Tag Archives: feminist

My Unrelated Other Self

My geometry grades have been going down the drain recently (and the 29-year-old high schooler isn’t necessarily helping ((If you’re wondering who I’m talking about, I’m talking about my geometry teacher. I mentioned him in my First Day of School post.))) so I’ve been going after Google search after Google search for some help.

I’ve read some articles in Time before (Nerd Alert!) about Khan Academy and the founder’s vision to transform the education system all over the world. He’s pretty darn ambitious. YouTube videos that sound so natural with his easy-going voice, a website that is like the accurate version of Wikipedia (free!), but actually useful, and graduating from Harvard and being an intellectual hoss.

Halfway through one of his YouTube videos, my ADHD spoke up and asked me, “GOSH, what’s his name? Is he Morgan Freedman’s cousin or something?”

And of course, me, not being perturbed by hearing “voices” in my head, replied right back, “I dunno. Let’s ask Google!”

ADHD and I were instantly blown away. His name is Salman Khan. ADHD and my name was supposed to be Salma, but my dad misspelled it when he registered me as an alive baby. He had a crush on Salma Hayek, but that’s beside the point. I got stuck with Selma instead. I was planned. My name was not. And ADHD is a good speller.

But then it gets weirder. Just like his name was off by one letter from mine, his birthday is a day off from mine. October 11th. My birthday is October 10th. By now, ADHD is taunting my OCD side, which usually likes to hang in the corner of my mind until it sees that a picture frame is crooked.

“Heeeey! OCD! He’s off by one!” ADHD called out. OCD started cussing out ADHD, in alphabetical order.

Then it gets even weirder that I’m starting to doubt if this was coincidence. His parents come from different countries, and he was born in America. He might be racially confused like me.

My mother comes from Mexico, which then made me born in the U.S.

Then ADHD goes, “You’re kind of a good impromptu speaker.”

“True. I hope I sound like him, too. Calm, relaxed, cool, collected.”

“It’s calm, cool, and collected. Stupid.” OCD chimes in.

So he’s probably my unrelated other self. We have some weird, too-similar qualities. Maybe he’s my adult parallel. I always wondered how my life would be if I were born a man (since I am a feminist and I do ponder at gender issues pretty often). I guess I’ll let Salman Khan answer that for me. I would’ve gone to MIT and Harvard, changed education in a positive way, given a TED talk, married some girl (I don’t feel like researching her), and teach knuckleheads school things and save their lives for a while until they find something else to not “get”.

So thank you, parallel unrelated self. You’re pretty awesome.

 

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Why Christianity Rubs Me The Wrong Way

 I’m going to make a fairly unpopular confession: I’m religious. So maybe not so religious as others to the point to where all I listen to is Christian music, refuse to say “Oh My God” when I see a hot guy across the room, or say “God Bless You” before saying goodbye, but I’m alright. I pray before meals and going to bed, read the Bible weekly, and teach others about what I believe.

 And religion is something controversial. It’s this never ending tug of war with multiple ropes tied at one point. Even some people have no idea what they believe in, so they kind of just stand there and watch everyone else fight.

 I agree with pretty much everything I believe in, though. Virgin until marriage, life is the choice, make love not war, treat others the way you want to be treated, and so on. Except the fact that I (here’s another fairly unpopular confession) kind of consider myself a feminist.

So when someone tells me, “The wife must be submissive to the man in marriage,” I begin to fumble in my seat. Submissive? That statement just set back Women’s Rights two hundred years. I’m not going to listen to anybody just because they happen to be born with a penis and I, a vagina. Then they try to retaliate and say, “But the man must love his wife the same way he loves himself. He won’t force himself to do something he doesn’t want or can’t do, he won’t beat himself up, and so on. But the woman must be submissive to the man.” 

It also doesn’t help that I come from the dreaded Mexican macho culture, and my worship is done in Spanish, so…. it’s constantly repeated and emphasized when marriage is mentioned. Do they mention men must be the breadwinners? No. Do they mention men must help out women in the housework because women were made to be companions, not maids? No. Do women have to be submissive to her man? YES. SHE MUST SUPPORT HIM IN EVERY DECISION HE MAKES, EVEN IF SHE DOESN’T LIKE THE WAY HE LOOKS IN BLUE BOXERS.

Okay, so I may have added the blue boxers part, but they might as well say that too while they’re at it. I mean, seriously? It’s not fair that someone has a right over me just because they happen to be male.

While we’re at it, I just happen to be smart because I wear prescription glasses.

I’ll tell you who else wears prescription glasses. Lindsey Lohan. And those glasses still don’t stop her from running over multiple people.

So that’s the part I don’t like. I should’ve seen it coming, though. Religion IS a male-dominated aspect of life, so men say whatever the hell they want, because in the end, they’re going to wear the blue boxers no matter how many times their wife tells them that the boxers are way too old.

I still choose to believe that women are capable of everything and anything. If women are born with the capacity to shove a seven-pound sac through a small hole after nine months of puking and swollen knees, they are pretty unstoppable, just like Lindsey Lohan’s car.