The theme for this year’s International Women’s Day is ‘Choose to Challenge’ with the goal of forging a ‘gender equal world’. One expression of forging that equality is to celebrate women’s achievements.
Being a complex woman – is that an ‘achievement’ worth celebrating? Is it noteworthy enough to be female, married, have kids, and be living out a migrant life? Was my desire to move to a foriegn land on the premise that the ‘foreign’ is inherently better, only to realise that it was a mirage from one angle, and a scam in the harshest of lights, a disappointment felt more acutely because of my intersecting ‘woman’ roles and experiences?
If we are celebrating the complexity, are we giving recognition to the ‘seen but unheard’ struggles that we attempt to overcome, whether successfully or not? And if so, what can we hope to achieve from this celebration of complexity and struggle? Are we lauded as being resilient and given a badge of courage that can’t be exchanged for much apart from more well-meaning acclamations? Or do we stand proud and say, see, I am so much more than you make me out to be, and I don’t feel I have to be ashamed of my complexity and struggles. Is that reward enough?
I ask these questions not for rhetorical effect, but for response and dialogue. It’s not something you bring up in everyday conversation or a casual chat with colleagues. In fact, these experiences are so personal and revealing that it’s hard to have a conversation about it with others. I’ve found myself having conversations with myself (as inspired by Bill Evans) – I cry out in my mind the what ifs and rant about my tiredness and frustrations – all this running counterpoint to the roles and responsibilities my physical body carries out.
My work life is playing out a melody with a more or less predictable rhythm, while home life features greater dynamics with solo passages that seem to have a mind of its own. These two scores can play separately but refrains of one will echo in the other. And creeping in between and around the physical locations of work and home is a song I am writing and singing, often using familiar notes and phrases, wishing I could experiment with new chords, and when I try, enter into bars of silence.
Song of Restlessness
The Mother in me is tired
The one who needs to care for her chicks
Who sees the mess to be made right
That food and drink are prepared
To make the path smooth and straight
So her offspring can walk with ease
Releasing versions of independence
Only to be out of sync with actual demands
And outraged by their sheer disregard
Desperate tears sting with shame
The compass needle spinning
With no way to point home
Mother! Why are you so foolish?
Your generosity is such a mistake
Your love misplaced
Unreciprocity is what you deserve
For trying too hard too much
Haven’t you learnt the lessons from your own mother?
Haven’t you figured out how freedom works?
I want to ask Mother to leave me
Or be some other kind of Mother
But kicking her out is impossible
And changing her needs a miracle
So the Mother in me remains in me
The best I can do is ask her to rest
And she will have to however grudgingly
Our energies have limits
And the evening will quieten us down
Good night Mother
Good night
It’s time to say
Good night
So here I am, piecing together this Overture to Life of a Complex Woman, a composer who is working with lietmotifs from the past and present, with the hope of unleashing a triumphant opening for the future.