Moving On …

After four challenging years, my time at Orange Coast College has come to an end. Tomorrow I will be completing my AA and receiving my degree. Next year I will be continuing my education at CalState Fullerton and working towards completing a BA in psychology.

When I began college, I had many reservations about my academic potential but my experience has taught me that I was quite wrong. Many of my elementary and high school instructors were very discouraging and it had a profound effect on me but, as many of us come to realise, high school is just awful.

Over the last four years I have learned a lot, not only in an academic sense but in a personal way as well. Perhaps that comes naturally to psychology majors. The again, I have met some psych majors who seem to absorb little or fail to understand how what they learn has practical application in their own lives.

I’m very grateful for the education I received from OCC. My instructors, with few exception, were thoroughly committed and competent in their work. Not only have I come to better understand human psychology in its many complexities but I have learned to think scientifically and to overcome my once debilitating social anxiety.

My elementary school educators misunderstood my anxiety, misidentified it a Attention Deficit Disorder, and placed in a remedial class. My experience was eerily similar to Bart Simpson’s in You Only Move Twice. The stated purpose was to help me catch up academically with the other students but by going slower than everyone else. In actuality, I never did. It wasn’t until I entered high school, when I could no longer be covered by the program, did I managed to develop academically. Unfortunately, the transition was intense humiliating and traumatic. I consistently underperformed other students, not because I was stupid but unprepared by my previous years in remedial classes, and came to see myself stupid and undesirable.

Thankfully, at that is now in the past. I graduated high school with an average GPA and have gone on to perform very well in college. Well enough that I can count myself a member of Psi Beta, the National Honors Society in Psychology for COmmunity and Junior Colleges. By graduating, I’m not only moving on to fulfilling my next educational goal but moving beyond my old fears of failure and living up to the unreasonably low expectations my past educators had for me. I am happier now than I have ever been in my life and I owe much of it to my experience at Orange Coast College.

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Mistress of Udolpho (Book Review)

93138Once while I was taking the bus home from my courses, an intoxicated man awkwardly approached me as I was reading Mistress of Udolpho and said he had enjoyed reading it as well. I was very surprised by this because the book I was reading was a biography of the 18th century gothic novelist Ann Radcliffe, whose works and life are fairly esoteric topics in this day and age. Considering his intoxication, I very much doubt he had actually read it. Nevertheless, he was correct about one thing: the book is quite enjoyable.

Little is known about the “great enchantress” of the gothic but Rictor Norton has done an exemplary job at collecting what we do know about her and fills in the vague areas with a historical context she would have been a part of.

Radcliffe’s novels are notable for not containing the same vehement disdain for Catholicism that characterised many other gothic novels of the time. Instead, organised religion takes on a more ambivalent role, with convents and monasteries frequently acting as both sanctuaries and prisons. For Radcliffe, evil is a function of unrestrained passion and reason serves as the primary means of moderating passion.

While little is known about her own personal religious views, we do know that her family were known Unitarians and it is likely that she was raised as one. In the 18th century, Unitarianism was tied to the ideals of the Enlightenment and the influence can be readily seen in many of Radcliffe’s novels. Reason, equality, women’s rights, and education are prominent themes and are clearly advocated through her protagonists.

One only gets small glimpses into her personal life but it appears that she had a happy marriage and, although she never had children of her own, she saved and took care of several spaniels throughout her lifetime. (As a spaniel owner, I found this detail particularly satisfying.) She was shy and somewhat socially awkward, was sensitive to criticism of her work and shunned public attention. In this way, Radcliffe stood out but considering the popular reactions to gothic novels, it’s becomes quite easy to sympathise for her desire for seclusion. At the time, gothic novels were subjected to very harsh criticism and were scapegoated in much the same way as video games and rock n’ rock music. Criticism became especially harsh after the reign of terror. One critic even went so far as to accuse her of trying to induce terror in much the same way as Robespierre and the Committee for Public Safety had in France. Later only, 10th century critics were utterly dismiss he works as immoral, likely because of the socially and politically progressive attitudes she expressed in her works.

Norton makes a few claims I found to be rather problematic. Firstly, he argues that Radcliffe might have been bisexual because, in The Romance of the Forest, the narrator describes Adelines bosom in very alluring terms. While I cannot deny this as a possibility, I can’t help suspecting this is wishful thinking on the part of Norton because he frequently writes on the history of homsexuality. Secondly, he argues that Radcliffe did not write Gaston De Blondeville and on the basis that the style of diction varies from her other works. However, I do not find the diction to be very different at all.

For those interested in Radcliffe’s works, gothic literature, and the history of feminism, I would highly recommend this book. It is easy to follow, concisely written, and informative. It contains many more details than you are likely to find elsewhere online but sadly, due the sparse existing information we have about her, is still rather thin. Nevertheless, it has earned a special place in my library.

Gender Pronouns

CrispSeveral of my friends and family have asked me whether I mind being addressed as ma’am or in the feminine by strangers. The answer is no. While I tend to use masculine pronouns, I feel comfortable using or being addressed by either pronouns. This is why I describe my gender identity as fluid/androgynous. This does not mean that pronouns are unimportant to me but rather that they are two facets of my self identity.

Even as a child I wasn’t perturbed when people mistook me for a girl and I still don’t react that way. I actually rather enjoy it. 🙂

The Simple Joys of Maidenhood

My androgynous appearance has a funny way of bringing out the worst in some people. Ever since I came out during my senior year of high school and began dressing flamboyantly (or wearing dresses, make-up, etc.), I have frequently encounter harassment from strangers. For the most part, I can cope with it–as I have very supportive friends and family–but I must confess that it does rather get to me, especially when it occurs frequently or when the threats are violent or made by groups of persons. Humor has often been my coping mechanism and it is with a humorous perspective that I see many of the encounters I have had, with special exception to the violent threats I have received.

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A while ago I crossed paths with two young boys who live in my neighborhood. I was on my way to a grocery store when the older of the two called after me, “You look like a guy.” I turned around and replied, “That’s because I am one.” The other boy, in a smart tone, said, “But you’re wearing a purse?!” I replied, with a grin and a flourish of the hand, “That’s because I like it.” Their curiosity seemed to be satisfied and I went on my way.

I have found that my ambiguous appearance (I think my sex is dead obvious but, then again, I have insider information) brings out a peculiar and frequently embarrassing side of people. They gawk, comment, and talk behind my back. It has been a long time since I have felt ashamed, humiliated, or intimidated by these incidents, largely because most of these people apparently have no talent for public ridicule.

When I was active on public social networking websites (you-know-where) I would receive nasty insults by private message. One writer compared my appearance to Michael Jackson’s but I fail to recognize the resemblance. After all, I have a larger nose.

Others have called out to me from their moving cars, rendering their intended insults rather weak and inaudible. It is very difficult to feel threatened or even insulted when my offender comes and goes in a flash. On one occasion a Spanish-speaking woman called out, “puta,” a word which means “whore.” I’m not sure why she assumed I would know the language but she is fortunate that I at least knew that one; otherwise her message would have gone nearly unnoticed and possibly misunderstood as mad ravings.

Those who have chosen to speak behind my back, oftentimes on the bus, attempt to discuss my sex covertly. They lean in to each other and whisper, making a scene of themselves as they attempt swift glances back at me or as they pass me in the aisle. It amazes me how much people will say as long as they think they are unheard. My partner has given stern looks to several bus gawkers and talkers. One woman even approached me after taking a series of photographs of me with her camera phone (I would have said something if I had only known for certain that she was photographing me) and asked me if I had any tampons. I politely responded with an informative, “No.”

There was even one occasion where I was insulted directly over the phone. A man who messaged me online gave me his phone number. Curious, I decided to give him a call and when he answered all that he said was, “Don’t call me again you fucking fag.” I did as he bid me, which was fine by me anyway, and proceeded to write his number on bathroom stall walls whenever the opportunity arose. Nowadays I would never do this but at the time it amused me immensely.

Still, of all the perplexed people I have encountered, those I find the funniest are those men who look bewildered when they see me leaving the men’s restroom and have to check the door again before they can enter with their senses intact. Attendants at Ross have consistently called after me as I casually enter the men’s fitting room, frantically informing me that I am going the wrong way. I am not at all upset by this and will gladly use the women’s facilities but it can become a bit annoying being frequently told I don’t know where I am going.