Happy V-Day.

My body and I used to have a very love/hate relationship. But mostly hate. I hated how clumsy it was. I hated how it did not reflect anything close to who I really was. I hated the disparity between the person other people saw and the person I was inside. Hated it. I was two sides of a canyon. Ugly.

I don’t know what changed. I don’t know if every girl goes through this or not. Probably not… because if so, more women would be presidents, astrophysicists, biochemical-engineers, surgeons, soldiers.

I would not be who I am if I did not feel this way. I don’t know how I ever functioned properly without this. Me and my V are buddies now.

I want to meet more people who are capable of celebrating the human body.

I want to hear more songs, poetry, and public art that are created to celebrate sex.

And by celebrate, I mean like sunrises, or rhinestones. Celebrate it like parents. Celebrate it like I celebrate the awesome physics of neutron stars and the experience of real hugs.

The fact that not everyone celebrates is one of the great injustices that will never be solved in the big picture. One of those things like bad politics, slavery, Microsoft… en masse, no change is completely possible. I’m sure there’s some sociological law describing this, and I wish I knew its name. But the corollary to this law will describe how we can still live our own individual lives without suicide sometimes. Like how people in large groups are stupid, but individuals are unique and intelligent.

That’s how we have to live. That’s how we have to celebrate.

Happy V-Day. (a few hours late, but… yeah)