My Body, My House

My body is my house.

My body is my temple.

My body is my prison.

My body is the first thing people notice when they see me. They see its size and color. They see what can be recognized by sight alone. They see what my body-- my house-- is. Here is what it is. It is small because I am only 5 feet tall. Its color is light because my skin is light. My house bears the scars of past traumas and nightmares. My body presents itself in way that suggests what my identity is. My body is, or should be, a physical manifestation of my identity. Except it isn't.

My body/ house does not reveal my identity anymore that the color of a body/ house reveals what its residents favorite pastimes are. My body/ house presents itself in a way that rejects my identity. My body/ house presents itself as female when I do not identify as being that. My body/ house shows a façade of confidence and collection when I am falling apart on the inside. When people say they think that my body/ house is pretty or cute or nice I cannot help but doubt their words and motives. How could they think that my body/ house is pleasant? What is it that they see that I cannot see myself. Because in my eyes my body/ house is shabby and rundown and ugly. In my eyes my body/ house is unworthy of compliments.

My body/ house has holes and weak spots in its foundation. This lack of structure leaves my body/ house vulnerable to disaster. My body/ house is fragile and plain. There is nothing I want more than to make my body/ house stronger and less plain. I want to adorn my skin/ walls with works of art that reveal my passions and loves to the world. I want to work and build upon the foundation of my body/ house to make it less vulnerable. I want to tear my body/ house to its bones and rebuild it in a way that better represents my identity. But I don't know how to do that. I don't even know if that would be possible. Because I lack the skill of an artist and the materials of a construction worker. Because I am weak and vulnerable and plain and scared that if I change my body/ house it will be rejected.

I hate my body/ house. But it is also the only thing that is truly mine. It's all I have in this world. It's what I was given when I was born, and it will be the last thing I have when I die. It is my house. It is my body.

Definition: Houses, Histories, and Hauntings

According to the dictionary.com app I have on my smart phone there are approximately 22 ways to define the word "house" when using it as a noun. But I won't be talking-- I mean writing-- about all of these possible definitions. Instead, I will focus on the first and the third definitions.

1. a building in which people live; residence for human beings
2. (often initial capital letter) a family, including ancestors and descendants: the great houses of France; the House of Hapsburg

The main difference between these two definitions is the way in which they are applied in the real world. The first is the definition of a house in the most literal sense. A house is a building in which one may reside in for an extended or short amount of time. The second, however, is the definition of a house in a metaphorical sense. Because people and families cannot possibly be considered houses... Or can they?

And that, my dear reader, is the purpose and main reason why I am writing this today and tomorrow and hopefully for multiple days afterwards. My main goal is to address the ways in which our bodies and families, both physically and metaphorically, are houses. Our bodies house ourselves and what a person considers to be themselves. The body is a physical representation of one's identity. Our families and ancestries play a role in our body and our identity in that we are given our body from our family.

The body is a house that holds many secrets. It is built upon the lives and histories of ancestors. It is haunted by the nightmares and past mistakes of the person who it belongs to. It is worn out and broken down over time through the burdens of life and the harsh climate of the world we live in. Words damage the foundation of this house by beating on the identity of the person. These wounds inflicted on the house may not be visible at first, or even for a long time, but they build upon each other and have the potential to demolish the house completely. But just as harsh words can break the foundation, words and acts of kindness can also fix the tears in the foundation.

This is where I'll leave you all for now. Hopefully this blog will have you thinking about what your own house is made out of. Maybe you will be able to identify what your house is made out of, and the things that may haunt it. That is up to you though. It's your choice.

                                                                                                                     

                                                                                                       ~ Sofia