There’s
a debate within the German language over one word: “das Mädchen.” German—a gendered and case-based
language—has three possibilities: male (der), female (die), neuter (das), plus
the plural (die) on each of these. Every noun must be gendered.
The
controversy over “das Mädchen”
is the fact the word means “the girl,” but the gender is neuter—the same gender
used for objects:
“das
Buch,” (the book)
“das
Telefon” (the telephone)
“das
Bild” (the picture)
While "the boy" always receives the male, "der Junge," a woman doesn’t get her femininity in the German language—that “die”—until “die
Frau” where the definition simultaneously means “the woman” and “the wife,” but
it’s best known as the latter, as it’s an address for married women; “Guten
Tag, Frau Ziegler,” for example. I find this struggle true in reality as I live
the life behind that unmarried noun.
There’s
respectability in marriage; there’s no more debate over abstinence, the issue
of clothing’s modesty and immodesty speaking for your personality (“prude vs.
loose” are the two options we seemed to get categorized in) is like it
dissolved away long ago, and you’ve finally got the guy.
Until
then, you’re fighting for your respectability, against the expectations others
have placed before you, and the guy as a single girl. With marriage, the overwhelming
idea is wholesomeness, goodness, and propriety; that you were worth putting on
a ring on. It’s only here that across the board, sex is allowed, pregnancy is
welcomed, and cohabitation is expected. (Can the term “slut” still exist in the
realm of nuptials?) No one’s questioning your character anymore; if you got the
ring, that says something. That’s changing “girlfriend” to lifelong, everyone
knows you’re together, partner in child-rearing, with-you-for-everything-that-comes
“wife.”
But
until you get to that place, the guidelines are invisible and for this, tricky.
You want to share your affection (wherever you slide your piece to on the physical
spectrum) with someone special, but how do you stay exempt from that branding
title “slut,” “whore,” “ho,” and the branches of these labels? What do you do
when a guy is stunned you won’t sleep with him on the first date (besides considering
walking out the door) and you look around and didn’t know this expectation
actually existed? How do you get a guy in 2013 if that is your stance?
And
that makes me wonder sometimes how I’m
ever supposed to date. I refuse to waste my youth with the paint on my bedroom
walls as my only eye contact, but I won’t board a train just because it rolls
into the station. Inadvertently, it’s like you’re penalized for not settling—for
whatever reason, you’re rewarded with loneliness.
Why
am I punished for who I am? Why must be this payment for what I want?
In
every new possibility, you must draw up who you are and see if you’re accepted.
Oh, it is and *should* be the other way around, too—you have a choice in
choosing or passing on him. But, when you’ve already put your bid in, it’s a
two-way street to see if it’ll be accepted in return. In our decisions and
responses to opportunity, we are having to constantly prove our decency and
then be commended or punished for it. We have to prove we’re not like every
other girl.
Arguably,
yes, it’s a great to have that test that is whether you’ll be accepted for who
you are. You weed out who’s willing to go the distance, who is the good guy;
you have a guy who you’re not having to bend for, but rather, he’s bending for
and respecting you.
But,
the process to get there (right now, at least) seems long, dull, and solo. It
seems half the battle is finding someone with real romantic potential. Then
once you *finally* get there, it’s like, am I really going to risk losing them
by objecting for who I am? How could I come this far for it to be vain?
Who
you are can be anything: someone holding the realm of sex, the place where
physical and emotional affection meet, until marriage; someone who vows to be
asked out in person, because that’s asking for bravery; someone who doesn’t
think quitting in the middle of texting is okay; someone who won’t sacrifice
their religious relationship, belief, or creed.
Whatever
you’re holding out for, I hope you cling to it. It’s cynical to say that the
cause will be around longer than the guy, but I’ve found that to be true and
was overwhelmingly thankful I didn’t abandon it afterwards. But, sometimes the
emotional and social investment for what you really wanted will be in vain and
the reality is it hurts. And there are a thousand different ways to describe
that pain. Why did it have to come this far not to work out? Why was it allowed
to happen in the first place? How the you-know-what am I supposed untangle
myself now—and when I don’t want to?
I’m
waiting on my own return for holding out. When will the reward for my “wise”
choices come? When will there be no more distance in its travel, in physical
space and time, but finally be delivered to me? And rather, when will he, who I only know in
one date, conversations over cardio, the most coveted iMessages, and in believing
faith, decide I’m worth it? In every moment, I pray he’ll meet me where I
stand.
Is
dating just a series of informal presentations of who we are in conversation
that lead to marriage, the master key to take part debatable activities and
leave behind having to answer all questions of our image? Is that where the
battle for owning our decency ends?
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