Writing

Contentment and Chaos

Writing

Conveying thoughts onto paper or manipulating them into written word is the best form of clearing one's mind. It's also a glimpse into the inner workings of the person, his soul, his being, his persona.

True Contentment

The waters of the Pemigewasset River were as smooth as glass as I ascended the steep dirt road to the cropped glass clad shore. The sun was transforming the placid waters into a mirror of fiery reds, oranges and yellows as it slowly sank below into the hills of Bristol and Bridgewater. The largemouth bass and perch leapt through this kaleidoscope of color in search of their last bloodthirsty mosquito for the night, temporarily breaking the calm of the surface. The small ripples spread quickly away from the center and soon dissipated, leaving the surface calm and peaceful one again.

I walked down the dirt road that parallels the river until the trees along the edge of the bank were gone. I traversed my way around the poison ivy bushes and the hodge podge of boulders until I found one with a flat surface. I sat on it Indian style and gazed out across the smooth surface. The panorama that lay before me was nothing but tranquil and therapeutic. On the opposite bank, pine trees soared high above the sandy bars and swamp behind them, as though protecting this natural treasure from the destructive chaos of others. Bats were emerging from their daytime slumber and darting out over the river, in a rhythmic and elegant dance. Even the bloodthirsty mosquitoes floated around my head with the grace and elegance of an Olympic figure skater. This was my very own piece of tranquility.

With this natural beauty as the backdrop, I put my headphones over my ears and began to play Madonna's Ray of Light album. The first song that I played was Skin. At the onset of the beat, I closed my tired eyes and immersed myself into the abundant tranquility that surrounded me. Almost immediately, the internal turmoil of the past months left me. The haunting questions and burdening thoughts left my mind. No longer was I replaying whether I made the right choice to come out of the closet as Bisexual, or the night at Club Vapor that Marcello and I made out, or coming out to my parents, or coming out to eighty-five people every day, or pondering whether I have a crush on Adam, or doubting whether I truly am Bisexual or simply craving attention. All of these complex and confusing thoughts left my head and were replaced with total and absolute contentment.

As the beat increased in tempo and Madonna sang the words "Do I know you from somewhere?" I drew deeper and deeper into my soul, expounding all the confusion and negativity and replacing it with the tranquility that was all around me. Not even those bloodthirsty mosquitoes were able to sway my deep introspection and concentration.

After about six minutes, the song began to fade and the sound of gaily chirping birds filled the void. I slowly opened my eyes and looked towards the deepening blue sky. I then lowered my head and gazed around the river. In the middle, a large tree trunk had become stuck in the mud over the winter and only the top two feet was above the water. It was so inconspicuous that it seemed to be part of a Salvador Dali exhibit. It stood solemnly against the slow but steady current of the river, standing its ground against the constant and steady barrage of adversity, while maintaining its integrity and contentment.

I saw myself in that tree trunk at that moment on that small piece of granite rock. With the whole world swirling around me in a gray tempest, I was able to stand my ground and find true contentment, without bending to them. I let the negativity flow out of my soul and built upon my foundation, making it stronger and more secure.

I finally stood up and stepped off the rock and back onto the rocky dirt road. I turned towards the campground, confident in my newfound contentment and began to walk with my head tall. All the while, the lyrics "Nothing really matters, love is all we need." played in my ears, echoing what the tranquility of the river had done to my body and soul.

One Instructor's Journey

*This is an article that I wrote that was published on the front page of The New Hampshire on Friday, November 8, 2002

Standing at six foot six inches, instructor Jo Ryan stands before her English 401 class in Ham Smith 19 discussing the novel The Bluest Eyes, written by Pulitzer Prize author Toni Morrison. In discussing Pecola, one of the main characters in the novel, she selects a quote and uses it to describe her.

The soil is bad for certain kinds of flowers, she reads to the class aloud as they listen attentively. Pecola is not one of the marigolds but rather a dandelion.

Morrison applies this metaphor to describe society and its treatment of those who dont conform or adhere to a specific role or identity. Perhaps this is the best way to describe Ryans life and journey as a Transgendered person.

Born Joseph Nolan Ryan after the famous Texas Rangers pitcher, she was raised in a traditional blue collar New Hampshire family. Her mother is a hospital worker and her father is a barber. She has been living as Joelle Ruby Ryan for over ten years.

There wasnt a lot to prepare them, says Ryan, who defines the word Transgender as a range of behaviors, expressions and identifications that challenge the pervasive bi-polar (male and female) gender system in any given culture. It was very difficult to tell them.

She is part of a growing group of mostly young Transgender people who identify themselves as Non-op, or living as the gender of choice without hormone treatments or Sex Reassignment Surgery (SRS).

I can live in the gender of choice without changing my body, says Ryan. What you see is what you get!

This is different from the more commonly known Transsexual identities. A person who identifies him or herself as Pre-op is a person who has yet to undergo Sex Reassignment Surgery. He or she is undergoing hormonal treatment, receiving counseling and is identifying him or herself as the opposite sex. A person who identifies him or herself as Post-op has undergone Sex Reassignment Surgery. The majority of Sex Reassignment Surgeries occur as male-to-female procedures. However there is a similar amount of people who identify as female-to-male, although the amount of Sex Reassignment Surgeries is much smaller due to the relatively recent developments in surgical procedures..

Despite the fact that she has not undergone Sex Reassignment Surgery, Ryan still faces daily comments about her appearance and her identity, as well as legal discrimination in the eyes of the law such has employment protection and changing her birth name. She also deals with in her eyes a Transphobic society that allows and even perpetuates an attitude of irrational fear or hatred of people who identify as Transgender.

Its exhausting, says Ryan. Im tired of fighting like Im going to war everyday, having people negate your humanity.

Citing one of her favorite poets Audre Lorde, she equates Transphobia and her day to day life as having the words postage due stamped on ones head.

As a result, Ryan has fought vigorously over the past ten years to include Transgender people not only within the UNH community but the community at large. She was successful in adding the letter T (Transgender) to the GLB acronym used to categorize the Gay community at UNH.

She holds this institution accountable, says Bob Coffey, LGBT Coordinator for the Office of Multicultural Student Affairs or OMSA.

In 1995, she, along with Peter Welch, a health educator and counselor at the Health Services Health Education Center produced a video entitled A Transgender Path, which chronicled her life as a Transgendered person. She has also spoken to thousands of students and staff through dorms and classes as well about living her life as a Transgendered person and the myths and misconceptions that are accompanied and perpetuated by elements such as the media.

The media is a problem, says Ryan. It pumps out images that are deceptive.

She has also become an activist in fighting for more awareness about gender issues and how society uses male and female to categorize itself.

These categories arent stable, says Ryan, who openly ponders the thought, Imagine a world where changing your sex was as commonplace and mundane as changing your shirt. Cross-dressing and transsexualism would no longer be a big deal, as we realized how mutable and shifting the terrain of identity is. This is the world that she envisions not only for others but for herself.

She has incorporated her vision of activism and equality into many UNH and Seacoast area community activities and organizations at including Gender Jam, which was an on-campus poetry slam that featured several local GLBT poets and other performers including musicians. She is also a member of the Presidents Commission on GLBT Issues, which advises President Hart about GLBT issues on campus such as climate and bias.

Around the table, shes the person whos been around for the longest, says Coffey, who is also an ex-officio member of the commission. She enriches the work that we do.

Most recently she has taken her message of activism and social change into the classroom as an instructor of English 401.

A large percentage of the students are very accepting, says Ryan. Were all in this together.

During the class discussion about The Bluest Eyes, she specifically introduces the topic of Cholly and Darlene, two African American characters who had been brutalized by two White male hunters in the woods. She begins to talk about their misery and bitterness and how it is portrayed through the brutal rape scene. She then incorporates the concepts of oppression and hatred into the discussion as she gauges her students for their opinion.

To hate white men would be to hate something powerful, replies a male student.

The most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed, she replies, quoting anti-Apartheid Steve Biko.

Ryan hopes that through education and outreach, she will be able to educate people about Transgender people and issues such as gender diversity.

Its not just about genitals, emphasizes Ryan.. Who we are on the inside is so infinitely more important, especially our inviolable spirit and indomitable spirit.

The Oppressor

"Chad won't come to the deli anymore, in fact he used to come in to get coffee and talk but won't because he thinks that you were checking out his butt."

"You need to be careful now because gay people have diseases and Mike sliced his thumb on the meat slicer and bled everywhere."

"I bet Mike and Josh are fucking right now in the woods."

These are the spoken words of one Jamie Patten, as told to me via a fellow deli worker, whom I shall refer to as Kendra. As the two of us were cleaning the shiny metal hot bar on a recent night, she told me what Jamie had said to her about me. Her words seemingly reflected off the surface of the hot bar and slammed into my face, with the force of a Hiroshima bomb. At first, my reaction was one of numbness and indifference, more or less out of the fact that the deli was very busy.

Once I arrived home however, the words began to saturate my brain, like a sponge soaking up water. From what was numbness and indifference quickly evolved into hurt and acute incensement as I sat on the couch attempting to contemplate why she would say such things about me.

I felt as though my skin had been ripped off and trampled. I felt as though my soul had been discarded. I felt an intense rage towards this girl who basically deemed my sub-human, unworthy of even the most basic human rights of civility and compassion. She violated those and at that moment, while sitting on my couch, I reflected upon my Leadershape experience and decided to rise above her ignorance and cruelty by telling everyone in the deli. I decided to nail her and began to execute it the next morning.

The next morning I came to work and told Carole what she had said to Kendra, of course not mentioning her true name. No sooner did the words leave my mouth that Carole's jaw dropped to the floor and her face instantly became contorted with rage. She immediately called Rachel and Shellie over and told them what she had said about me. They too were disgusted and thought of her as nothing more than crusty old shit at the bottom of the toilet. By the time that I left for lunch, the entire deli and bakery and Geri knew what she had said and they all rallied behind me in support. Tracey told me about her two lesbian cellmates and how she would freak her out by playing the part. Montezuma's not the only one that has a scathing revenge, Mikey does too and it's very caustic and bitter.

Perhaps the most disturbing thing to me is the fact that she has no inclination of who Mike is. The only thing her diluted mind sees is a gay man who fucks every guy on Earth and has innumerable diseases. That's the biggest crock of shit ever. I'm not gay, I'm bisexual. Secondly, I'm a virgin (male and female) and thirdly I've never in my life had a disease (sexually or non-sexually transmitted). She is basing her comments on these incredulous assumptions that are false.

The second thing, which is equally as disturbing as the first, is what she's going to teach her two children. Is she going to teach them that all gay people have diseases? or deli boys behind the counter are staring at your butt so don't go to the grocery store? Save the children and condemn her if that's the case.

So where do I go from here? Well, Mikey's Revenge is ongoing. I've achieved in my vision of blackmailing Ms. Patten in the deli and bakery. My ultimate goal is to see disciplinary action taken if not termintion and I'll go right to the top if necessary. With the continued support of my fellow co-workers, I will fulfill my vision and rise above this oppression.

The Deli Counter

"Deli lady?"

"Carole, you're being summoned."

"Deli lady, can you give me a piece of cheese please?"

"Sure dear."

Carole slides open the black sliding door to the display case and takes a slice of processed cheese off the top of the neatly stacked square. She hurriedly shuts it and walks out to her very excited customer waiting in the carriage. Three-year-old Domenic reaches out his chubby little hand in anticipation. She hands him the slice of cheese and with a grandmotherly "Here you go dear" he immediately begins to eat it. He is just one of the hundreds of satisfied customers that leaves the deli at Cricenti's Market in Bristol, New Hampshire with a smile on his face.

Scenes like the one between Carole and Domenic play out over the deli counter. Like the counter of the Lunch Box on the sitcom Roseanne, the shiny silver structure serves as the backdrop for the exchange of local gossip and acquainting of friends. Customers don't simply leave with a pound of Mothergoose liverwurst or two pounds of boiled ham sliced thin, they leave with a better understanding and comprehension of what's going on and a more concrete connection to this small New Hampshire community of two thousand people.

On a recent Sunday afternoon, a woman was standing with her shopping carriage in front of the hot bar. Thinking that she needs something, I hurry over to wait on her and ask her the standard "Can I help you Ma'am?" She giddily responds, "I'm all set dear, I'm just shootin' the shit here with Tracey." Like Cheers, everybody knows your name. Customers are willing to stop and talk to the friendly deli worker behind the counter. Unlike my hometown of Manchester, where cell phone soccer moms with three or four kids hurry by like a chicken with its head cut off, people in Bristol pride themselves in taking time to get to know their neighbors and those working behind the counter.

Like the customers in front of the counter, the employees working behind it utilize its potential as an impromptu meetinghouse. They pull out all the stops in exchanging information about their lives or about local gossip. It's as though the floodgates are continually left open. Whether Catherine is updating her son's middle school teacher about the progress of her pregnant 17-year-old daughter, or Kathy telling Erinn about how her husband hit a wicked thunderstorm on his way home from Manchester, or Mike telling Helen about how he strongly dislikes his hometown, or Jason telling anyone who listens about how he spends seventy dollars a week on Budweiser and his girlfriend is expecting their first child in five weeks, it's all exchanged and shared via the deli counter.

In a nutshell, the deli counter serves a purpose greater than simply keeping luncheon meats and cold salads fresh; it serves as a community builder and sustainer. The things that are exchanged via the spit-polished silver counter not only help sustain the small town way of life but help it grow and prosper. The sense of connection that stems from the deli counter is present even after the last customer of the day leaves.