I'm not a man. Because I'm afraid of heights. Because I wear both the panties and dress in a relationship. So, I want to come out of the closet and tell the world I'm not a man.
What does it mean to be a man?
That's a hard question to answer. And one I try to in my book.
When I first envisioned my main character, I wanted all the hallmarks of what America thought a man was, or at least from what I could gather...
He has to be white. Having blonde hair is a plus. He can fight, a warrior, so long hair is on the ingredients list. And he's a master with a pair of broadswords. Skinny swords? Hell no. Those are for sissies! And he has to be a captain of industry. In this case, he commands a Legion of warriors. Not just any Legion. The largest and most powerful.
Of course, no man is complete without having sewn fields of women. Endless fields. Like countless. Like seven...
But there comes a time when any real man with manly qualities must take a wife. Yes, take. Not only did he take from another suitor, he charmed her with his charming charm. Is there any other way? And what a beauty. To say she is hot is like saying the sun is bright. A quarter doesn't bounce off her ass because quarters don't exist in my novel's world. But if they did, it would't stop bouncing. In fact it'd bounce higher and higher. That is how fit his wife’s ass is.
Now their children can't be anything less than ultimate perfection. Both son and daughter are beautiful and strong warriors, well educated, and have wisdom that extends beyond time and space.
All right. I went a tad overboard here. But what would happen if I took away these things one by one. Would my character be less and less of a man?
How you answer that question will say a lot about yourself, man or woman. Because I can take away everything on that list, and I do in my book, and my character would still be a man. No, I'm not talking biologically. But nothing from the above list makes any person a man.
Think of it this way. There are two guys. One owns a Porsche 911 R, which starts at $184,900. The other drives a Walmart 18-speed bike, which costs $79...$87 with tax. I bought one. Who's more of a man?
This is a question that's impossible to answer. First off, material wealth doesn't determine manliness. Second, we as a society can't pin down what a man is versus what a man isn't. Even men have a hard time defining what a man is. So they buy more and more stuff, big stuff, fast stuff, stuff that says, "See this big, fast, brightly colored thing? I own it. Well, 1% of it while I owe the bank the next five years of my life. But, hey, I'm a man!"
Or we do crazier and crazier things in order to prove ourselves. Or deny doing things because it's not manly. "Crying? What's that? Some sort of hand-to-hand combat to the death?" "Read? No. I don't read. Only nerds and geeks read." "Chick flick? Not really into throwing little yellow birds."
However, my definition of a man is pretty simple. It's knowing thyself.
Fuck you! What the fuck does knowing thyself mean?
Part of being a confident person is knowing your strengths, your weaknesses, what you like, what you don't like. It's having the gumption to be fine with your weaknesses and not judging yourself for not liking certain things such as sports. I don't like watching sports. That ain't my thang. Math isn't a strong suit of mine, despite being Asian. I don't go around solving string theory equations or force myself to be a sports fanatic in order to become more manly. That would be a waste of my time.
Now back to my acquaintance who basically said I'm not a man, and I wear dresses.
I had become friends with a woman on a group trip to Zion, Utah. Afterward, I called her for a date, and she said yes. Having gone on two dates, I was trying to set up a third when she told me she was going to go to the store. So I told her to call me back. An hour crawled by. A second hour oozed into the night. So I texted her if she was back. An hour weaved its way through a labyrinth of endless thoughts in my head. And I went to sleep. The next morning, she texted back and apologized. I asked what had happened. Not where the fuck did you go, bitch? That wouldn't be manly, in my opinion. She texted, "Had an emergency with my madre."
She'd never mixed Spanish like that when we talked. So either this turned out not to be an emergency. Or she might have been playing some game. I don't play games in dating. It's just not my style. I'm upfront. I'm an In Your Face Motherfucker kinda dude. So I decided to not text back and to never talk to her again.
A couple years later, some guy I know told me that he had dated her for a few months. I asked him why it didn't work out. He gave me no details except that they had clashed. Later through our conversation I found out they had talked about me. Were they that bored, having nothing else in the world to talk about? He revealed that this woman had never liked me because I'm weird. And he agreed with that assessment. Had she and I gone on a blind date, I would understand why me being weird would be a turnoff. But we spent a week together in Utah. The fact that I'm weird wouldn't escape a sleeping sloth high on cocaine with two heroine needles stuck in each arm after binge drinking Everclear. If her intuition didn't pick up the signal that I was weird, then good luck in life, girl.
A part of me thought that she was a dinner collector. A woman who goes on dates just to eat. But on our second date, she ordered only an appetizer, the entrees had been a bit pricy. That's not dinner collector behavior.
Then the guy said, "You didn't even go all they way up..." and stopped himself.
One of the hikes in Zion ended at a place called Angels Landing. It's a trail that averages about 3-4 feet wide, I was told, and rises 2,000 feet above sea level. I'm afraid of heights. I told the group that when we had gone on this hike. Having a choice of falling off to my left or right to certain death wasn't something I relished. So I decided to wait, while they finished, and had a good conversation with the woman I would be going on the dates with. Obviously she told him I hadn't gone up onto Angels Landing. And the fact that he harped on that meant he thought I wasn't a man because he followed up by stating that my ex wore the pants in my last relationship. He witnessed all of three minutes of it because she didn't like hanging out with him. So I'm not sure what he saw, but he never told me the reason for his assessment of me.
This from a guy who had told me that he could do way better than his ex-girlfriend and broke up with her. Then he tried to get back with her only to find out that she had moved on with another guy. He then educated me by saying Asian women are like a five out of ten, but white women are like a fifteen. Apparently math is not his strong suit either. And if he ranks Asian women lower than whites, then why do I see him date Asian women? Does that speak more to his own self image?