesthetic. And, it surely took me even longer to identify what I can’t tolerate in various circumstances. The negative area, one might say.
As a woman, it wasn’t easy to find respect, setting aside yourself as just a pretty face. And if you’re not pretty, you must have been the sharp kind — a brilliant mind, at all time. Even at your most fragile times, you were expected to be twice as critical as any other. And presumably, if you are not pretty — nor smart, people would question your existence. In a seemingly grey area, if you did not fill in both criteria. Then, you must be the smooth talker, you’d be trained too; to talk your way out of things.
I have been relearning so many new things, absorbing so much new information at this very beginning of 2022. What made me feel inadequate, was the fact that I had to re-learn. And then practice and put to words, this new renaissance part in my life. Yet it almost felt so certain, that I would make more mistakes when I do so. Walking on eggshells, every single time — with stilettos on.
I knew I had to do something about this. I won’t compromise again, on being told to sit and look nice. And it took me six years to find out that to walk on eggshells, isn’t the life I would want to live. I don’t exist to be incapacitated — and felt inadequate, when asked about the things I wish to see ensuing.
Causal #1 | Ancestry, a collective mass.
I learned in the past, to narrate our ancestry, one must gain enormous resources of knowledge upon ethnocentric and historical research. I know, I can’t be selfish enough, to keep my grandfather’s archive, when my family wanted to sell it for a sum of money. He wrote, not for nothing. He read and kept it all, not for a sum of colonial collectible items. It had to be lifted, read, and made accessible for his odd compelling love for Nusantara.
My other grandfather did not travel far to never come back. He loved his home in the east of Indonesia. Before passing, he faced many hardships on letting go. To his home, his land, his memoirs on the land. He held on to his family values strongly, made sure every keepsakes and artifact are well-polished every day.
I can no longer watch people go down and rebuild the narratives / the lands, whilst I stayed still, frigid. Simply, because I wasn’t sure enough of myself. I lived it in my bloodline, I am willing to relive it and learn from others. For me, right now, that is enough for me to walk and move forward. Gracefully, on my pride and dismantled pair of stilettos.
Causal #2 | A woman and femininity in the arts.
Dress up, look pretty and tomorrow’s crowd would listen respectively. Similar saying from a different occasion, from a different man. I don’t mind dressing up, looking nice, making sure everything is in place. Making my presence remarkable. But to winnow it as the one sheer reason I may gain respect — it belittled me.
I learned, that the presence of a woman, in my field of culture and visual art is a long ongoing dialogue, is a very long journey indeed. A house of oppression questionable to whom it beholds. We fought, and generations of great women now arise. We often remark the gender as a strength, yet our fight often blurs and is short-sighted. Not to mention, a rear view of the winding road, for governance in our South-East Asian cultural works.
Who are the enemies? We tried to dismantle, a premature structure. Intersectionalities in these times came to my life as a fresh air of comfort. A short pause to paraphrase. This is enough to start and accommodate supply, for the long road ahead. I wouldn’t mind becoming my own hunter, and gather along the road. Find packs and sisters en voyage.
What I know, is I won’t accept a state of silence, and question my fight whenever laid again with the question ‘What do you envision?’. Ain’t I a Woman? Bell Hooks famous writing presided. I would learn, forgive, and plea for my wrongs. May it be premature, or broken, the structure needs a better foundation — a state of the art for the future.
I wish to write further, more consistently upon these matters. For all I know, even crushed eggshells can fertilize the land. And a pair of broken stilettos can be proof of the injustice, society beholds on beauty standards. Or, merely as evidence of poor industry products in our economic system.
