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The Goddess Speaks
I forget I'm an oppressed chick, until I watch the heroine in "Miss Saigon" (named Kim) shoot herself in the head after she discovers that her long-absent American G.I., the father of her toddler, has been married for the past three years to some white woman in America named Ellen. Always something
left to remind meEllen stands by her " 'nam vet" even after she finds out that he never told her about his quixotic duet with Kim. Before the intermission, the G.I. met Kim, who was a prostitute (against her will, of course) in Dreamland -- a hostess bar frequented by American soldiers who buy Vietnamese prostitutes from a Vietnamese pimp, who is (of course) the principle character of the show.
I forget I'm an oppressed chick, until I tell a Las Vegas taxi cab driver that I'm in town for a hula halau competition and he says, "Hula girls! I've got to tell this to the boys! So where'd you say we could watch you girlies do yer belly dancin?"
I forget I'm an oppressed chick, until I have a dinner conversation with a male M.D./aspiring TV producer who is developing a sitcom.
"Picture this," he tells me, "four young male professionals share a mansion on Hawaiian luxury real estate in East Oahu (waterfront property, of course). These guys have a maid -- a Tia Carerra type who is, you know, like a cute local-girl/Asian chick -- wears surfer shorts, tank tops up to here, twiddles with her waist-length hair while she carries around a laundry basket and answers the phone."
I ask him why a local Asian woman?
"Because," he tells me, "you got to give people what they want. You got to give 'em what they expect."
I forget I'm an oppressed chick, until I buy a plate lunch from a spunky fiftysomething lunch wagon lady whose eyes and chest are bruised and shiny swollen. "I just had my lids lifted and my boobs done," she tells me.
"Best thing I ever did for myself. It was my new boyfriend's idea. He picked up the tab. The swelling's almost gone, but the bruises will take a little longer. I'm trying to get my mother to have something done too!"
I forget I'm an oppressed chick. I have a college education. A challenging career. An IRA and two e-mail accounts. Lycra makes me itch and the treads on my Doc Martens aren't too thin, yet. Sometimes I mistake myself for someone who just might be privileged, until I am reminded. The signs are insidious.
I remember we are oppressed chicks when I hear a female student rant, "I hate everything I write. I'm not writing for me; I'm writing to please," she goes on. "I never know how to end my stories, so I kill off all my characters." Everyone in the class laughs even if her frustration is very real.
"Try starting your story at the end," I tell her. "Start with how you want things to be."
She says she'll try. It won't be easy.
Lisa Linn Kanae is a writer who teaches
writing at Kapi'olani Community College.
The Goddess Speaks runs every Tuesday
and is a column by and about women, our strengths, weaknesses,
quirks and quandaries. If you have something to say, write it and
send it to: The Goddess Speaks, the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, P.O.
Box 3080, Honolulu, 96802, or send e-mail
to features@starbulletin.com.