Just me and all my GREATNESS...
I’m a girl.
I’m a girl. I know I’m a girl. I like being a girl. I chugged alka-seltzer all afternoon, so I felt strong enough to go out. Earlier I brought tickets to see a production at Teatro Nacional Ruben Dario. Its a beautiful modern building. I like theatre, hence the whole PhD in it. I like going to theatre. I like dressing up for it. I like embracing my inner black bougie upper-middle class self. I brought some dresses with me, one in particular would be perfect for theatre. However I didn’t wear it. I wore my boots, black jeans and a lavender button down. As much as I like wearing dresses, I still feel a bit vulnerble in them. The dress and the shoes I would have to wear to match would be horrendus to fight in or defend myself to attack. Some might even say they welcome inappropraite behavior or comments from men. I’m in a foriegn country, I don’t need the extra stress. Plus everyone keeps telling me how dangourous Nicargua is at night. When the taxi driver drops me off its pouring and I race inside the the building. I’m soaked. Naturally I want to go to the bathroom to dry my face and glasses. However I’m bit reticent to enter the bathroom. While at the time I thought the woman thinking I was boy in the bathroom in Honduras or the guy in Pizza Hut almost making the same mistake was humorous. Those memories creeped back in my head. I’m wearing a sports bra so the little breast that God has given me are made less visible. Maybe because I’m the only “black” person in the building, clearly comprised of Nicaraguan elite. I’m nervous to enter the bathroom. When I do, I can feel the eyes of others trying to figure out my gender. A girl leaves the bathroom stall, sees me and goes back in. As I exit I see her peeping out watching me leave. it is easy to forget that because of my clothes and hair that some people see masculine energy, but despite my appearance I always feel extremely feminine. The looks continue to follow me as I walked around looking at the art. I’m guessing wondering what this black “person” is doing here. I took my seat to watch a performance in a language I don’t really speak. The performance was song of the revolution, celebrating the 50th anniversary of the FSLN. Everyone knew all the songs and was hyped. Cheering and chanting. It was quite entertaining. I had to use the bathroom during the performance. As I enter the bathroom for the second time that night a woman followed me in to inform me that it was the ladies bathroom not then men’s. I’m a girl.
