Before Happily Ever After Comes Envy
Why do sons get to inherit their fathers' guts and daughters are left with their fears?
Before happily ever after comes envy, Did you not know? Did you not know the damsel wanted more? Beyond the knight on a white horse, and the next tower she'll call home, did you not know she wanted the sword? I asked my father tirelessly if I could hold it If I am your successor, as you say; If I am to lead your army one day; If my name is etched on the throne— Father, I would like to be the champion, Your precious Joan Instead, a gilded cage; From tower to tower, all alone Waiting in silk and lace and to kiss ever after princes' faces; And when I take his hand, we unite flesh and bone And he loves me so I love him so Still, I wondered what it would be like to wield a sword—
se.
Does every damsel want to be saved, or did she always secretly want to be the savior?
When I think about the differences in girls’ and boys’ upbringings, I can’t help but feel envious to some degree. I love being a girl. I love being a woman. I love feminity. I loved sitting down and playing dress up with my Barbie, trying to concoct the next look I’d give her with the two-piece outfit that came with the box. I loved romance at an early age—princes and princesses and the whole knight-and-shining-armor. And while I was never quite too keen on pink and bows, I truly and wholeheartedly loved everything about girlhood.
When I was six, like everybody else, I wanted a Gameboy. And I wasn’t looking into playing all the cooler games and joining the scoreboards; I only wanted to get a Gameboy to play the dress-up game I saw in the store. I remember asking my dad for it, and his answer was a resounding “no” because it was only for boys. “It’s called GameBOY for a reason. If you want it so bad, you’ll have to wait for a GameGIRL”, even after I had explained to him how it works. In retrospect, I’m sure he knew what he was saying—he just wanted to throw me off-guard and not have him purchase it for me, or that I don’t end up gaming the whole time like every kid my age.
It’s a funny anecdote I like to tell to amuse people about my overprotective childhood, but it was always like that with my father. He loved us the way he knew how, but he was always an anxious man. At a very young age, my sister and I were already hyper-aware of how dangerous the world is and that if we aren’t careful enough, it could very well be the end of us.
When I brought my boyfriend to our house for the first time, I had to explain to him every rationale behind some of the unusual things, like “Why do you have bars on your windows?”—It’s to prevent possible break-ins. The small latch on there that’s locked is a passageway for us in case of fire. Same goes for the reason our gates have blocked horizontal grills and only open vertical slits, or why our windows are tinted and not always wide open; less possibility of break-ins, safer house. Next question.
As frustrated as I was growing up having to feel the stifling grip of my father’s rules, people consoled me with the idea that my father is the way that he is because he has daughters and is just being protective like a good father would. Daughters are like fragile vases and dolls—and why wouldn’t we be? We were raised to want safe things. While the boys were taught how to take a swing and hold giant plastic swords, we were given our dolls, beads, kitchen sets, and stationeries. Books. Paint. The arts. And what am I now but a poet and an artist? I love who I’ve become and the journey that has brought me here. Still, I wonder, would I have become someone different if I had been raised differently, too?
What if I was taught to be good at wielding a sword, too? What if I was encouraged to explore and improve my physicality and sportsmanship like they would to young boys? I know we still have our individualistic traits, but this is a classic nature-versus-nurture question—what if I were raised like a boy? I wonder if a strong figure would end up being a damsel in the first place or even needing to be saved by someone else. So much of this makes me think, why do sons get to inherit their fathers’ guts, and daughters are left with their fears? It makes me think about Sylvia’s figs and whether or not our figs were already cherry-picked for us before we even knew about the tree. What if everything imposed on us to become are the very reasons we become damsels in the first place? And what if things were different? What would it feel like to be encouraged to be strong without betraying your girlhood? To be interested in war and combat without the impressions of wanting to become a boy, or to demonstrate the bravado young boys are taught to have and not follow it with defensiveness and guilt. If things were different, do you think I would have grown up to be a much stronger, less anxious girl if I was raised beyond the stifling overprotectiveness and gender biases towards little girls?
On the contrary, it does feel good not to have your guard up all the time. It is a privilege to find yourself having the luxury to rest into your feminity because you have someone you can trust to protect you and to have your back in ways that you might not be able to. It’s nice to feel like a princess. Being with the right person, I understand that now, and it might just be the best thing. But sometimes, I wonder about the chances we might’ve lost in becoming the knight and shining armour ourselves instead.
Hey there! For the most part, starting here on Substack feels a lot like sending message bottles to the void, so it means a lot to me that you’re here. Thank you for reading through my little musings, and I hope to hear/read from you too!