The Body Project by Katrina Monreal

the body project notes on being

organized by katrina monreal 1

contributors cs lopez-battung maya powers emily duong ivory nguyen angela serrano alison chan jessica silva amanda yu jenny tan aditi jha charmaine balisalisa holly situ aejis poe tiffany monreal jessica tang debbie monreal

introduction The Body Project is a semester-long collection from fall of 2018 containing personal journal entries, Facebook messages, essays, poems, and art pieces from Asian American women and trans folks in my community. These people range from family members, mentors, mentees, colleagues, and friends that have affected me in different stages in my life and who posses perspectives in which I find great value. While some of the contributions came in as fully developed pieces that required light editing, contributors were also given the option to fill out an anonymous questionnaire of guided reflection questions. This process, referred to as “Meditation,” included questions like: “Are your relationships (romantic, friends, family or otherwise) where you want them to be right now?” and “How do you want people to perceive you? Do you think you do a good job of achieving it?” in order to facilitate a deeper self-reflection. These responses were then edited into short essays. The act of getting this piece printed was particularly important to the success of the project. Many Asian cultures traditionally teach women to be quiet and ashamed of their flaws while also cultivating ideals of perfection and grace, related to their physical body or otherwise. As such, Asian American women rarely find the opportunity to explore their own confusing, conflicting feelings regarding the space they take up – let alone find a platform to share these stories, even in existing feminist and sex-positive spaces. In turn, many of these spaces can perpetuate stereotypes of Asian American women (which are often based on indiscriminate Asian-ness as opposed to second-or-third generational perspectives) if not exclude them altogether. This project serves to empower this community by encouraging self-reflection, embracing moments of confusion and self-doubt, validating experiences, and tangibly dispersing these perspectives into the world. Thank you to Professor Ngô for her editing, advising and patience throughout the semester, the Gender and Women’s Studies award committee for the Mary Ramier Grant that funded the printing of this piece, and all the contributors who stuck with me until the end. I am so grateful for your openness and bravery in sharing your stories.

three question marks

journal 1

9.16.18 Sunday, 2:03 pm, Peoria Charter Bus (Chicago to Champaign) I am a researcher. I don’t trust my own understanding, because my anxious brain does not allow me to find comfort in the knowledge of how I feel + what I know. I am preoccupied with the idea of Not Knowing. Before my breakup with my boyfriend, I would look up the signs of breaking up and how to initiate a breakup, even when I had an understanding that our relationship was healthy and viable, just so I would know what to do if it happened. Being unprepared feeds my anxiety. Knowing that I am not able to control my emotional responses feeds my anxiety. Feeling like all of the decisions I make are directly related to not adding any emotional stressors on top of my regular feeling of overwhelm feeds my anxiety. Feeling unmotivated and fearing being unimpressive feeds my anxiety. I am a very anxious person. I consider this collection to be research into being a real life human. As I currently struggle to exist fully in my body, I understand that this project may either be helpful in perspective finding/human-ness normalizing/existing, or a gross indulgence of my brain’s need to analyze aggressive intakes of information. I hope it’s the first.

safe

Maslow’s hierarchy of needs states that if a person’s fundamental needs are not met, they will not focus motivation upon attaining a higher level of need. For example, a person will not seek safety if their needs for food, water, or sleep are not met and will not seek friendships, family, or a sense of belonging if their safety needs are not met. I read once that my immigrant parents’ first priority was survival so that my first priority could be a sense of purpose. I come back to this concept often - that my parents never had a chance to think selfishly because of their need to survive. Trying to survive in a country where martial law was thrust upon them by a crazed dictator. Trying to survive a move to a country where not even the climate was the same as home. Trying to survive using words that never felt completely comfortable no matter how many years your tongue molds to their shapes. Trying to survive and work and move upward even while exhausted and homesick and lonely. And I get to take survival for granted. I get to think about my place in the universe. I get to seek a sense of purpose. I get to marry for love, not security. I get to be near my family. I get to become euphoric and depressed and confused and angry and be able to wallow in those feelings without the constant, nagging need to survive in my head. Everything around me is familiar - I am not surprised by procedures at the bank or new words or strangers asking for directions - because I already know how to survive. I was born with that need met. I don’t know if immigrants ever leave this mindset of survivability behind. My mother is efficient in everything. For her, it seems there is no time to think about feelings. There is only doing and getting it done, no matter what it might make her feel. I used to think that she didn’t care - now I know that she doesn’t let herself care. Her whole life was spent with one goal in mind - become successful enough to provide for her family, no matter what. No matter where it took her and what she had to do to get there. She survived. And I have her and my father to thank for every existential crisis that I have, every depressive episode, every bout of rage, every moment of confusion, every flutter of love, every ounce of happiness because it means that I’m not squandering the gift that they’ve given me. It means that, not only am I surviving too, I get to live.

journal 2

9.22.18 Saturday, 10:05 pm, Grainger Library Even the process of organizing stories and briefing people on the project has felt centering and grounding in a way I didn’t expect. I think this project has inadvertently become some form of community building - by reaching out to women of different ages, from different stages in my life, and with varying relationships to me, I’ve tangibly reminded myself of the community that has shaped me, and been forced to reconnect with them individually (since I spoke personally with everyone who chose to participate). Reminding myself that I am not and have never been an island is a comfort, and the pleasure with which I’ve been received thus far makes me really happy. Another unexpected result of these reconnections is how deeply some of the participants relate to the project, or, more specifically, the challenge to self reflect with the support of a friend. I have reached out to people who are fresh out of breakups, who struggle with the idea of not being sexually active, who are confused about their gender identity, who don’t like how they look or what they are producing, and finding an outlet to think about these shameful topics is new to a lot of people. The challenges that people have set for themselves to produce thus far, either in the media form or content, that I didn’t necessarily ask for, is surprising. It makes me happy that I may be able to help my friends work through things and that they trust me enough to tell me about things they are struggling with, even though the basis of this project was inherently selfish. It also helps to get me out of my own world, and realize that everyone is struggling with so many internal things - which I struggle with a lot as someone who feels like I can’t focus or don’t understand so much of myself and my environment. I told someone this week that it feels like i’m learning firsthand a lot of things people already knew, and these are probably examples of that. But it’s comforting nonetheless. Also, last week Professor Ngô told me that I need to produce some actual deliverables next time and I gotta say - aint that the truth.

part of my garden

My perception of my physical body has changed so much in the last ten years. Especially when puberty hit and I was gaining a lot of weight in my middle school years, I had a very negative view of my body. It was always, “you’re too fat, you’re too short, your love handles are spilling out.” When I got to high school, I still held a negative perception of my body but I physically felt better because I was working out more and losing weight with a new pescatarian diet. I had this phase after a bad breakup in my first year of college where I would use my body as a receiver for emotional output -- I was working out late at night for almost six days of the week, pushing myself more and more every time. I eventually moved past this habit and learned the value of my body. My physical body and mental/emotional well-being were a partnership -- by being more emotionally healthy I was able to take better care of my body as a whole. When I work out consistently, listening to how I am feeling, how my body is reacting, eating well, etc -- I feel stronger. I grew to value my body as part of my identity that I needed to prioritize. I think I’m at a place where I’m kinder to myself but still nowhere near love.

fat

I grew up in Chicago’s Chinatown surrounded by Chinese and Chinese Americans. It’s a fairly small area that had gift shops, lots of Chinese restaurants, and small Asian food centric grocery stores. I was in this bubble where everyone I knew generally wore a size 00, everyone was petite and always complained about being fat. Fat was an interesting word that I grew up hearing. Typically, women and girls complained about how “fat” they were getting after eating a big dinner at a restaurant. Or jokingly told each other when they haven’t seen each other in a long time. Or in hushed, disapproving tones when they talked about other people. Maybe even a few nasty giggles here and there. Sometimes those words were directed at me. Being fat has dictated how I view shopping, clothes, and my body. I never liked shopping and the only time I did it was when my mom dragged me. I would alway pick things that were too tight in the arms or showcased my bulging belly too much and would have to put them back. I remember as a kid, seeing these Hannah Montana pants that I really liked, and even the largest size that my mom picked were super tight. Their largest size was 16. I quickly learned to stay away from clothes and anything that put focus on my body. But in sixth grade, my three friends and I ventured into downtown Chicago by ourselves to go shopping. It was the first time I felt I had some sort of control over my life. We were excited about this new form of independence. This was also the first time we were without our parents. Going on this excursion with my friends was something different. I did not feel limited in my choices. Hollister was our first stop since it was trendy at the time and my friends could attest to their worth. I had never been there before, but thought their selection looked nice. While browsing for something I liked, I realized that these clothes were too small for me. We tried them on in the changing rooms. Their largest sweater barely made it pass my chest! I was shocked and confused. When we walked out of the changing room to get feedback on our selection, I just walked out with my original clothes. I felt a big hit to my self-worth. My friends all found things that fit their body, but I couldn’t. At that moment, I realized how different my body was. I was fat. Being fat is the reason these clothes didn’t fit me, I thought. I had this cloud of sadness as we we went from store to store. I even felt too afraid to try them on in-store because I wanted to pretend the clothes I liked would fit me. Sometimes I wonder if I am a bad Asian American because my body isn’t thin like the other girls. Chinese girls are expected to be small and are always striving to be this arbitrary thin size. That’s desirable. But that’s not what my body is. I have a big chest, I have a flabby stomach, and large calves. I don’t fit that image at all. I always felt like I had to change my body. Change it so that these small pieces of fabric can fit me. Change it so that people might not look at me differently. Change it so I could feel better about myself. Maybe if I was a few sizes smaller, I could be this perfect desirable person that everyone would love. Maybe if I lost a few inches here and there, I could be a successful woman. Maybe if I was thinner, I would finally accept my body. To this day, I am still fighting that mentality.

I would spend hours working out. I would binge eat. I would try weird diets. I would do things to distract myself so I wouldn’t eat. My weight yo-yo’d a lot. There are periods of my life where I did lose weight, and periods where I gained even more weight. It was an endless cycle. I had so much anger for myself whenever I didn’t hit the goal of being thin. But I am getting better. I currently feel better about myself. I’m less angry. I’m less focused on shrinking. I’m not afraid to go shopping anymore and learned to stop using it as a metric for my worth. I know enough to pick out clothes that fit me. I don’t force myself to squeeze into smaller sizes to pretend I am small. Disapproving comments are still made but it doesn’t bother me anymore. It’s easier to brush off as I get older. I even feel comfortable joking about my size. It is still a struggle trying to understand that this body that I have is not bad or disgusting or wrong. But my perception is still so skewed. Media typically shows the ideal woman as someone who is thin; even the rare chance they show an Asian American. Family and friends’ criticisms further push the idea that women need to be thin. These things are constantly at the forefront of my mind, but I am content with not fitting that image. I am no longer confined into the Chinatown community. My friends are more than size 00s. I am meeting so many people with different perceptions of beauty that I don’t feel constrained to the Chinese Woman’s standard of beauty. I also know to fund companies that do more than presenting a one-dimensional reality. I will continue to fight the frustrations I have with my body but I won’t be stuck in the cycle of hatred and anger that I was when I was growing up.

something to be taken seriously, with love and care

I want people to perceive me as someone who will always be there for them. Someone that is trustworthy and can always be counted on. I feel like I haven’t been doing a good job, but I try to keep in contact with people I care about and I just want them to know that I’m someone they can always contact. I’ve been trying to take care of myself physically. I try to excercise and not eat much junk food. But I haven’t been fully taking care of myself mentally. I tend to bottle things up and I know that isn’t healthy. I try to keep my struggles with my mental health to myself and not let anyone, even my closest friends, know what happens. I always think about how it can be a burden to them, and while I know it wouldn’t, I can’t help but to think that. My relationships aren’t where I want them to be. Lately, I haven’t been close with my family and some of my friends. I want to be close with them in the way I was before.

strong

My main goal is for people to see me as someone they trust. I want to show that I will do my best to be there in my friends’ times of need, that I will follow through with what I say, and I will be there to listen or talk if they need me. Sometimes, when I want to share the problems I have, I feel like a burden on my friends and family. I have I know I shouldn’t do that. I’ve thought about this a lot. I think it’s because of my personality - I feel like I always need to be happy or else everyone around me will worry, and they are already so worried about their own problems that I’m afraid to add to that. I love my S.O. with all my heart. We talk about the future - traveling, where we want to live, names of our kids, all that sappy stuff. My friends mean the world to me. I know that I want to keep them in my life forever, even if it means I nag them into dates with me at least once a year after graduation. My family is my everything. I think about them all the time and I know they’re always thinking of me. I think I will always put people who are important to me before myself. I think by taking care of others, I am also taking care of myself.

journal 3

10.8.18 Monday, 8:56 am, My Room (Champaign) I feel like I’m an overwhelming person to be around. It was easiest to analyze in terms of my partner, because I was always thinking about myself in relation to that specific person, but I remember always needing affirmation that I wasn’t annoying or that my being all over the place wasn’t too much. He would joke about how difficult I was, but that it was worth it. I have always known myself to be a handful. I am aggressive, hot-headed, have high expectations for myself and those around me, I am loud, I talk quickly, I draw attention to myself through my hair, my clothes, my words. When I try to withhold my personality as I have been testing for some time now, and become quiet and observant, I come across as intimidating, judgmental and haughty. I understand this, but I don’t know how to change it. I can’t change my thoughts. Through self-reflection in the past month, I have been trying to distinguish ways in which being too much has been healthy or unhealthy for those around me, in the hopes that I can quell specific instances without dousing the entire fire. I think one of the ways anxiety has manifested itself in me is that I can be controlling to the point of being overbearing. I can be demanding of those closes to me and it affects my entire personality when those demands are not met - I can become upset and judgmental. My partner used to say that he envied my ability to compartmentalize my emotions, but I don’t know that I was actually all that effective. In this specific instance of jumble-ness inside me, I’ve been creating internal arguments in an attempt to solidify my identities based on the answers I develop. Am I being true to myself by trying to stop certain behaviors? Am I limiting myself? What if I go too hard and over-correct, erasing everything about me were once my most grounded traits? What if my desire to maintain my old traits is just my brain telling me that I was best how I was before, but is actually just my pride not allowing me to have been wrong? Am I losing my sense of self? How can I reconcile my “old” sense of self with my “new” sense of self? This is just one instance of a train of thought that I could be having. In reality, I have multiple, dozens probably, going on at once analyzing every aspect of my being. It’s exhausting. This is one of the ways I struggle to define my internal identity. It’s probably just the anxiety and the cycling thoughts. But it’s so tiring. I wish I could make it stop.

dynamic

I hate my body. I think it’s because of how I was raised, particularly my mother, was always so obsessive over my weight and my features, which makes it really difficult for me now. Because of this, I have never really felt comfortable in my own skin. I personally believe that I have an unhealthy view of what I want my body to look like, and it doesn’t help that my chronic illness makes it harder to stay in one place for a longer time. After being diagnosed with my chronic illness, I’ve been trying to prioritize taking care of myself more. I would like to be more sexual, however, my insecurities about my body and my fear in being vulnerable prevent me from doing so. Growing up, it wasn’t something that I learned to embrace, which is why now I feel like I struggle with it and am trying to unlearn a lot of toxic mentalities which surround intimacy in general. One thing in particular is how I was raised to view the opposite gender. I am unlearning a lot, but it’s still kind of difficult for me to be completely comfortable around men. In some situations, I believe my insecurities are a huge factor as to why I am uncomfortable proceeding forward in forming particular relationships. I believe I love myself more right now than I have in the past, but I don’t love everything about myself. But I am proud that I am doing better.

the definition of home

home (noun) 1. the place where one lives permanently if home is where the heart is then i guess you could say that i live in my body a corporeal cage for the essence of me, yet what is the difference between living and simply existing, some would say the difference is about your level of contentness, whether youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re restlessly curious or listlessly motioning through life yet the difference for me, is about comfort, a home where i donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t feel out of place, a silhouette without any bumps a home without creaks and construction zones without gaping aching holes a place where i can exist between.

2. the family or social unit occupying a permanent residence family, another complex word which i often mull over with no answer, who claims me and who should i claim, why do they expect and expect and expect, why can’t they just agree and love and share, but my family loves bits of me, and my friends love the pieces left behind, and i’m not sure who i’m feeding crumbled shards of my mask and who i’m showing the cracked mirror of reality, i can’t see the color with my family, the six colors of my pride swirl down the drain each time we gather and i can’t see the color with my friends, their confidence outshining my yellow fear, the golden cynicism which has seen me through life, so i greyscale my life and give everyone i touch different intensities of who i am. 3. a place where something flourishes, is most typically found, or from which it originates my white friends don’t know how i cower under the fullness of their voices, the way they thoughtlessly conquer the world; my white friends, they don’t know how i try to become them, their confidence in doing anything they want, the way that i hope if i could just act a little more like them then i could learn how to make the world like me a little bit better learn how to like myself a little better, learn how to seem knowledgeable about anything; my white friends, they don’t know how my soul is jolted out of my body every time they talk about how their world works every time they use we and ours and collective pronouns, they don’t understand that i don’t get a say in this, they don’t know how lost i feel trying to understand what it means to be human because my country of birth has defined human as white, yellow as alien, my people, as if i don’t belong in this red, white, and blue a place where they’d rather see red, red blood

than any person of color, a place where they’d rather see white, white skin than any colored person, a place where they’d rather protect blue, blue cops than any colored person. 4. the finishing point in a race taiwan, china, they’re both countries i don’t belong to; america, illinois, they’re both places which say i don’t belong, they say that first gen citizens have the best of both worlds, the rich culture of their ethnic heritage, the development and american dream of the usa but i say that we have the worst of both worlds, enough otherness in our looks to not belong and not enough cultural knowledge to fit in anywhere, when asked how i identify, always taiwanese american, never taiwanese, or american yet, where i’ve arrived doesn’t feel quite right gives me panic attacks at night and crying fits over the weekends, drinking binges every other day and too many hours of being high to remember everything clearly. the finishing point is understanding every part of myself, to piece together every single bit of otherness within and find a place i can exist as every bit of other i can find in my life: find a place i can be called a dyke, a queer, a tranny, a faggot; be called a chin, a chink, small eyes, an oriental; be called bigolang foreigner, called an american with that look in their eyes; find a place i can be called me without feeling the deep echoes of fear and overwhelming sadness within my hollow chest, find a place where my heart can rest. home (adverb) 5. to the intended or correct position. to find myself is to make a home in this body, a space for my queerness to exist; a space for my asian heritage to exist; a space for my american upbringing to exist; a space for my yellow skin to shine; a space for me to exist; a space for me to feel (but not too much); a space for me. home (verb) 6. focus attention on home is learning to love myself.

journal 4

striving to blossom out of this armor

Externally, others may believe that nothing affects me, but this isn’t my reality. It’s my armor. On the inside I have personal struggles that I just repress over and over again - because I don’t have “time” to deal with them. I feel like relationships with my friends and family are on the back burner due to school. Being raped and having an abusive relationship pushed me into depression and struggles with low self-worth. Right now, I am trying to change that, but I just do not feel like I have the power, energy, and time to do so. I know these are just excuses, but mentally, I don’t think I am ready even though I want to be. I love myself somwhat, but I think I could love myself more once I lose weight. I have learned that you have to love yourself to love others, but I still struggle with this every day.

self evolution

I often feel like I’m stuck between who I am and who I want to be. I’m learning to be more patient and understanding. To not compare successes–or even failures. To recognize and take steps to deal with my anxiety. And my depression. Every day is an effort; but for the most part, I think I do okay. And then there are my bad days. When I’m tired or frustrated, I feel like I’m right back at where I started. I get angry with myself; I believe life is made up of a series of decisions, and we choose how every day turns out. So if I know better, why can’t I do better? But I tell myself I also need to learn to cut myself some slack. I once read this on the Internet (what a wonderful place it is), and I remind myself when I’m having one of those days: if you look back only at your mistakes, you’d think you were an idiot. If you look back only at your wiser choices, you’d think you were infallible. But if you look back at everything, you realize you’re a human being who has been through a lot, grown a lot, and is always still learning and improving as time goes by. So. How does it feel to exist in my body? It’s a little bit of criticism, sadness and defeat. But it’s also a lot of love, strength and continuous growth.

journal 5

a work of art that I enjoy but don’t understand

My general appearance is still that of a young student in high school. This immediate perception of my physical self leads many people to think I am young and immature. Once I begin talking or behaving as my usual self, I am sure I only strengthen this belief. For the most part I like to be goofy and light-hearted. To be honest, I am unsure if this perception that people have of me is something I am happy about. I want to be seen as a leader or mentor. I constantly compare myself to others when I know I shouldn’t, but try to not dwell too long on these thoughts. There’s always something I find wrong with it no matter what, whether it be my face, chest, butt, or legs. I’ve pretty much maintained the same unhappy feelings toward my own body since my peers around me started hitting puberty around middle school. At times, I am fully able to embrace how my body looks and to be somewhat happy with it but these moments are fleeting. Overall, I have come to terms that, however bad, my body will always look how it is and won’t change anytime soon Alternately, my relationships are exactly where I want them to be and for that I am very thankful. My romantic life has taken a huge step forward in a positive direction and my friends are steadily growing as well. My home life has been peaceful and loving. I may not be content with my current physical appearance, but the positive energy I feel from everyone in my life right now makes up for it in a huge way.

journal 6

11.20.18 Tuesday, 12:27 pm, My Room (in Chicago!) I guess the reason I haven’t been journaling as much is because I’ve been making enough tangible progress to not feel the need to write things down in order to remember them. My brain cycles less now - or, at least, I am more conscious of when it is happening - I take walks, drink water, eat food (except for one week-long stint a few weeks ago where I was so anxious that I ate only a few grapes and some carrots - baby steps), go to yoga, take my vitamins, am solidifying healthy and sustainable friendships, have started dating casually, and I manage a healthier work-life balance. I complained to a friend recently that I was starting to feel soft. He said I just sounded like less of a cyborg. I’ve never been in transition before. Well, obviously I have. But not like this. It’s only been two months since the beginning of my shift, and I feel like my body and brain have felt every emotion possible. I’ve never been so sad in my life, I think. So hopeless. I’ve never eaten so little and then also eaten so much. I’ve never felt so much like I didn’t know myself, like I knew nothing about what I liked or what made me happy or fulfilled and that I may never find it. And I’ve never felt so strong. Foundationally, strong, I mean - I’ve felt powerful and confident before, but the strength I currently have seems different. Calmer. I look at myself and see an adult. I am sure of myself - how I dress, how I talk, how I interact socially. I am myself and that is interesting and cool, even when it’s not. The only thing I can’t seem to let go of is my hair. Maybe one day. I’m grateful that I did this project and for my environment. I’m grateful that I started seeing a professional and kept a finsta (sidenote: I’ve had to explain what a “finsta” is to several adults in the last several months - wild) to journal my thoughts, and i think forcing myself to be both conscious of and engage actively with my feelings at an ungodly difficult frequency makes me strong. I genuinely felt like I broke myself down and that I am building myself back up. Figures that I wouldn’t be able to let go of being tough on myself, but at least this feels more personally productive than trying to get A’s. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m okay. I’m not dying, and I’m not a shining star (but I could be one day). I will do things that are important to me and I will come across despair and I will keep moving. What this project has taught me, genuinely, is that I’m strong. Not just that I think I’m strong, or that I’m strong sometimes. But that I have been strong this whole time. I would not have been able to do it without the help of my friends and family. The creation of this project has, in its most simple form, required me to touch base and be vulnerable (even if only for a moment during the proposal of my idea) with so many important women in my life that just intuitively understood my struggle regardless of how close we were before. Exchanging stories of struggle, uncertainty, and self-doubt with other women in my space and sharing moments of joy within this confusion opened up new forms of intimacy and helped me feel like I was part of a community at a time when I was feeling particularly alone. I can only hope that the creation of this collection helps those who participated to feel like they are part of a greater legacy of Asian American women who have fought their way through these moments of transition and emerged from the other end. We will be okay. We have been strong this whole time.