"Dear Mum,
I turn 18 today. I am now, supposedly, an adult. From now on, I am considered capable of handling myself and responsible for my own actions. I can create my own life; I am a blank slate.
Except I am not. I already have 18 years of digital history attached to my persona. Granted, I have largely contributed to it in the last 8 years or so. But before that, Mum, it was your doing, and I had no say in the matter.
I understand how your heart glowed and beat with overwhelming joy as you first held me in your arms, a tiny, helpless, crumpled little creature. I understand you earnestly thought I was the most beautiful thing ever to behold, and that the world ought to see me and wonder. I understand your pride as I took my first steps, said my first word, drew my first scribble and rode my first bike. It's only natural you wanted to take pictures of all those precious moments so we could, as a family, treasure the memories in the years to come.
I even understand you needed to vent your frustration when I couldn't sleep, and when I took ages to be out of nappies (especially at night), and when I started talking back to you, when I wouldn't work in school, and when you thought my teacher was a bully.
But Mum, did you really need to post all of that online?
The first 18 years of my life have been more recorded and documented than a scientific experiment, and been made as public as a reality show. Today, Mum, I feel my personal life and history are not my own: they're public property for everyone to see.
I know you did it because you love me and because you're so, so proud of me. But did you ever stop to think how I'd feel about it later?
Do you remember the embarrassement you felt when Grandma showed your baby pictures to a flock of cooing friends, or worst, to your first boyfriend? I feel that embarrassement multiplied by your 359 Facebook friends and your 874 Instagram followers. I have no privacy.
You were an adult when you registered on social media. You made a choice regarding your own privacy, and you chose to be present online. You chose what you would share. You had heard that anything you posted was no longer private, but public. You made that choice for yourself and there is nothing wrong with that because it was your own life, your own choice.
But Mum, you never asked my 3-hour-old self whether I wanted to be on Facebook.
How do I handle my digital footprint now, the one I never chose to have?"
If you're a woman, I'm sure you've been through this before.
You're at a concert or some other event, and you very, very urgently need to powder your nose (if you are too shy to call a spade a spade) - that is, you are desperate to pee. And, of course, the queue to the ladies' room is so long it spills out in the hallway.
And the men's are empty.
What do you do?
Well, when this happens to me, I can tell you I have absolutely no hesitation. I need to go, dammit. No qualms about it. And I really don't see why it would be a problem.
Yet, it seems that for some people, it's such a big deal that they had to pass a bill forbidding transgender people from using another bathroom than the one of their birth-assigned gender.
I mean, seriously?
I'm not going to debate transgenderism here. It's a complex issue, and as a cisgender person, one that I don't know enough about. I am just concerned that male-to-female trans people, for instance, are probably at risk of harassment and bullying when they use the men's bathroom.
But really, I just find the whole thing ridiculous. And I'm talking about the bill, not about transgenderism. Why is it such a big deal, who is using which bathroom?
Obviously, as a woman, I can't very well use a urinal (well, I tried once because I literally had no other option, but trust me, it's highly impractical for girls - and that's an understatement). But there are usually also cubicles in the men's, right?
When I use the restroom, I really don't mind who else is using it. My main concerns usually are:
1. Is there still some toilet paper?
2. Is there soap and water so I can wash my hands afterwards?
3. Is the restroom, and the cubicle and seat I am going to use, especially, clean?
But I really don't give a rat's arse whether the person in the next stall is male, female, or something else. And said stalls are separate anyway, we no longer have Roman latrines where people are happily chatting together while doing their business (although maybe we should, it could de-sensitize us to this whole thing. After all, male, female or trans, we all need to go, daily. Maybe it shouldn't be such a big taboo.).
I just have this crazy idea: we should just have gender-neutral bathrooms. Or maybe we should just stop worrying so much about it. When I meet someone, their genitals isn't usually the first thing I wonder about!
Long ago, I set a basic rule: in my house, it's still morning as long as I'm still in my pyjamas.
And what a productive morning it has been!
I emailed the publisher about the possibility of translating another book, I paid several bills online, and wrote to my sponsored children, Jacob and Dulce. I tidied up the living room, folded and put away some laundry, and put some more out to dry. I fed the dog (who picked at her food and decided to sleep instead), emptied the cat's litter tray and put some fresh one in (it was high time). I planned a family Sunday lunch with Mum over the phone, and planned a girls' sushi night out with a friend. I planned tomorrow's English class that I'll be teaching to my friends and prepared resources. I replied to a friend's email, several friends' Facebook messages, and participated in a discussion online about women in the church.
All in all, pyjama days are the best.
I suppose I'd better get dressed now, to get on with the rest of my day... After all, it IS 4:30 pm.
