Glad to be a Woman

Ladies, how many times have you found yourself thinking “Men don’t know how easy they have it?”

Recently I’ve caught myself thinking, and outwardly expressing this same idea. Yet it occurs to me, that while women are faced with menstrual cramps, the never-ending challenge of coordinating outfits, shaving their legs and bikini line, there must be daily annoyances men go through just being men.

For example, men must shave every day. I know of some women who can go a week or more, without having to do this task. Women, especially if in a professional career or industry, need to ensure a professional and fashionable appearance. Right down to the nylons, and heels. Yet I wonder, don’t men have the same issue? Wouldn’t they need to ensure their ties match their shirts, and their shoes are polished?

What about the pregnancy situation. Never having gone through it myself, I’ve heard stories from those that have. Labour pains hurt more than life itself, and some women go so far as to curse their husbands for “knocking them up.” Isn’t this in a way, trying for a man? Especially that of a spouse, or otherwise “better half?”  Men who love their girlfriends, fiancées or wives. How much does it hurt them, seeing the women they love in pain and all for the miracle of bringing a new life into the world.

That brings up yet another point. Women have the option, to cry openly. Showing basic emotion is seemingly easy for a woman, but not so much for a man. There is still an ages old idea, manly men do not cry. Manly men must keep strong and not let any emotions show. So in closing, women and men have things just as bad, if one really stops to think about it.

*With input from Brent Welch. Thank you.

Another Term over

My last final written, I now await the start of next term, May 3rd.  In the meantime, a myriad of thoughts run through my mind.  I’m transferring to the downtown Edmonton NorQuest campus. On one hand I am exalted by my newfound independence, but also nervous and hesitant. I keep on going, striving to do what I need to to have my dreams reach fruition. Yet with this determination and commitment on my part, I can’t help but feel trepidation. Fear of not reaching my goals, of somehow failing to make myself and those I love, proud of me.

Currently I live with my parents but next year will be moving into dormitories for University, and I worry. There is no safety net there for me. Will I be okay? How will I make my way in life, not having parents to fall back on? For the past 24 years my mom has been a rock for me. She has bolstered my courage, and sense of self. While I prepare myself to face the world on my own, I am saddened. As if a part of my innocence, and care free life is being lost. Never to be rediscovered.  Only time will tell how things will turn out in my life.

Symbolism

My English class this term has learned about finding symbols and symbolism in different pieces of literature. Today we finished watching the movie Good Will Hunting, and discussed the symbols found in the movie. It occurs to me symbolism can be found in far more than in books, movies, and poetry.

Symbolism can be found in a sunrise, children laughing as they play or a dog eagerly retrieving a frisbee or ball and bringing it back. For myself, I find meaning in things anyone else might not even give a second thought to.

My silver mood ring is a prime example. Most just glance at it, thinking it’s a piece of tin and not worth much. Perhaps, in a way, these people are right. It’s always stuck on the same colour, and it doesn’t have any gold or diamonds to it. Maybe it is nothing but a worthless piece of tin. Yet that is not how I choose to look at it.

This ring is fairly plain in setting, and design. Yet it once belonged to my maternal grandmother, and that in itself bares much weight for me. For all its simplicity, this ring evokes feelings of regret, yet love. Regret because, due to many circumstances, I was not that close with my grandmother. There is love though, because if not for her I may never have grown up knowing the taste of home-made pumpkin pie, or had someone think enough about me to knit me slippers and a blanket. She’s been gone more than ten years now and yet I still miss her. I still remember her. Not always the easiest to understand, but yet I still loved her. I miss her for one simple reason. She was my grandmother.

Rest in peace Grandma, I’ll always wear your ring with pride and remembrance of you.

We are Aunts

“Look at you, you’re walking,” “You did it!” Am I a mother? No, I am an aunt. I do not have children of my own, but that does not mean I can not take pleasure in the accomplishments of my sibling’s children. Though they may live hours from me, I delight in hearing about their day, of any new friends, or new experiences they have had. The bond between mother and child is strong. Like an impenetrable length of chain, woven tightly. Yet as an aunt, I can feel a connection too. Might not be as strong, but it is there.

When they learn to ride a bike without training wheels, I am there. When they open Christmas or Birthday presents with over flowing childhood excitement, I am there. When they cry from a skinned knee, I am there. Perhaps not in psychical form, but in spirit. For nothing can alter the fact. I am proud of my role as Aunt Erin. There is a bond there, that will never be shattered. I do not think it is meant to be. I am an aunt, and in it for life.