love doesn’t cure all

brown grrrl here again.

i was about to write in my private, paper journal… but then just found myself opening this up.  i want to get trans boy to write in here more often.  i sense that some coercion is in order.

before trans boy, i hadn’t been in a serious relationship for quite some time.  like, four years.  the relationship i was in was barely even a relationship.  i mean, it was in that i loved him and i think he loved me and we slept together and had dates and were a part of one another’s lives… but it wasn’t in that he wouldn’t attach that label to me.  label or not though, what we had fits what i call a relationship, so a relationship i’ll call it.

anyway.  that thing.  that was the first relationship i had had and it wasn’t exactly healthy.  it involved lying, cheating, emotional manipulation, emotional stonewalling, tears, breakdowns, fits of rage, arbitrary distancing and so much more.  looking back, i can say that we both used abusive behaviours toward one another.

once that relationship ended, i thought the next relationship i’d be in, if i’d ever be in one again, would be one that’s beautiful and loving and caring.  and, for some reason, i thought that kind of relationship would end everything wrong in my life.

love doesn’t quite work that way, does it?  i’m in love with a beautiful person, but it hasn’t cured feelings of social alienation, especially since, in many ways, i think the way this wedding is being executed is alienating me from the people i care about.

what happens to friendships with activists when your wedding involves a ridiculous scale of consumption?

i understand the judgement i’m getting – i really do.  what i don’t understand is how i can reconcile my feelings about capitalism with my desires for the wedding.  i think i’ve written this before, but initially, we wanted a small, backyard wedding.  no fancy, $2000 lehenga.  no wedding designer.  no trip to india to go shopping.  hand-made wedding cards.  decorations we’d make and put up ourselves.  perhaps a potluck.  low-stress, low-money, high-us… but also low-pleasing-my-mom.  and when you’re indian, pleasing your mom is pretty much everything.

so what’s more important to me?  resisting capitalism, or giving my mom what, in her culture, is evidence that she’s done her job?  given that my whole motivation for resistance is the love i have for the people around me and wanting what’s best for everyone instead of what’s best for sraight, cisgender white dudes, it’s not surprising that my mom’s needs surpass many others.

and given that i’m the kind of person who wants something unique out of my wedding, backyard or not, it’s not surprising that if it has to be big, it has to be BIG.

but i know this is having an impact on my life.  it’s impacting my friendships.  it’s impacting how i feel about myself.

and i don’t know what to do about any of that.

i’m not sitting around here feeling emo – but i am sitting around here contemplating and wondering and hoping to draw some kind of conclusion on what to do or what to think.

i guess, within capitalism and patriarchy, there’s no way to live life in a manner that’s comfortable for everyone.  i guess that’s what oppression does: divide us.

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1 Comment »

  1. Monika Said:

    I think this is a dilemma faced by many people. I faced a similar thing and felt like a sell out; I am still haunted by my giving in. The good news is you have terrific boundaries and will know what to fight and what isn’t as important to you than it is to your partner or (most likely) your mom.

    This is yours and m’s day (and in a different way, your moms!). Anyone who makes you feel guilty can go fark themselves. And that includes me if my ribbing makes you feel bad. 😦

    I agree. If you are going to go big go BIG. And secretly I am envious of your ability to stand up in a way I never did.


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