castrated males equals female armpits.

I have come to understand the need to considering and reconstructing the framework that drives our society. All we are is patriarchal, and all we have is the negotiation between power and agency. Everything is in relation. To discriminate some one is to elevate and celebrate another.

And really, I lack in so many ways; amidst my penis envy, in my non-Occident state, in my position as a Catholic in an Islamic state; it can go on forever, so long as you align it against an other in a certain context. I worry about my being not as a woman, but as a woman living in the post-colonial era. A woman with an identity and body that serve as markers of judgment in class and race.

The term post-colonial itself is heavily packed. It relays a sense of aftermath, of effects. Of the residue of geographical, cultural, economic and social divides. The paradoxical trouble lies in that even with celebratory racial unifying campaigns such as by the Body Shop and the United Colours of Benetton, such tends to instead envelope humans as a trope, masking lived realities and silencing the oppressed. Within the discrimination and the paternalistic devices, what way is the way out? Which is the way beyond extension of Western imperialism? Which is the way toward my utopia of equality and equity?