We are seven to eight billion people on this planet earth. And every one of us is somehow trying to sustain their individuality – well okay, not all of us. But you get the point.
They say there is nothing really new to write about these days. It has all been written about. The topics are all the same – those universal, timeless ones such as love and betrayal, war, art, god and whatever else is generally picked up and dusted off for a new piece of art.
We all go through similar things in life – more or less. Love and loss and pain and change and such. We have categorized the different stages of life and given them names: Birth, childhood, puberty, adolescence, adulthood, old age, death.
That being said, with so many of us being here right now and so many of us having gone our paths before were even born, it is easy to make assumptions based upon “experience”, it is easy to generalise because several generations before you had the tendency to do this or the other thing.
But we are not – and I also base this assumption of observations of other lives before me – destined to do exactly how our predecessors (who were of the same age group, ethnicity, sex and general category) did. Though history has a tendency to repeat itself, I think on an individual basis we are very much capable of deciding our own fate as far as the circumstances allow it.
Countless times my ideas have been belittled with the reason that I was “young and idealistic, that’ll change.” or that my emotions were not taken very seriously because I didn’t really know what anything felt like or because “during puberty, everything may seem more intense.”
I do not blame them (“Them” being mostly people from the age of forty-five upwards) for thinking that way and saying such things, after all I already hear myself say similar things about younger specimen of the human race. So this is me trying to explain something, put something out there.
As a woman, a young 20-year-old single lady (oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh oh-oh), with healthy ovaries and “child-baring hips” (meaning, they’re massive and I can never find a pair of jeans that fits length AND width wise), there is one (or two) topics that I encounter rather often in conversations with older ladies (ages 45 +): Children (and marriage).
Generally my view on having children is as follows: My maternal instinct is just about non-existent. We are overpopulated and I do not feel the innate urge to pass on my DNA. That said, I would never say never. I am thinking about possibly adopting a child later in life. After all, there are plenty of children in need of love and a home. I don’t need to make any more.
Currently I cannot imagine going through the pain of childbirth or dedicating my life to one little person. Also, at one point or another: It will want an Iphone (or whatever would be equivalent). I think many people paint having children as something wonderful and fulfilling, but also as like a part-time job. It’s not and I respect anyone who has sort-of mastered parenting.
But so many times I have had to listen to the same old belittlements: Oh, you’ll change your mind! They all do!”
I say I don’t want kids, they say that will change. They say I will find a man I love and then I will want his babies. Sounds a bit like I will have to go up to him with a poster screaming: “I WANT YOUR BABIES!” and throw my underwear at him.
One woman – and she was really the scariest thing I have ever encountered – told me: “Oh, they all say that and a few years later I see them, trashy clothes, pushing a pram!”
I’m curious, do men (young men and teenaged boys) have this problem? Do they get asked if they want kids and are then reminded that “They all say that” and “One day some chick will want your babies”?
Or is it just us women? Or is it just me?
I know I have ovaries and all those other parts and to be honest, though the thought scares me like my worst nightmare, I would probably not be that bad at motherhood. I already have the stretch marks. Just because I have the potential to produce another human being that doesn’t mean I have to use it. I have the potential to go on a killing spree…I have hands and legs and know a guy who knows a guy and I would look innocent enough to get past security, that doesn’t mean I should do it. If I did what everyone excepted me to do I’d be studying to be something sensible right now and not have had my year out or my three months in England. I would be so many things; I wouldn’t be able to combine it all.
I get it, it’s all evolution and self-preservation instinct: Women feel attracted to strong men because they can produce strong offspring. The only reason babies are cute is so we don’t eat them. But we ought to be past the stage of “Uuuhh” and “Aaah” (that was supposed to symbolise the beginning of language as it was with stone-age-ish people) by now, or not? Or what is all that talk about: We are at the top of the food chain! We are the most superior being! The human race is awesome and you know it!
This is not the fifties, people! This is not Germany in 1933! Most of us “girls” have a choice, a choice not influenced by social norms or primitive instincts put there by evolution. I think everybody should have that choice, to marry or not, to have children or adopt 50 cats, and I am tired of you old ladies suggesting I do not have command over my own future.
Time will tell if I have children or if I become the first woman to hang her pubic hair on a post on Mount Everest, woven to a type of flag thing.
I leave you with that image. Good bye 🙂