By Maria Padhila
When I was 16, I read an Erica Jong novel called How to Save Your Own Life — and it worked. I was being bullied, threatened, mean-girled, catholicized, slut-shamed, queer-shamed, and even mocked and derided for being an artist, writer and actress.
At my part-time waitress job, harassment from management (including the random ass-squeeze) and rudeness from customers (including the random ass-squeeze) were yawningly normal.
The only places I felt safe were on stage, at my weekly art class, and at the bookstore at the mall during my waitress breaks. There were a lot of books that saved me there, but that was the biggest one.
It starred a poet who made a lot of mistakes, threw herself into a lot of bizarre and funny situations with a lot of odd characters, was betrayed and let down by love and lovers, had a dear friend kill herself, and still, she saved her own life. The secret to the save came from a secret message her poet friend had written to her in a blank notebook: “By being a fool.”
At one point, she does the old foolish thing many of us know: ask the gods for something, along with the promise that she’ll never ask for anything again. But she quickly catches herself, and admits that she lied. “I’ll probably ask for lots of things,” she says.
We often seem to think that kind of bargain will work, that unkeepable promise never to ask for anything again. Asking for the kind of life and relationship you want most, uncovering and admitting these kinds of secrets, is still the toughest request most of us can make. I wonder how many, like me, tried to strike this same kind of bargain: If I come out as queer, reveal my kink, ask to get married — whatever it is you most want — I promise never to ask for anything again.