So, the fact that I admit to the entire internet (HI!) that I’m a closet freak is pretty much an oxymoron.
It’s like these two superheroes dueling it out, IN ME. I am the superhero. I wear a cape and call myself SuperJanet! This is what I’d tell myself when I was in highschool stressing out about stupid highschool shit. And then I’d make stuff happen and get things done.
SuperJanet.
Anyway. I’m a closet freak. Not to be confused by SUPER freak (*sing* Superfreak!)! I don’t think I’m there yet. I appear sweet and innocent on the exterior. And I am, I guess. I’m pretty prude and puritanical. There’s that side of me. More conservative than most. And I know her quite well. She doesn’t want to have sex unless she’s in a relationship. She thinks anything less is meaningless and unfulfilling. She thinks sex can become needy, unhealthy, suffering. And I get that. I do. This is the side of me that rules… But, there’s this other side of me too. And I don’t know why my writing is becoming so schizo lately. Between Buddha Nature and perfectly at peace with myself there’s this other side…
There’s layers to me. Maybe I’m not willing to give up my walls because I like my layers. I’m complex. You can’t figure me out. I like it that way. I don’t want to be with some dumb little shit. You gotta have at least some intelligence to figure me out.
Beneath my sweet exterior is a bit of a masochist. A girl who likes it rough and tumble. A girl who can take some pain. Who likes girth (and her vibrator collection). Forwards and backwards. Thinks tantric sex is the best spiritual practice ever. Abhors abstinence education. Looks both ways. Loves to give (and swallow). Writes raw, sexual thoughts in her journals that could be starts to erotica stories… Is willing to explore… And is more open to open relationships than she used to think possible.
The conservative in her thinks deep down she’s a monogamous girl… But the masochist in her thinks threesomes could be great as the “third”.
I’m not sure what’s going on. I’m not sure why I’m so confused. With powerful sexual prowess just waiting to explode and shy, timid, submissive Asian ready to live as a spinster. Maybe it has something to do with my unexplored bisexuality. Keeping this side of me so dormant, hidden, for years is strangling my sense of self. Maybe I just need to let loose. Open the floodgates. But, I’m scared. I admit I’m scared.
I’m scared of a lot of things. I’m scared of committing. I’m scared of taking leaps of faith. I’m scared that no matter how “open” I say I am with my sexuality, the actuality is that I’m not. Because I’m all talk and no action. I’ve never had a threesome. I’ve never had casual sex. I’ve never been with a woman. And the thought of that seems wrong. Like it’s OK, even beautiful, for others to be gay, but it’s not OK for me? I don’t know. I talk about it so openly sometimes… But when it comes down to it, I’m scared to be with a woman.
I had a crush on a girl once who rejected me. She said she doesn’t like bisexuals. I got over her and wrote her off as an elitist lesbian, but she had a point. I probably wouldn’t want to go out with anyone who admits they want to “experiment” either, least of all not anyone who admits they’re confused… But it’s not just that. I’m not a casual girl… It scares me to think that I could fall in love with a woman. I’m not sure if I could, but maybe. Is it wrong for me because I’m not actually gay? I feel more straight than gay but with this undiscovered piece of the puzzle, how can I really be so sure? I check out women more than I do men, but I emotionally attach to men more than I do with women… The way that I crush on men is completely different than the way I crush on women, and the way my attraction sticks with men makes me feel I am definitely more hetero inclined.
Sexuality is fluid to me but I am not fluid when it comes to sexuality. Why else would I feel so confused? It’s not just gender. It’s the way I express things. It’s open vs. monogamous. It’s casual vs. serious. It’s friends with benefits vs. coupled. It’s kinky vs. …not kinky. It’s trying to decide where I fit in all of this. It’s being so damn wary to figure any of it out. Thinking maybe the spinster life isn’t so bad after all. It’s easy. Safe. But ultimately less rewarding.
I need to take leaps of faith. I need to go crazy. And I need to come out of the closet.
The interview was just a formality. I knew I had been accepted to the Zen retreat before I came. Evidenced by the fact that the guy I talked to on the phone said there have been about 7 applicants so far… and 15 positions. It went like this:
Facebook stalking a fellow traveler friend, seeing his status update linked to a Lonely Planet thread regarding a Zen Buddhist retreat in Bacolod and Manila, Philippines to learn Mandarin language, meditation and a Buddhist way of life.
Realizing I’m in the Philippines and I could DO this thing. Realizing the deadline for applying is March 15th and holyshit It’s March 12th. Should I DO it? Oh my god, I’m really going to apply to live like a… monk? What the hell have I been smoking? Why does this sound completely bad ass?? What If I don’t get in? What if I DO?? SCARY! I mean, in a good way. In that “this-is-Floreta-watch-her-grow” sort of way. Or possibly the “I-am-Floreta-hear-me-roar” sort of way. I can’t believe I’m filling out the application. ACK ACK ACK!!! My mind exploding with excitement. My stomach churning with anxiousness.
Turning my 500 word or less essay to “give us a background of yourself” into a blog post because I like to kill two birds with one stone. Thinking, damn my application is looking pretty strong because my resume kind of kicks ass. Because I am awesome. Sending out my application through e-mail in the wee hours.
Getting a call the next morning to ask if I could join an interview session at the Cebu temple that afternoon. Doing cartwheels in my head and amazed by how fast everything seems to be moving. Agreeing to meet at 12:30PM which later turns into meeting at 1:00PM. Which later turns into asking my family if I can go to this interview which later turns into my cousin volunteering to come which later turns into her eight year old daughter and boyfriend coming.
Getting lectured about how things are scams in the Philippines. How people are bad and just want your money. How this temple is in the swindler area. How this is a huge scam. How I shouldn’t go. Smiling and nodding and thinking bitch, don’t TELL me about scams when I’ve been to the land of them: India. How it’s my decision, but really it’s not because they’re pressuring me not to go. Oh the pressure! Why does everything have to be so complicated here? Why haven’t we left yet when it’s 1PM? Amazed by how slow everything seems to be moving. How I shouldn’t worry because this is Filipino time. It’s OK to be late. I guess since they’re local they know best and I have no power to make my own decision. Being asked “What’s my decision?” a million times when my DECISION is to go to this interview to make an informed decision before putting it off as a scam. Going to my room to cry, calm myself with my prayer beads, accepting that it looks like I’m not going and that I’m a prisoner here.
Finally going. Finally arriving… at the wrong place. My cousin’s boyfriend looking mad. Being asked “what’s my decision?” for the millionth time. Nope, still hasn’t changed. My cousin’s daughter saying never mind going because it’s bad. Frustration. Realizing Filipino time means I am under other people’s time frames whether I like it or not, and maybe I won’t make it, again. Finally arriving in Filipino time fashion; two 1/2 hours late. I ask them questions. I throw in my Buddhist key words to let them know I’m not a complete novice. Words like Impermanence! Mindfulness! Mala prayer beads! Right intention! Zazen (breathe meditation)! Knowing I have impressed them and that I am going to be a good student.
THIS is how crazy it is.
My Buddhist singing bowl and mala prayer beads
The retreat starts March 30th and ends July 31st. I still need to give them my official “yes” but at this point, there’s no doubt in my mind that this is my next journey, and adventure. During this time, I will have limited internet access of one hour a week which means limited, or no blogging.
While shaving your head is not required, I think I will anyway because I’ve always wanted to do it at least once (it’s on my bucket list) but have always been too chicken. The last time I thought of doing this I was aged 20 and into punk rock and death metal. Funny how “non-conformity” can come in all shapes and sizes, but end up with the same principals within the same person. I can’t think of a better time and place to shave my head than in a four month temple stay of seclusion and limited stimuli to the outside world (I am told that people visit the temple on occasion as it is open to the public). I have always been fascinated with androgyny and feel I can pull off the “androgynous” look well. I wonder if I can pull off a shaved head; proving you can be bald AND beautiful as a woman. I will take pictures because if I don’t, then it didn’t happen! What an appropriate time to shave my head and practice depravity in the form of non-attachment to physical beauty and, hair. If not a celebration of bald beauty, then it is a celebration of the non-attachment towards beauty. And a great way to solve my non-confirmed lice problem. There, I said it. I MAY have lice! My head itches all day and I slept in the same bed as my two cousins the first week I was here… Back before I knew they both had lice!
During this time, I will practice depravity in many other ways including the personal decision not to masturbate for the duration of the stay (four months of no p0rn, WHAT!?!). However, I see nothing wrong with writing erotica in my journal – despite Zen concepts being the absence of (desire, emotions, detachement, etc.) – and hope that the depravity of masturbation will help satiate my imagination. Because there is nothing wrong with mind sexcapades, even if that happens to be in a temple! Because I hold sexuality in a high regard of spirituality, and because they are both connected.
This post is part of Lilu’s awesomely bad TMI Thursdays. Click her link for more good stories.
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So in the Philippines, there is a delicacy called balut that is a fertilized duck egg with embryo. That is to say: baby duck fetus. Say it with me one more time, boys and girls!
BABY DUCK FETUS!
Like, zOMG!!!1
How the heck do you EAT that thing!? I show you how in three easy steps! Look below for answers! Keep in mind that everyone was watching me as I made this video (and by everyone I mean my tito, tita (uncle, aunt) neighbor boy, cousins and a girl that works with my family), and it was a little embarrassing but what can I say, I have no shame! And I’m a good sport. Now, who wants to hire me for the Amazing Race? Which may or may not have anything to do with this video, because I’m unfamiliar with the format of the show (I don’t watch much TV, ok? Even in America.) and have no idea if they eat gross things as part of their challenges but I know it has to do with foreign cultures, and that’s kind of cool, and terrifying.
Third time’s the charm, right!? *bats eyelashes*
Or, I’m just charming?
So, what was my secret in swallowing this thing? Most people would probably try to think of their favorite food and how yummy it is to get past the mental block. Nope. Not me. I think of the grossest thing possible. Something I enjoy swallowing that I have on rare occasion (balut IS a delicacy after all!). I think of swallowing cum. Male semen. Cum in my mouth. Swallow!
Lets look at the similarities shall we?
Both are excellent sources of protein. Who needs a protein shake when you have _________? [Fill in the blank with BALUT or CUM]
Both have interesting textures. Just get OVER it!
Both are swallowed, and not chewed. Technically, you can chew balut, but I swallow!
The appreciation for both cum and balut is very subjective. Both are an acquired taste!
There’s a whole technique for eating it. I’ve likely made up my own technique but… That’s what she said!
Both are gross, but satisfying! Seriously. I love me some cum in my mouth. Oops, did I type that out loud? At least I know I’m not a lesbian. I love cock too much.
For the record, my family does not eat balut. So the fact that I did, and on more than one occasion, really tickled them! All the weird faces I was making as I stared into the poor bird’s face and made gross faces at the clearly distinct skeletal vertebrae… lets just say they were laughing in front of my face and NOT behind my back!
In all seriousness, I DID think of cum to get past the mental road block. I think it’s the only way I could have swallowed that shit. It’s the grossest thing I could think of; but I LOVE it!
I wonder what boys would think if I chased their stuff with Coke? That’s what I want to know!
I’ve got a penchant for you and a penchant for sake. So sake to me. I mean, lets be honest here. When I’m feeling kinda tipsy, I like to talk about sex, do you concur? When do I NOT like talking about sex, though, really? Other than spirituality, the two are my favorite topics. Scrumptious. Like you. Like me. How’s that apple tasting? Juicy, I hope.
Oh, about that sex thing. I would, with you. Lets be honest. I’m attracted to you. You’re the hottest thing since sliced bread. I want to butter you up and then taste you. Is that chheesy? is that bad? Sorry for the drunken heart-t0heart. I don’twant to cheapen our conversation. But it’s truth. The things I would do to you. We’ll wrestle on the white beach sand and get dirty. so dirty. Dirty enough to take off all our clothes and go skinny dipping. /oops, did I say that out loud? Well, I’ve got to cross that off my bucket list someday, somehow. I’m still a virgin, in that regard. Will you help devirginize me? Sorry. I’m not so eloquent with my sake. Uno mas!
I’d bite in to your flesh. Gently. Lick chocolate fondue all the way down to your naughty bits. Hot and tasty. Make your raspberry swirl. Yes, I stole that from Tori. Have you ever seen her play piano with her hands? Two-timing synths in a manage-a-tois with her in the middle? Looking all orgasmic? The things she can do with her hands… And tongue. The way she cocks her head against the microphone. Breathing into it. So close she could touch it. Open her mouth and tease. Liptstick red and ready for that palpable touch. Hot damn. Tori. Us bisexuals. We know how to party. I’d like to be HER man. Oh, where was I? Oh yes. You. And me. The whole thing seems terribly romantic. And just my style. No commitments. No promises. No expectations. I’ll trt not to mess it up with you. But I’m a hopeless romantic. You’re just hopeless. That’s Bouncing Souls. Don’t think my 90s pop culture references are just smashing redheads now. Those punk-rock boys make me wet too. Nipple piercings, shaved heads and tattoos. Take me, now. Hit me. And I mean kiss me. Show me I’m alive and breathing. Pull a punch and then pull my knickers down and ravage me. I’ll put up a good fight. Today’s a good day to die, but it’s also a good day to live. Let’s go.
