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Choices and Rings

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Choices and Rings

When I was a suicidal teenager, I was forced to attend church camp. I travelled up in a van with my uncle, my soon-to-be aunt, and several other couples. Two of the other girls had promise rings. They were simple, a silver band with a few jewels inlaid in it, settled on their ring finger. Julia and Yavin liked to show them off whenever they could. I liked to avoid them whenever I could. This was difficult since we ended up being in the same house together and I was frequently subjected to hearing them talk about how excited they were to turn eighteen and get married.

I never understood that immense desire to swear yourself to someone before you’re someone yourself. They were children, wishing to get married to boy that struck me as dry, bland, and unappealing. I’m not sure what they saw in each other. Julia was at least energetic. I saw her smile more than I saw Yavin smile—Yavin, with dark bags under her distant eyes, as if she did everything robotically. I remember locking eyes with her at one point, peering into her pupils and feeling my brows furrow. It struck me suddenly that maybe she never even wanted to get married. Maybe she just thought she had to. Maybe she thought that was her purpose in life.

Yesterday I watched a video by a girl younger than I telling me what she thought all girls needed to hear. She told her audience that girls were born rich and made poor. That our only wealth was in our beauty and chasteness, and that dwindles over age. She told me that women are more happy getting married. She told me that women are happier when they have only one sexual partner. She told me to get married young, since when you get older, no one will marry you and you’ll be depressed and suicidal.

Guess I’ve already got the depressed and suicidal bit down for later in life. Maybe I’ve already done my time and can skip that part altogether?

I sent my friend the video and she called me a few minutes later, furious over what she had watched. I shared in the sentiment. I told her that my life did not revolve around a man’s desire over my body. That I was a human being. That I could make choices. That I could say no.

I wonder if anyone ever told Yavin she could say no.

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