CYNTHIA FARID X
WONG WAI YU, JOVY
THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT
​The underlying rationale behind Eve’s original sin committed in the Garden of Eden was a rejection of God’s limits upon her. Adam’s first sin—as the conventional story goes—was his failure to control Eve and instead follow her in the pursuit of her sinful desire. Many variations of this story exist. Men and women have since leaving the Garden of Eden sinned against God in myriads of ways. Whether its Lilith, Mary Magdalene, or Kali, narratives about women’s rebellion against the authority of man and/or God have manifested in a variety of ways, across space, time and cultures. Even fairy tales have depicted consequences of a bite of the apple—in the process also pitting woman against woman.
Patriarchy, religion and capitalism have intersected in relatively more recent and contemporary history in Eighteenth century Europe; and mid-nineteenth century onwards in the colonized world. Elaborate institutions have been designed to “help society follow God’s command for men to rule over women”. The modern incarnation of women’s sinful desire now was equality—the new forbidden fruit!
New technologies of rule emerged to oppress women, whether they were the witches of Salem, the Brujas of Latin America or the Satis of colonial India. Religiosity on its own was no longer enough to keep women in their place—it bandied together with capitalism first and neoliberalism later. As previously oppressed worlds and people began to claim political space and agency, the seeds of feminism were sowed. Concepts of citizenship or suffrage had not been granted to women as gifts—these had to be claimed, and in some cases such as reproductive rights still continues to be, sites of social, political and economic contestation and resistance.
Feminism experienced its own internal contradictions and fragmentation. However, the idea of gender justice developed in the crucible of feminism’s combat with patriarchy. Since then, gender justice has attached itself to rights movements. Campaigns as diverse as those advocating for climate justice or indigenous rights have subsumed and intersected the category of gender. Though incomplete, changes are afoot—the irreversible kind—the forbidden fruit ever closer—not completely out of reach. Tomorrow’s fairy tales will be written by new authors of a feminist future—one in which Snow White bites the apple and grows an orchard out of it, saving humanity instead of a prince.
SELF-LOVE AND COMPASSION
It felt as if I had been struck by a meteor. All my senses had numbed, and I struggled to move. That feeling persisted for days and weeks and months. I thought if I could just get through the minute, the, hour, the day—in the regular rhythm of life—this too shall pass.
It did not. It festered and grew, but never quite disappeared. Who was I if not who I had been? My future, in my head, was tied to my past, my identity. Could I be someone else? Could I be saved?
I was broken inside but had to pretend to be strong. I figured if I pretended long enough, eventually I would be strong. What a colossal mistake that was. One can only mask pain for so long—pretension and not acknowledging the pain compounds trauma. I drowned myself in work—I excelled, which had less to do with my abilities and more to do with plans that the universe seemed to have decided for me at the time. I found myself working with an underprivileged community of rural women. I did not save those women—the program I worked for shut down after a year due to funding problems—but those women saved me. They were brave, the kind that dared to dream despite constraints, tradition and poverty. These women did not lack courage, they lacked opportunities and agency. I reeked of privilege, lamenting over “first world” problems. It was a wake-up call.
Nearly two decades on, I have regrets. I regret not feeling my pain, and my grief. I regret magnifying something that did not need to consume me. I regret losing time that I could have spent being grateful for this life, for being loved, giving back and loving myself. All I had to do was choose compassion.
Regrets notwithstanding, the past and its agony shaped me into the person I am today. I find solace in knowing that I chose triumph over trauma, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, like a wolf turning for the first time to harness the power of the moon.
I learned that while hope may be difficult to come by when one is broken, you only need a tiny spark, a candle, perhaps an ember that ignites you back to life. In my case, it was an avalanche, maybe even a volcanic sea of lava. In this Instagram age, the word self-love has been reduced to salt-baths and spa days—promoting solipsism instead of empathy. My experience has taught me that I needed to see myself with compassion; recognize those that walked before me and make way for those following my footsteps. I also learned that in the short-span of life, over-working and chasing achievements might earn appreciation—but not self-fulfillment. It is okay to rest when one is weak, until one is strong enough to carry their burdens—until they became the mountains they carried.
