La feminin

Vrei sa-ti reproduc ce mi-a zis un barbat despre feminitate?

Citez:
Nu ştiu încă de ce, în concepţia mea o femeie şi-ar pierde din feminitate dacă n-ar înfăptui constant câte o stângăcie tehnologică. Ca de exemplu, să-şi lase involuntar amprentele subţirele pe DVD-ul împrumutat de mine de la un prieten. O asemenea marcare oleaginoasă a suprafeţei diamantine a discului se traduce prin grosolănie la bărbaţi şi feminitate la femei. O diferenţă calitativă uriaşă, nu-i aşa?
Firimiturile rămase la masă, dacă sunt de genul feminin, pot fi drăgălaşe şi pot închipui desene cu flori de grâu copt. Ca şi saliva rămasă pe buza paharului ca un lac pe marginea muntelui, ca şi cheile uitate delicat pe masă ca un grup statuar ridicat ad-hoc în deşertul alb al feţei de masă. Obiectele, odată feminizate, se purifică. Masculinizate, devin rudimentare...

Si acum eu...

Incep printr-o confesiune veche: am crescut inconjurata de barbati. Facand sport, am avut un antrenor care a tinut loc de tata, de multe ori si mama. Un bunic conservator din cale-afara, metamorfozat treptat, o data cu cresterea mea, intr-un bunic "cool" (si azi ma intreaba bunica ce naiba i-am facut de l-am schimbat in halul asta). In loc de papusi, am avut pistoale cu apa si bile si machetute (mai multe decat baietii de la bloc, ha!). In loc sa fac hainute la papusile Barbie, imi peticeam camasile si pantalonii la coate si la genunchi pt ca mereu cadeam si imi rupeam hainele. S.a.m.d...
Barbatii si-au lasat amprenta in viata mea poate mai mult decat in vietile altora. M-au modelat, m-au format, m-au ghidat.
Pana nu demult, gaseam foarte cool sa fiu baietoasa. Desigur, toti stiau ca va veni ziua cand imi vor trece ideile pragmatice si mult masculinizate si radicalizate. Eu - nu. Si poate de asta sunt acum socata ca m-am molipsit de feminitate.
Cum am realizat asta?
Simplu...
Nu pot trai fara:
Arta, mascara, carti, Elle si Vogue, floarea-soarelui, rosu, somnul prelungit de duminica dimineata (macar o data pe saptamana am si eu dreptul asta...), mai ales daca e insotit de un corp cald langa mine si o voce morocanoasa ce promite multe (macar o data pe luna am si eu dreptul asta :)) ), cosmosul urban, dusurile mele dese si reci, chinul placut de la Gabi, cosmeticiana mea, luna de luna, politete, bun-simt, prieteni, buni, bunu, setea continua de cunoastere, libertatea mea proprie, cea care imi permite la orice ora din zi si din noapte sa merg unde vreau eu, si sa fac ce vreau eu, stress, o viata agitata, defectele mele, parfum, Vama (macar o data pe an), oameni...
Nu suport:
vulgaritatea, sub orice forma ar fi ea. Am devenit alergica la ipocrizie si la vulgaritate. Sunt inconjurata de astea zi de zi. Si simt ca nu e locul meu acolo unde se afla astea doua vicii. Preaslaviti fie taranii, cei de drept numiti asa, dar la naiba sa se duca cei parveniti, cu ifose de mahala si comportament de intors stomacul pe dos. La naiba cu femeile-barbat, pe care numai organul genital le mai leaga de termenul "femeie", restul fiind subjugat unui feminism execrabil, al carui scop este o penibila incercare ratata de a demonstra tuturor (mai ales lor insasi, and that`s the most pathetic part) ca "ele fac legea". La naiba cu dezechilibratele emotional, cele care fie se retrag intr-un cocon si se auto-victimizeaza, sustinand ca soarta le-a harazit ce a fost mai nasol, fie in cariera si compenseaza faptul ca sunt handicapate emotional si sentimental apasand pe acceleratie cand vine vorba de job. Nu suport fufele care nu au curaj. Nu imi plac falsurile. Nu inteleg proastele.
O femeie, pentru a fi naturala, nu trebuie sa spuna verde-n fata TOT ce gandeste. (si aici ipocritii si ipocritele vor zice: "eh, da` ce? Sa mint, mai bine?" Far be that from me, dear...)Aici si eu mai am probeme, dar totusi am avansat de la stadiul de agresivitate frusta spre un comportament ceva mai cu tact. Nu de putine ori am asistat la discutii pe varii teme alaturi de colegi/prieteni/diversi cunoscuti, cand fetele o iau pe ulei si vorbesc vrute si nevrute, incepand de la cum se face o felatie ca la carte pana la cum se mulge vaca. Desigur, aceste doua procese sunt ambele legate de feminitate, oarecum (o felatie buna numai o femeie stie sa faca si o vaca este mulsa mai cu stil si indemanare de catre o femeie decat de un barbat; sa nu mai zic de faptul ca numai o vaca-deci o bovina la feminin, da lapte, si nu si un bou sau un taur). Nu incurajez aroganta si atitudinea de printesa cazuta intr-o lume depravata, din preainaltul sau regat perfect, doar ca fiecare lucru isi are momentul, locul si modul sau de a fi expus. Nu imi plac oamenii prosti, cu impresii de destepti. Sunt convinsa ca ei chiar cred in istetimea lor, ceea ce ii face si mai penibili, dar putina modestie nu le-ar strica deloc. Si raportandu-ma la femei, ele de obicei se cred prea bune in: cariera, pat, la capitolul studii si experiente de viata, materie de moda, gastronomie, gospodarie, intr-un cuvant, bune la toate. There`s no such thing, buna la toate. Nota bene: mi se pare foarte feminin sa stii sa iti asumi un minus, orica de rusinos ar fi el. Lista cu "nu suport/nu-mi place" ar putea continua la nesfarsit, as putea chiar sa pomenesc machiajul vulgar, eticheta la vedere, vorbitul la telefon in public, cu voce ridicata, atitudinea de "cine mi-s eu, da-te din calea mea"-intalnita adesea in magazine, pe strada, cand doua tipe care arata bine se dueleaza din priviri si chiar isi trag un ghiont spre a-si demonstra superioritatea una in fata alteia, in trio-uri incornorate si in alte situatii, din cele mai inedite.

Feminin e sa iti asumi statutul de femeie din varful degetului de la picior pana in varful firului de par (care, by the way, nu ar trebui sa fie despicat, cum e al meu acum). Feminitate- capacitatea unica de a combina metode din filosofie, religie si mass-media pentru ca el te-a intrebat daca vii la meciul de fotbal si aspectul merita aprofundat.Feminitate -paradoxul de a administra un buget al cuplului minuscul la nivel de manager general, dupa ce, in perioada celibatului, nu iti ajungeau trei carduri pentru tot atatea perechi de pantofi.
Feminitate- talentul de a aduna toate cuvintele minunate pe care le-ai auzit vreodata intr-o singura poveste si de a porni in cautarea unui singur glas care sa ti le repete pana la adanci batraneti. Feminitate- libertatea de a-ti mangaia corpul cu o privire admirativa si dupa ce ai terminat de savurat o portie de tiramisu. Fragilitatea, delicatetea, vulnerabilitatea. Triada cel mai des amintita sau insinuata cand apare o discutie despre un el si o ea. De obicei, in legatura cu ea. Aceasta e numai suprafata oglinzii. Chipul feminitatii are un singur nume-Surpriza. In numele feminitatii, o viata aparent somnambula si resemnata se poate transforma in vocatie sub ochii uimiti ai asistentei, un destin invidiat isi poate trada pretul, accesibil numai anumitor caractere. Feminitatea fascineaza pentru ca amesteca in cantitati variabile teama si admiratia.
E linistitor, placut, sa privesti un tablou valoros, dar a te ghiftui cu un muzeu intreg de valori produce confuzie si teama necunoscatorilor. Asta se aplica si acelor femei care nu stiu cum sa priveasca tabloul pe care li-l arata oglinda. Aceleasi femei despre care s-ar putea spune ca modeleaza regulile realitatii, dar care nu reusesc sa impace regulile societatii cu regulile inimii. Aceleasi femei care provoaca incendii si plang apoi pe ruinele arse. De ce oare Sfinxul si noaptea si marile au devenit la un moment sau altul blazoane ale feminitatii? Pentru ca se refuza descifrarii, pentru ca pot starni prin simpla prezenta curiozitatea si raspund intotdeauna cu indiferenta, pentru ca lasa iluzia autosuficientei, dar nu inseamna nimic prin ele insele, fara cineva care sa se intrebe “Ce e, de fapt, dincolo?”. Si bunul obicei de a face liniste in ganduri, de a-ti privi trecutul si viitorul ca ape ale aceluiasi rau ce-ti trece pe dinainte e tot un privilegiu al femeilor adevarate, e ceea ce face diferenta intre orgoliu si demnitate, certificatul nescris care iti atesta dreptul de a purta perle in loc de gablonzuri. La fel si acea misterioasa calitate a auzului care, utilizata cu detasare, intrece poligraful in analiza raspunsurilor la intrebari de genul “De ce nu m-ai sunat ieri?” sau “Unde ai fost?”. Ciudat, feminitatea seamana izbitor cu electricitatea-nu o poti arata cu degetul, dar efectele se simt intotdeauna, iar lipsa ei face ca o incapere, oricat de impodobita si plina de petrecareti sa para intunecata si primitiva. Mai mult decat femeile, barbatii o au inscrisa in gene, o recunosc instinctiv si o cauta ca pe Mirodenie.
Indiferent de ce scrie in genele noastre, feminitatea in diversele ei forme ne insoteste fiecare clipa-ca motiv de mandrie sau umilinta, ca ispita sau enigma. Oare din intamplare numai femeile pot sa joace rolul de ursitoare si bocitoare?
Cu toate ca acum generalizez si vorbesc grosso modo, tin sa precizez ca feminitatea nu inseamna sa fii nici victima, nici o handicapata cu organe genitale feminine intr-o lume masculina (populata atat de barbati, cat si de femei), nici neajutorata, nici delicata si fragila ca o floare plapanda pierduta in timp si spatiu, nici o tipa stylish cu haine diafane, mustind a Chanel n#5 si cu buze colorate si pometi ca bujorii, visatoare si care are numai grija de a-si asorta ceasul la inel si curea sau vreo toanta care pentru orice tampenie pe care o face se justifica zicand ca "fac compromisuri pentru ca iubesc" etc etc etc.
Feminitatea e cand mintea si corpul si sufletul fac pace si respira la unison. Cand citesti paragraful prin care l-am citat pe Mircea Dragoi si nu ti se pare penibil. Cand iti asumi faptul ca esti femeie. Si cand te simti bine cu asta si incetezi a te mai lua la intrecere cu barbatii, cu defectele tale, cu societatea, cu tine. Barbatii nu au nevoie sa lupte cu femeile, nici femeile nu au nevoie sa lupte cu barbatii. E, desigur, o forma de divertisment si o picanterie a unei societati moderne, in care monopolul si concurenta sunt motoarele care fac lumea sa se invarta intr-un mod mai alert si mai interesant.

Feminismul e un curent, un concept, un produs uman.
Feminitatea e ceva incontrolabil, e instinctuala, e parte integranta dintr-o femeie. Nu e inventie.

Psyche and Cupid - The End of the Story

As she leaned the lamp over to have a better view of his face, a drop of burning oil fell on the shoulder of the god. Startled, he opened his eyes and fixed them upon her. Then, without saying a word, he spread his white wings and flew out of the window. Psyche, in vain endeavoring to follow him, fell from the window to the ground.

Cupid, beholding her as she lay in the dust, stopped his flight for an instant and said, "Oh foolish Psyche, is it thus you repay my love? After I disobeyed my mother's commands and made you my wife, will you think me a monster and cut off my head? But go; return to your sisters, whose advice you seem to think preferable to mine. I inflict no other punishment on you than to leave you for ever. Love cannot dwell with suspicion." So saying, he fled away, leaving poor Psyche prostrate on the ground, filling the place with mournful lamentations.

When she had recovered some degree of composure she looked around her, but the palace and gardens had vanished, and she found herself in the open field not far from the city where her sisters dwelt. She repaired thither and told them the whole story of her misfortunes, at which, pretending to grieve, those spiteful creatures inwardly rejoiced.

"For now," said they, "he will perhaps choose one of us." With this idea, without saying a word of her intentions, each of them rose early the next morning and ascended the mountain, and having reached the top, called upon Zephyr to receive her and bear her to his lord; then leaping up, and not being sustained by Zephyr, fell down the precipice and was dashed to pieces.

Psyche meanwhile wandered day and night, without food or repose, in search of her husband. Casting her eyes on a lofty mountain having on its brow a magnificent temple, she sighed and said to herself, "Perhaps my love, my lord, inhabits there," and directed her steps thither.

She had no sooner entered than she saw heaps of corn, some in loose ears and some in sheaves, with mingled ears of barley. Scattered about, lay sickles and rakes, and all the instruments of harvest, without order, as if thrown carelessly out of the weary reapers' hands in the sultry hours of the day.

This unseemly confusion the pious Psyche put an end to, by separating and sorting everything to its proper place and kind, believing that she ought to neglect none of the gods, but endeavor by her piety to engage them all in her behalf. The holy Ceres, whose temple it was, finding her so religiously employed, thus spoke to her, "Oh Psyche, truly worthy of our pity, though I cannot shield you from the frowns of Venus, yet I can teach you how best to allay her displeasure. Go, then, and voluntarily surrender yourself to your lady and sovereign, and try by modesty and submission to win her forgiveness, and perhaps her favor will restore you the husband you have lost."

Psyche obeyed the commands of Ceres and took her way to the temple of Venus, endeavoring to fortify her mind and ruminating on what she should say and how best propitiate the angry goddess, feeling that the issue was doubtful and perhaps fatal.

Venus received her with angry countenance. "Most undutiful and faithless of servants," said she, "do you at last remember that you really have a mistress? Or have you rather come to see your sick husband, yet laid up of the wound given him by his loving wife? You are so ill favored and disagreeable that the only way you can merit your lover must be by dint of industry and diligence. I will make trial of your housewifery." Then she ordered Psyche to be led to the storehouse of her temple, where was laid up a great quantity of wheat, barley, millet, vetches, beans, and lentils prepared for food for her pigeons, and said, "Take and separate all these grains, putting all of the same kind in a parcel by themselves, and see that you get it done before evening." Then Venus departed and left her to her task.

But Psyche, in a perfect consternation at the enormous work, sat stupid and silent, without moving a finger to the inextricable heap.

While she sat despairing, Cupid stirred up the little ant, a native of the fields, to take compassion on her. The leader of the anthill, followed by whole hosts of his six-legged subjects, approached the heap, and with the utmost diligence taking grain by grain, they separated the pile, sorting each kind to its parcel; and when it was all done, they vanished out of sight in a moment.

Venus at the approach of twilight returned from the banquet of the gods, breathing odors and crowned with roses. Seeing the task done, she exclaimed, "This is no work of yours, wicked one, but his, whom to your own and his misfortune you have enticed." So saying, she threw her a piece of black bread for her supper and went away.

Next morning Venus ordered Psyche to be called and said to her, "Behold yonder grove which stretches along the margin of the water. There you will find sheep feeding without a shepherd, with golden-shining fleeces on their backs. Go, fetch me a sample of that precious wool gathered from every one of their fleeces."

Psyche obediently went to the riverside, prepared to do her best to execute the command. But the river god inspired the reeds with harmonious murmurs, which seemed to say, "Oh maiden, severely tried, tempt not the dangerous flood, nor venture among the formidable rams on the other side, for as long as they are under the influence of the rising sun, they burn with a cruel rage to destroy mortals with their sharp horns or rude teeth. But when the noontide sun has driven the cattle to the shade, and the serene spirit of the flood has lulled them to rest, you may then cross in safety, and you will find the woolly gold sticking to the bushes and the trunks of the trees."

Thus the compassionate river god gave Psyche instructions how to accomplish her task, and by observing his directions she soon returned to Venus with her arms full of the golden fleece; but she received not the approbation of her implacable mistress, who said, "I know very well it is by none of your own doings that you have succeeded in this task, and I am not satisfied yet that you have any capacity to make yourself useful. But I have another task for you. Here, take this box and go your way to the infernal shades, and give this box to Proserpine and say, 'My mistress Venus desires you to send her a little of your beauty, for in tending her sick son she has lost some of her own.' Be not too long on your errand, for I must paint myself with it to appear at the circle of the gods and goddesses this evening."

Psyche was now satisfied that her destruction was at hand, being obliged to go with her own feet directly down to Erebus. Wherefore, to make no delay of what was not to be avoided, she goes to the top of a high tower to precipitate herself headlong, thus to descend the shortest way to the shades below. But a voice from the tower said to her, "Why, poor unlucky girl, do you design to put an end to your days in so dreadful a manner? And what cowardice makes you sink under this last danger who have been so miraculously supported in all your former?" Then the voice told her how by a certain cave she might reach the realms of Pluto, and how to avoid all the dangers of the road, to pass by Cerberus, the three-headed dog, and prevail on Charon, the ferryman, to take her across the black river and bring her back again. But the voice added, "When Proserpine has given you the box filled with her beauty, of all things this is chiefly to be observed by you, that you never once open or look into the box nor allow your curiosity to pry into the treasure of the beauty of the goddesses."

Psyche, encouraged by this advice, obeyed it in all things, and taking heed to her ways traveled safely to the kingdom of Pluto. She was admitted to the palace of Proserpine, and without accepting the delicate seat or delicious banquet that was offered her, but contented with coarse bread for her food, she delivered her message from Venus. Presently the box was returned to her, shut and filled with the precious commodity. Then she returned the way she came, and glad was she to come out once more into the light of day.

But having got so far successfully through her dangerous task a longing desire seized her to examine the contents of the box. "What," said she, "shall I, the carrier of this divine beauty, not take the least bit to put on my cheeks to appear to more advantage in the eyes of my beloved husband!" So she carefully opened the box, but found nothing there of any beauty at all, but an infernal and truly Stygian sleep, which being thus set free from its prison, took possession of her, and she fell down in the midst of the road, a sleepy corpse without sense or motion.

But Cupid, being now recovered from his wound, and not able longer to bear the absence of his beloved Psyche, slipping through the smallest crack of the window of his chamber which happened to be left open, flew to the spot where Psyche lay, and gathering up the sleep from her body closed it again in the box, and waked Psyche with a light touch of one of his arrows. "Again," said he, "have you almost perished by the same curiosity. But now perform exactly the task imposed on you by my mother, and I will take care of the rest."

Then Cupid, as swift as lightning penetrating the heights of heaven, presented himself before Jupiter with his supplication. Jupiter lent a favoring ear, and pleaded the cause of the lovers so earnestly with Venus that he won her consent. On this he sent Mercury to bring Psyche up to the heavenly assembly, and when she arrived, handing her a cup of ambrosia, he said, "Drink this, Psyche, and be immortal; nor shall Cupid ever break away from the knot in which he is tied, but these nuptials shall be perpetual."

Thus Psyche became at last united to Cupid, and in due time they had a daughter born to them whose name was Pleasure.