The Year in Review

I think the year can be summed up in today's shopping experience. It took an enormous amount of energy to attempt to find some spring clothes in the neighborhood mall, but I convinced myself to finally just do it inspite of inner protests to spend the rainy day reading. It being a Thursday, I knew the stores wouldn't be as busy as they will be in the upcoming nice weekend. Went to the usual national-chain preppy stores to load up on the basics. Was successful in that I found so many colorful options to choose from. Nice to find a paradise that was lost, but in hindsight, I think it's better lost than found.

Much to my dismay, the dressing room mirrors proved the rumors true that my body has changed. I almost fell over from fright when I spotted the spider web of veins going up my legs. Had to reassure myself that being tan would help blend those bad boys in a bit, but ultimately I'm still not so sure. I guess I will just have to choose what a lot of women do, not wear shorts. What?! No, say it can't be!!! My mom doesn't wear shorts nor has since I've been born. This can't be, this means I am getting old. Dun dUn duNnnnn (imaginary musical accompaniment required). The varicose veins were just the start of the demoralizing body image session. The fact that all the tops I tried on were clingy in all the wrong places really made me feel like a winner. I began to wonder how other women who don't have the manaquein model body cope with this. I didn't ever have a manaquein model body, but somehow before now was oblivious to the mental mindfuck that followed me throughout the day.

After I got over the initial shock, I began to find a few things that worked, and then a few more. After three hours, I came home with a shopping bag full of colorful goodies, knowing full well I would return most, if not all of them. You see, this is a familiar pattern, as of late, with me. And before today, I had no earthly idea as to why. After wondering out loud on my futon what's wrong with me for not liking the clothes and clothiers I formerly liked, the answer blindsided me through the rain of tears. Just as everything else in my life has taken an unpredictable turn from the music I listen like to listen to, to the people I choose to hang out with, and most shockingly the fact that I now ENJOY and prefer being a homebody, it is natural for my taste in clothing to change as well. I'm just overwhelmed, and similiar to a lot of areas in my life, have no idea as to where to start looking for clothes that reflect who I currently am. WHO THE FUCK AM I? Why didn't I come with a manual?! Many people would attest it would make living with me so much EASIER.

And so it has been a transitional year where I have been struggling on a daily basis to figure out who I am. I first figured out that who my parents told me I am isn't really who I am upon my arrival in Vietnam. The blog thing was new to me, and I thought out loud as to how to address all my fans, as with each group I play a different role. And after hemming and hawing for a whole week, I decided to wing it and actually cursed in my blog. Not only curse, but I used the true mofo of curse words, the f-ing F bomb. A prompt response came from my most faithful readers....

Hi Darling!

On reading your blog reports, Minty, you sounded a bit stressed, to say the least. Since you never really know all the people who are apt to read those reports, I'd suggest that you be somewhat more circumspect in your expressions. Using locker room language neither shocks nor interests the reader these days and, in fact, suggests a certain inability to clearly express one's self. Further, too much use of the first person is another good way to turn the reader away. Should anyone connected with a school where you might want to work stumble across one of your earlier communications, you might be hard pressed to persuade them to hire you. Talking about your fans, nudity, etc. could seem arrogant and egocentric at best and just a bit daft at the worst.
I'm taking pains to point out the pitfalls of affecting a style when the affectation falls short. Just be you and tell us about what you're doing and the people and things you're seeing and all your readers will be gratified that they bothered to tune you in in the first place.

Ah yes, gratifying the readers who even bother to tune in has been the primary objective in life up until then. I interpreted that response as the most stinging slap in the face I have ever received. One in which I am still recovering a year and a half later. Isn't it about time I slapped them back?

And I have. I have slapped my father back hard for trying to control me the only way he knows how, through money; I have slapped him harder in who I hang out with, and perhaps the hardest in what I choose to do with my time. But I haven't done it with as much confidence as I would like to. I've looked him in the eye, but am the first to look away. Enough of this bullshit. I am ready for full-on exploration, no more trying to dance their fucking dance my way, no more excuses. I need to find my own music and groove to it, nothing else.

And that begins with my wardrobe. Isn't it a known fact that the clothes on a person's back reflect how they perceive themselves, that and the way they carry themselves? Or am I just blowing smoke in the wind? Which comes first, the chicken or the egg? Does one feel good about themselves first, and then acquires a wardrobe reflecting confidence, or in finding clothes that fit one's style is one's confidence born? Somehow I have a sinking feeling that my identity crisis may not be so black and white. But there has to be some psychological correlation in this material issue, isn't that what those gay guys who came in and redid a victim's wardrobe and living space proved?! I originally wasn't into the show at all as I thought they were over the top in material. But now I am wishing that they would come to my little apartment and create a fabulous resolution to my clothing crisis.

While this entry is a materialistic one, deep down inside I know that one doesn't need clothes to reflect confidence, it comes from within. This is just another layer of the onion that's my soul. Ideally, I want my confidence in my self to remain constant regardless of the material possessions I do/do not have. But how do I do that? I thought I was there when I once looked around my apartment and thought I could up and leave everything and be happy. Apparently, I still have some more progress to make before I am there on a consistent basis.

This whole clothing clusterfuck is really my picking up society's baggage. I just don't know how to drop it. How can I NOT care what others think about me? And why do I carry myself according to what they think, instead of to what I think of myself. I am empowering them by doing this. How do I take back that power and empower myself? By doing the things that empower me.