"All men are created equal"

This last weekend was a big weekend here in Utah! Same-sex marriage is legal!

I have also found out this weekend that apparently I can't be a supporter of the LGBT community unless I am also gay. Seriously? My inbox was flooded with messages on Facebook after I posted some articles about the ban being lifted on same-sex marriages, with people asking me why I supported the LGBT community. Most of them were "concerned" that I am gay, and then I was encouraged to stop posting things about it.

It doesn't matter that I prefer men over girls. And even though I'm not gay, that doesn't mean that I can't support those who are. I've mentioned before that I have a lot of friends who are, and I honestly don't see anything wrong with it. Let people do what they want to do.

We as people are meant to be different. No two people are the same. It is seriously impossible to find the one thing that everyone in this world is going to like. No one has the same favorite foods, or favorite color. Hell, we can't even agree on how the country is going to be run. But somehow we're all "supposed to" only like boys if we're girls, or vice versa.

That doesn't make any sense to me. Let people like what they want to like, it doesn't impede on your lifestyle at all.

I grew up LDS. So I understand why some churches are freaking out but there's this cool thing where the church and the state are separate. Which means that it doesn't matter what the churches say, they can't sway the government. And the government can do whatever it wants, no bishiop is going to stop them. Also, the whole misconception of "if the government will let them get married then we have to let them get married in the churches" makes me so angry. If a gay person wanted to follow the rules of your religion, then they would do it.

In the Mormon church there are two different kinds of marriage, a civil marriage or a temple marriage. Civil marriages are recognized only by the state, and usually if a couple is only civilly married it's because they can't go to the temple for whatever reasons (new members, unworthy, whatever). The temple marriage is the sacred and holy thing that they're all freaking out about. Hey guess what, if gays wanted to get married in the temple then they would follow YOUR rules. No church is expected to change their rules just because the government does, remember "Church and state are separated".

Same-sex marriages are performed by the state - so all you mormons can calm down, they're civil marriages. You have no problems with a couple of 19 year-olds signing their eternal lives away after knowing each other for two months, but if two men who have been in a committed relationship for 20 years and want to get married, its sinful.

So let them be happy - stop harassing gay people and telling them that they are abominations.  EVERYONE deserves a chance to be happy.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness" 

12/19/1997

1997 was a hard year for my family.
I had sprained my ankle pretty bad in a dance class, and was on crutches for a few days. Some how this combined with my little brother's night terrors (he would be running around the cul de sac screaming at the top of his lungs), meant that my mom was abusing us.
We got kicked out of our apartment because of it. We had 30 days to find somewhere new to live. We didn't find a new home, not for about 6 months....
We stayed in hotels, and when we ran out of money we stayed with some friends.

December 19th, 1997
Day after my mom's birthday.
Like I said, we didn't have a lot of money. For breakfast we would go to Great Harvest to get a couple free slices of bread, and then my mom would drop us off at school.
As we pulled out of the parking lot to the light, facing the R.C. Willy's, I remember setting my tomagachi in the cup holder to respond to something my mom had said to me. We sat at the light and through the windshield I watched the lights switch from red to green. We started to turn left, then the windshield was completely cracked, and something smelled like it was burning.
It took me a second to realize we were moving in a different direction but by then the car had stopped. I tried to get out of the car, grabbed my toy out of the cup holder and pushed on my door. The door wouldn't open, this is when I started to panic. There was a speed limit sign stuck to my car door. I looked over at my little brother whose eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head, and I unbuckled him out of his seat belt. As I was reaching to try to open his door, some lady with short blonde hair, had run up to the car and yanked his door open. My brother and I climbed out of the car, and when I turned back to look, I finally saw my mother.
Hunched over the detonated airbag. Not completely passed out, but not all here. Maybe she sensed me but she turned to look at me and told me to get back in the car, confused as to why I was standing next to it. Her driver's side window had exploded onto her. She was bleeding everywhere, I couldn't tell how badly her face was messed up, just that half of it was completely red.
Someone had a small towel in their car and brought it over to my still confused mother, so she could hold it to her face until the paramedics arrived. I didn't get a chance to see my mom for another day. The lady who had helped us out of the car dragged us away so we "wouldn't have to watch" and told us how lucky we were that we didn't get hurt.
We sat in the grass and watched as the firefighters struggled to get our mom out of the car. They brought out a huge piece of machinery and started cutting the car. We panicked, a firefighter who was trying to take us to school told us that they couldn't get our mom out of the car, so they had to cut the car out of the way. The firefighter let us stay and watch as they pulled her out of the car, onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.
Then we got to ride in a firetruck the last few blocks to the school, so we could attend our class Christmas parties. The principal escorted us to class and gave us extra candy because he felt bad for us.

My mom was in the hospital for a couple of days. They had to get glass out of her eye, and put half of her nose back on her face, but she survived.

So at the end of 1997? No home, no car, no money, and new hospital bills. Worst year ever.

Give a little

The other morning when I was driving around campus picking up the books from the book drops I was listening to one of those morning radio talk shows, I think it was 97.1zht. Anyway, they do "Secret Santa" every year for Christmas, asking the community to write in about families that they know need some extra help for the holidays. I listened as the talk show hosts called a woman that they were giving things to, and seriously I was crying in the car.
I've been on the receiving end of a few "Secret Santa"s over the years. My family didn't always have a lot, so when we opened the door and saw presents sitting outside our door, it was the most exciting thing to ever happen to us. A Christmas miracle. Even though it was usually some clothes and a game or two, it was incredible, because otherwise we wouldn't have gotten anything for Christmas.
I'm so grateful to those who have helped me and my family. If only you knew how much joy these people brought into our home just because they cared.  I wish I knew who doorbell ditched us the Twelve days of Christmas, or any of the secret Santas, so I could say thank you. Thank you, whoever you are.

Avert

This semester of Orchesis was different for me. I am used to the grueling hours of rehearsals, but I was not ready for the emotional ride that this particular performance had. The choreographer, Rodolfo Raphael, is a choreographer that I am very familiar with. I have performed his choreography in the past, as well as had the opportunity to perform with him. It is because of this relationship that I was more invested in our message.

            I have many friends who are openly gay/lesbian, and I have always felt that the way they have been treated was unfair. So when I learned about this “aversion therapy”, it made me angry. Through the creating of the piece, we watched many interviews of people who had been forced through these different kinds of “treatment”. I cannot even tell you how upsetting it is to listen to how badly these people were treated, just because they’re a little bit different.

            In performing this particular piece, I had a part where I was one of those people being forced into treatment. The most intense part of the piece for me is when I tried to travel through the group, and they were all grabbing at me. I felt like all of these hands were someone telling me how to be “right”, trying to control me and force me to be something that I’m not. The frustration and anger that built up inside of me made me feel like punching those hands away and screaming at them to leave me alone. I imagine that’s how these people felt, when going through their therapies. Confused about why they’re bad, scared of what others might do to them and apologetic of who they are.

            This piece made me consider how I connect with those around me, because even though someone may say they’re okay they might not be. Everyone is dealing with his or her own struggles underneath the surface. It makes me so frustrated with how little people truly care about those around them. How can we be okay with the way we are interacting with others? Why do we treat people with such disrespect? Just because someone is different, doesn’t mean we have to change them, we should love our differences. The world would be an incredibly boring place if we were all the same.

Blue Balloons

This September, I attended Ririe-Woodbury’s season premier show, The Start of Something Big. The strength and endurance of the dancers, as the six of them danced through the night, impressed me. The evening consisted of many repertoire pieces displaying the company’s versatility. Including a couple from Alwin Nikolais, and the founders of the company, Joan Woodbury and Shirley Ririe.  Topped off with a spectacular piece by the company’s new Artistic-Director, Daniel Charon. The old dance films connecting each piece were entertaining and added to the evening’s program.

The performance that was most compelling to me was a piece towards the middle of the show, created to entertain school children in the 1970’s. The words that are read to us during the performance are from a Winnie the Pooh book, when Pooh Bear is floating around on his balloon, making up a song about being a cloud. The free flowing effort and playful tone of a breeze are movement qualities that are carried throughout the entire piece. The female dancers held balloons in their hands and moved as if they were drifting around on the wind. Any shift seemed to change their direction. Nothing was rushed, as if we had all of the time in the world to lie out in the grass and observe the clouds as they went by. The male dancers almost disappeared into the background, acting as the air, effortlessly transporting everyone around the stage.

No movement seemed unintentional, there was precise attention to detail and it was satisfying to watch as the bodies on stage fulfilled each shape. The ease and breath of the performers was fascinating, it helped me as an audience member, to feel included in the daydream. I wanted to jump up on stage and play with the balloons along with the dancers. I enjoyed the world that was created on the stage; innocent, fun loving, and made with a younger audience in mind.

The entire concert contained such a variety of skill, showing off the dancer’s abilities, which left the audience begging for more in the end.  The diversity allowed there to be something that everyone could identify with and enjoy. I am excited to see what else the Ririe-Woodbury dance company has in store for the rest of the season.

What is it??

Today before class, a bunch of the dancers were talking about having babies (one of the girls is pregnant, and a few have babies of their own). This conversation made me realize that I have a somewhat traditional view on the whole babies thing.
 I don't want to know if I'm having a boy or a girl, until the doctor hands me my baby and says "Congrats, it's a ... " fill in the blank.
I think not knowing kind of makes you more prepared with a gender neutral nursery and clothes. You won't get all the silly frilly dresses or baseball outfits that your baby either isn't going to wear, or only wear once. Instead you'll get tons of onesies (bonus!).
I've heard of people who thought they were having one thing, and ended up having the other. That would suck, you'd have a little girl in boys clothes and a blue room.
Some articles I've read talk about parents who knew whether they were having a boy or girl, and how they would end up gender typing the pregnancy. Like when they would read books to the baby in the belly, they would read Eloise and girly books, and avoid the boyish books. I don't want my kids to feel like they have to be a certain way to be loved. That includes gender stereotypes, I wouldn't want to pressure my child to be super girly if she didn't want to be. I would want my children to find out what they liked, and like it regardless of what is "appropriate" for their gender. It starts when they're babies, so the longer I could put off the stereotypes, the better.
Plus, think of how fun it'll be not knowing! Everyone will be looking up old wives tales to try and figure out what I might be having. Making all kinds of guesses.