My experience of the Second Lesbian Week

Thursday, 04 August 2005 10:49

October 17-22, 2000

Introduction:

Moment when I'm writing this is happening, because of concurrence of negative circumstances, a lot later then the moments that I'm writing about, and because of that most of my emotions, tied with the Second Lesbian Week, are reduced to a so called rational measure, so this won't be a romantic and slightly erotic novel but only a news article consistent of four completely uncoordinated parts. Except maybe somewhere... in me.

Coming out

A woman. I needed a long time to strip this word of pejorative tone that have somehow, always been attached to it. I also needed the same amount of time to start identifying with it.

What do I mean when I say this? I want to say that Lesbian Week came too late for me. Too late for all those years of helplessness in defining my self, too late for all those years of frustration and not belonging, against what I was silently struggling with all my strength. Always alone – against fixed and unjust norms and always alone – for nameless longing for the kindred being, for whom I felt that it is a woman, but I also even stronger felt that she is not perfect. And than, after hundred workshops on similar issues, came that Lesbian Week where I finally realized that the one who is not perfect is in fact – me.

Because, the one who was not 100% a lesbian on the Lesbian Week was I, in fact there might have been some others, but than again that isn't my problem. So, I have accepted to come to a lesbian gathering and I felt great in that homogeneous surroundings, but wasn’t agreeing to recognize my self in the common name. I can't say that this bothered me, nor that I had nightmares because of this, but in the moments when it became crystal clear to me that every woman around me is deeply aware of how special was the situation that I was too living in for decades, I experienced a blessed safety, that I have never felt in me before.

Lesbian. I needed a long time to strip this word of pejorative tone that have somehow, always been attached to it. How long will I need to identify with it – I don't know, but I know that I have started.

Lesbian beauty

I saw her eyes for the first time certain number of years ago and I have hopelessly remembered it – forever. On this Lesbian Week my good memory came in handy, although I didn't tell her about her eyes certain number of years ago and about how important for me was the fact that she exists in unpredictable universe so aware of her self, so self confident, and why not, about the fact that I was in love with her. While she talked, it seemed to me that I recognize my own unspoken words. The way reality and her were dealing with the comprehension of the world, often made my eyelashes wet. She was coquettish, and active, and witty, and charming, and warm... yes – I'm speechless. And I remember that she was tempted, although she won't ever admit it (and she shouldn’t), she was, I know, tempted... to recognize me.

Don't misunderstand me, they were all beautiful, each one in her own way and that's why I speak about all of them through her.

Lesbian landscapes

Well, that sky above the plain will stay blue in my memory (in spite Josipa Lisac who tried many times to make it foggy), that road that doesn't curve but disappears straight in the horizon, and a dusty road along the fields with dancing women's bodies and their voices.

Sweet puppies among roses and night, invincible outside of the gates of our castle, perfect disposition of the stars and Luna (like with Sappho), and gentle wind, that just that night didn't smell like pigsty, on the face of a woman.

Lesbian day after

So, I’m just walking down the street, I'm watching people, and somehow I feel more upright. Cunt Manifesto is in my pocket, I read it hundred times, while I wait for green light. It's radical but gentle. Manifesto. I suspect that a new notion in layers opens in my conscience. A line of new notions started in only one word that was thousands of times used and misused – CUNT. Liberated of prison shackles it glitters on the lips of the unknown people. Everyday things get incomprehensibly many meanings when seen differently. Today I feel free to say: “This is me. And who are you?”

Epilogue: I succeeded to come before power failure, finally alone at the dining table of my biological and straight family. The time is zero-zero, fifteen – Wednesday. I'll fall asleep and maybe I'll dream...

Desa