Speaking like a German Melancholist

Flag of Germany

Today we’re again diving deep into an entry to the 1956 Grand Prix Eurovision de la Chanson Européenne. Last time we talked about Fud Leclerc and his drowned men, today we’re talking about Walter Andreas Schwarz. This is the first German entry on our journey and I’m sure I’m biased in its favour just because I’m German too. Who even chose this title image? Blergh… I feel way too patriotic.

Before we talk about the song though, let’s first talk about the musician behind it: Walter Andreas Schwarz. Im Wartesaal zum großen Glück was Schwarz’s only big musical success, and even if it was good enough for participation in the final, it wasn’t enough for commercial success. His main line of work throughout his life remained voice acting. His passion definitely shows in his work as a singer and songwriter. His entry for the competition is mostly spoken and only interspersed with intermittent attempts at melodious singing. Schwarz died in 1992, and his sparse musical work remained deeply rooted in a tradition of straightforward storytelling, that to my ears is concurrent or even precedent to the tradition of German Liedermacher like Reinhard Mey et Altera.

Surprisingly, this song is rumoured to have been ranked second in the 1956 contest. Why I find that surprising? Because at least to my ears it doesn’t fit into the classic Chanson that is so defining for all other entries we’ve listened to so far. This is also a point where we could get into the controversies around the voting procedures in 1956, but I think, as it doesn’t actually matter to this song, I’m keeping that for a discussion of the actual winner, so stay tuned! Let’s better move on and discuss the song.

The song itself is around 4 minutes long and starts with flutes that would be worthy of any German feel-good television show intro from the 1960s and 70s, but the flutes get interrupted by a way less cheery accordion only seconds into the song, and with that, we’re into the lyrics.

The song title, that roughly translates to In the Waiting Room to Good Fortune, gives away the main point and image the song conveys. Everyone seems to be waiting and dreaming of their happiness, but in a way, this strikes the author as a Waiting for Godot. As Godot, luck will never appear (on its own). Positing that only those who seize the day will capture their luck while those, who wait for their dreams to happen, remain waiting forever, the writer strikes a chord of thinking that has been present in our cultural consciousness at least since Horace‘s famous aphorism carpe diem. Schwarz, however, moves further along this line of thinking, and his dreamers don’t even notice the luck they could attain. After all, they are waiting for their own special luck.

Und man baute am Kai der Vergangenheit
Einen Saal mit Blick auf das Meer
Und mit Wänden aus Träumen gegen die Wirklichkeit
Denn die liebte man nicht sehr
Im Wartesaal zum großen Glück
Da warten viele, viele Leute
Die warten seit gestern auf das Glück von morgen
Und leben mit Wünschen von übermorgen
Und vergessen, es ist ja noch heute
Ach, die armen, armen Leute

Im Wartesaal zum großen Glück, Walter Andreas Schwarz

And they built at the quay of the past / a hall with a view of the sea / and with walls made from dreams against reality / because they didn’t love [reality] much. / In the waiting room to good fortune / there were many, many people waiting / They waited for the good luck of tomorrow / and lived with the wishes of the day after tomorrow / and forget it is still today / Oh, the poor, poor people.

This song has gained a special place in my heart, not because its instrumentation would be amazing or the metaphor would be groundbreaking, but because its mood translates so well for me. I can feel the weird melancholy. I can feel myself live within my own dreams. I can feel both the pain of never seeing my dreams fulfilled, but I can also see the despair of me not moving forward through time and life, as if I had a third-person view of myself. I don’t agree with the song, that there is any magically glowing freight, that could bring light into my life. I don’t believe that there’s someone who could make my sunrise right now, but still, it feels weirdly descriptive of my life right now. And who knows? Maybe I can take this melancholic look into the world and make it my own, move on and take a step out of the waiting room.

But is it truly that easy? I might be getting too caught up in this fantasy … Where’s my cynicism? This song isn’t a straight forward carpe diem. There’s a problem. Sure you can say it’s just a beautiful image, but apparently, in the song’s world there’s an infinite amount of good to distribute, and people are at fault for not finding it when all they would have to do is to step out of their dreams, when in fact stepping out of your dreams can take some serious effort. Not everyone is in a place where they can afford to work for their own happiness, not everyone is in the right mental place to even step out and find their luck. I don’t feel ready to capture my luck. I know I should, but my brain is great at telling me what I should do and then being too fearful to do it. Reality can be scary. Dreams are an escape for those who fall out of our systems. And maybe there’s still a way to live your dream and not follow the idea of what a German voice actor would deem lucky or successful.

Well, we should probably not be too harsh on this song. After all, Germany after the war, was very much yearning for easy entertainment, light comedy and simple solutions. There had been enough pain and misery in the recent past, that at least some writers and many producers for television, radio and cinema, didn’t feel comfortable about hitting people over their head with deep and thoughtful works or about showing people the bleak reality. They felt people wanted to dream of a humble but gleeful future or past. And maybe, just maybe, this song is a subtle protest against this overly produced and glossy dream-scape.

I’m not as subtle. I’m, without a doubt, hitting you over the head with the weirdness that is early-day Eurovision. To make it easier for you to keep track of all the songs, I made a Spotify playlist of all the songs, we’ve talked about so far. Sometimes, there might be a sneak preview in there, but probably not regularly.

If you want to read the first entry, it’s about De Vogels Van Holland or if you want to get a full picture, feel free to check out the whole 1956 category. Or if you have enough of weird old songs, make sure to check out my latest fiction piece: On the Importance of Touching a Tree.

On the Importance of Touching a Tree

Saturn V SA-506 rolled out of the Vehicle Assembly Building

Old Home

Only seconds remained until she would be launched into space at a hurtling pace. She heard the countdown through her helmet, but it was distant. Her mind was preoccupied with her own past and future. She remembered her childhood. She thought about all the fun times she had on this planet, but also all the embarrassing little mistakes she had committed. She was sad, she had to leave this planet, but there was no other choice. She had to. But what would be on the other side?

“20 seconds and counting!” – “t minus 15 seconds, guidance is internal” – “12 … 11 … 10 … 9” – “ignition sequence start” – “6 … 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … 0″ – ” all engine running … lift off” – “we have a lift off 32 minutes past the hour!”

She felt a rumble going through the rocket, she felt her body shaken, and she was shaken. Was this supposed to happen? A tear started running down her cheek as she and her rocket slowly started to move off the ground with incredible power.

15 years earlier she had been a teenager. She lived in a small house with a disproportionally big garden, somewhere on the outskirts of a small German town. Her life wasn’t poised to be a normal one in the first place. She had to fight for her right to be who she was anyway, but she couldn’t have known what history had in store for her.

“Mum, can I please go out with my friends tonight? Dennis is celebrating his birthday, and we wanted to see the new Apollo movie at the cinema.”
“Well, have you done your homework?”
“No, but it’s the weekend I can do it tomorrow, and I’ll still have time to spare until Monday.”
“Okay fine, but don’t stay out too long, I’ll expect you back by midnight at the latest. Even if Dennis is turning 16 tonight, you’re still 14, and you still live in this house.”
“Ugh, yeah, fine, mum!”

Laura wanted to be older. She wasn’t excited about her adulthood, but then, finally, she would be able to escape the control of her mum. Her mum was just too worried anything might happen to her precious son. Laura didn’t want to be precious. In a rare accident of obedience, Laura decided to start her physics homework before the evening commenced.

Physics was one of her favourite subjects, well, to be fair there weren’t many subjects she disliked. There were some teachers she couldn’t stand, but other than PE school was manageable for her. Her biggest issue was boredom. If not for her mum constantly checking her homework as if she was still a 3rd grader, she probably wouldn’t have done her homework ever, but who knows.

Her physics teacher seemed exactly as excited as her about the upcoming rocket trials, her only homework for physics was a question about rockets. She loved rockets and she was listening intently when Mr Lampert talked about the ongoing programs to open up a final frontier in space. She could feel his excitement and she was excited as well. She caught herself staring out of the window into the garden. She often beat herself up about the lack of focus she would bring into projects. It made her feel even more inadequate than usual and she worried she would never fit into society.

She looked out of the window again. It couldn’t be. Was she just hallucinating? She felt tired from her day at school, it was probably just her mind playing tricks on her. She looked down again onto her empty page and her physics textbook. Where was she? Yes, rocket propulsion. So rockets apparently flew by pushing out a somewhat constant stream of expanding fuel, and then, well, because of Newton’s principle that every force causes an equal and opposite reaction, well that would push the rocket forward, or well upward. But wasn’t this too easy? Well, yes, the mass of the rocket would change. so it wasn’t just two unchanging masses pushing against each other, the process of pushing would change the mass of the pushed object. Oh no, this smelled of differential equations – Wait! There it was again, something in the garden had moved again. And it wasn’t supposed to move, was it? Trees don’t just move on their own, do they?

Laura was thinking if she should go out and look for herself what was up. Maybe it was all just an illusion. A weird artefact of diffraction or a lapse of her judgement, she had had a long day after all. Going out there could have cleared up her mind, after all, it was probably nothing, or was it? She looked out of the window again. She squinted, but she couldn’t see anything.

Still wondering, what was out there, she returned to her physics homework, just to be rudely interrupted by her mum: “Jonas, come down and set the table, dinner is almost ready”. Oh god, did Laura hate this name, but was there anything she could do to convince her mum to not use it anymore? Probably not. To her mum, Laura was just a delusional child, not willing to accept what nature had brought upon her.

“Have you had a look into the garden today?”, Dennis asked when he picked her up after dinner.
“Eh, no? Well, there was … why do you ask?”, Laura replied.
“Ah, I just thought something looked different when I walked along the fence. Just as if something had moved that shouldn’t, but it was probably just my mind playing tricks on me.”
“Wait, Dennis, no! I saw that too. Earlier, when I was doing homework, I felt like something had moved, but I thought my mind was just playing paranoid tricks on me.”
“Always, the good child doing homework, but maybe we should check it out”, Dennis mocked her with a grin.
” I don’t know what if it’s something dangerous…?”
“Come on, it’s just your backyard what dangerous thing could there possibly be?!”, Dennis urged her.

Dennis grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the little path that led around the house into the garden. Laura wasn’t really enthusiastic about the garden. She struggled a bit, but the fight she put in was more for show than a serious effort to stop Dennis. She secretly liked Dennis’ spontaneity, she wished she wouldn’t always worry about every single possible consequence of her actions, but she did. What if it was a dangerous animal? What if her parents would think they were crazy? What if Dennis found something embarrassing about her in her garden? Wait, what could a garden even tell about her.

They hadn’t moved more than a few steps, they hadn’t even passed the kitchen window when Laura’s mum screamed: “Jonas, don’t forget your jacket. It’s going to be cold today!”. Dennis stopped and looked at her slightly baffled. Laura just rolled her eyes. “When is your mum finally going to use the name you picked?”
“I don’t know. I’ve tried to tell her before, but…”. A tear ran down Laura’s cheek, glistening in the orange glow of the street lantern in front of the dark house. Dennis stepped closer on the slightly damp planks that made up the garden path and held her tight.

The Seine and its Bodies

Fud Leclerc

Trigger Warning: This post discusses mental health issues and suicide.

I actually like this entry. That’s a boring first, but maybe a good opportunity to flex my positivity muscles … about a thoroughly depressing song.

Well then, this took me way longer than it should have. I, honestly, thought that I would struggle more with the horrible songs of this contest, but apparently writing about something I enjoy is the harder exercise for me. This isn’t helped by my general propensity to abandon projects in the face of adverse circumstance or to start way too many projects at once all the time. Though, this probably shouldn’t become a testament to my mental health, even if the song potentially warrants a discussion about mental health in general.

But let’s get started with Eurovisions third final entry: The song in question is Messieurs les noyés de la Seine by Belgian Artist Fud Leclerc. Again Fud Leclerc is a name worth keeping in mind as he represented Belgium four times on the stage of the Grand Prix Eurovision de la Chanson Européenne and would go on to be invited as a guest star for the Eurovision Song Contest 2005.

Messieurs les noyés de la Seine translates to the Drowned Men of the River Seine and that should be the first warning to those who were expecting a happy feel-good melody to hum on their way to work. While if your French is as lacking as my own would probably not understand what is going on within the lyrics, the musical accompaniment doesn’t exude happiness either nor should it. Not every song has to be happy, but this one packs a particular punch of melancholy for me. The six repetitions of the title within the verses of the song, make them into a melancholic mantra that is only accentuated by my inability to notice the subtle changes between the stanzas.

Wikipedia posits that the persona of the singer is caught up in “a loveless marriage” and wants to drown himself in the Seine. While I can find supporting textual evidence for the first claim easily, I’m not so sure about the second claim. First of all, Wikipedia mixes up what Fud Leclerc himself and what the persona in his song wants to do, but secondly while the persona is obviously weighed down by the troubles of love and considers quitting the game I don’t think that necessarily points to a clear intention to commit suicide, there are other ways to quit the game. Also at this time, I feel it necessary to point to the fact that Messieurs les noyés de la Seine is definitely plural in French. That much I know.

Pourquoi, si tout le monde triche, jouer encore le jeu?

Fud Leclerc: Messieurs les noyés de la Seine

But there is a point to be made about the Persona’s suicidal ideation. After all, the song ends with the words “Paris me doit bien un berceau / Je m’endormirai sans amour ni haine / Entre ses bras de sable et d’eau”: Paris owes me a cradle / I will fall asleep with neither love nor hate / in its arms of sand and water

Paris me doit bien un berceau
Je m’endormirai sans amour ni haine
Entre ses bras de sable et d’eau

Fud Leclerc: Messieurs les noyés de la Seine
Skyline of Paris
View of Paris for the terrace of Les Galeries Lafayette

Even though not Belgian, Paris is a fitting choice for this song. As a city, Paris is commonly associated with love and beauty and while Paris is a beautiful city and there are many romantic and scenic spots to be found within its boundaries, Paris still comes with all the dirt, grime, rats, and annoyances of big cities. This disconnect between anticipation and reality even lead to what’s somewhat jokingly called Paris-Syndrome. This is usually more accurately described as an extreme form of culture shock. The disconnect between the imagined City of Love and the pain love can cause us in reality, can certainly make our own loneliness feel more intense.

What still is surprising to me, is that I actually enjoy the calm melancholy of this song. It’s so far the only song that has managed to find its way into my vast collection of meticulously sorted Spotify playlists.

If you enjoyed this weird look into obscure music you can read the last post in this series or can take a look at the entire series so far, in the appropriate category. Or look at the next entry: Germany 12 points.

FIRST!!!

The river Dreisam in Freiburg, Germany

Well, that’s a new category. This is the first time I could have commented this on a YouTube video as a content creator and I’m proud of it. Now, this video wasn’t published on my channel, but among a series of daily videos for a project of the wonderful Nerdfighteria Discord Server. All the videos can be found on their channel. And this? This is it. This is my contribution to the 28th of July in the Secret Siblings 2.0 project:

And this is also my first published video ever. There are many things I would do differently the next time around, but this was a great experience and trial run for other video projects that I might come around to eventually.

Of course, this video has flaws incurred by the lack of professional gear, but those are minor. Yes the video doesn’t look as crisp as it could have, but calm down I shot this on the camera of my smartphone, and to be honest I don’t have a clue what half of the export setting in Adobe Premiere even mean.

I also didn’t have an acceptable microphone on location, so I had to do with voice-overs on my frankly terrible headset. Considering these technical limitations, I think the audio went reasonably well. I used Adobe Audition to record most of my voice-over lines except for those for the talking gorilla at 0:48. At this point, my lack of experience with Premiere shows again, and the audio I recorded with Premiere recorded both the input I gave but also the feedback audio it returned to my headphones. I’m sure this would be fixable with either a more sophisticated microphone or a dive into Premiere’s settings, but alas, this is how it is.

In generally this video and the Secret Siblings 2.0 project, in general, has taught me to be less perfectionist. The project came about in the spirit of Hank and John Green‘s early YouTube project Brotherhood 2.0, that started their own YouTube channel and was a jumping-off point for many other video projects amongst which there are hits like CrashCourse and SciShow (subscribe to SciShow Pee, please). In hindsight, their videos look kinda terrible, but what could you expect from 2007 camera technology? In the end, that doesn’t matter though. It is the content that counts.

Though there are some genuine things, I would do differently the next time around. And I don’t just mean throwing money at the technical problems. I mean things like filming more footage to have B-roll and to be less constricted by the footage I have. I would also like to put more time and planning into it. Though with my habit of procrastination, I am less than hopeful that I could actually achieve that, but who knows?

I’ll leave you with the words of Hank and John Green: Don’t forget to be awesome!

Can I Interest You in an Old Merry-Go-Round?

YouTube offered its mercy to me. The first recommendation all the while I was listening to this work, was Billy Joel’s Piano Man, an in my opinion fundamentally superior song. Though while YouTube was reaching out a hand of good-will to me, I hit it away and made myself listen to the second entry of 1956’s Grand Prix Eurovision de la Chanson Européenne: Das Alte Karussell by Swiss singer Lys Assia.

This is the first song from Switzerland to ever grace the stage of Eurovision finals and the second song of the entire competition. For a view on the first entry be sure to visit my last post about it here. It also contains a bit more information on what I’m doing in this series of blog posts.

This song is way worse than the last one. I’m sorry. Maybe it’s just the fact that I understand German better than Dutch, or maybe it is just that with less complex lyrics about birdsong you can do little wrong, but I sure didn’t need a repair manual for an old carousel.

But let us start at the title. Das Alte Karussell means The Old Merry-Go-Round in German, and that’s probably way more descriptive of the song itself than it should be. The instrumentation surely makes a good effort at evoking the slightly monotonous and out of tune music of an old-timey fair. Though I, myself, wouldn’t count that as a positive. After all, I want to listen to a song and not find the background music for my career as a 20th-century showman. To be fair the instrumentation is not the worst this song has to offer, at least if you ignore the fact that at some points it almost completely blocks out the timid vocals.

Well actually, I don’t know if that’s a genuine downside. The lyrics don’t draw me in either. Sure, they are a weird pastiche of a derelict fairground, but certainly, no one who tried to restore a run-down merry-go-round would need a song as a reminder to lubricate the mechanisms if the carousel ran too slowly. I know I’m taking this way too literally, but I can’t help it with a song as empty of metaphor and depth as this one. Just block my ears as the instrumentation tries to emulate the sounds of the broken organ of the merry-go-round.

In my mind, there’s a clear reason why Lys Assia, who died only last year, didn’t win with this particular song. Though remember her, she will come up again, and I said “this” for a reason in the last sentence.

Thank you, next!

A Few New Things

Neues Logo

For personal reasons, I decided to move away from associating this website as strongly with my name as I have in the past. I changed the title of this page from Patrick Nils Wilke (my legal name) to Chwiggy’s World my (nickname). This change is also reflected in my logo.

I changed the typography and just added a frankly unoriginal avatar, I’ve grown way too fond of. In the next weeks, I’ll probably also move this Blog to a new URL though I’ll probably let http://patricknwilke.de redirect here for a few months. I will of course also update that post with the new URL, when it’s done.

Musical Birds: Eurovision’s First

This is a terrible project. Some would maybe even say this is torturous. They would probably be right. It is a long project, and especially, the first few entries will be produced only with a few groans uttered by myself during the writing process. This is supposed to be a comprehensive overview of all Eurovision Song Contest finalist entries, from 1956 to today. Starting, for every year with the worst entry and going through the table from the bottom. I’m by no means a musical expert, but what would be the fun in an expert opinion? So this is 1956’s worst entry.

Well, there’s a slight problem at this point for the Grand Prix de Eurovision de la Chanson Européenne 1956: We actually, have no clue what the worst song was. We don’t even know how the jury voted on the entries. The only thing that was published was the winner of the competition. I won’t tell you, who won, right now, but if you’re dying to know, Wikipedia will be your friend (here). I won’t fret too much though, and we’ll just continue our endeavour in 1957.

No, no, no, no. You thought you could escape 1956? You thought wrong. I will just go through them in order of the draw, saving the winner for the end.

So this is 1956’s first song: De Vogels van Holland, sung by Dutch singer Jetty Paerl. It is a Chanson, not in just the French sense of the word, but it fits the style. Jetty Pearl sings about the birds of Holland and it’s just a happy, mildly patriotic song about the birds of Holland. Fittingly enough, the instrumentation of the song starts with slight trills reminiscent of actual bird song, before Jetty Pearl praises the musical prowess of Dutch birds. I didn’t know birds would keep to the confines of international borders, but I’m no ornithologist.

My cursory research into dutch songbirds hasn’t brought any scientific paper to light that would have dared to compare songbirds on a national level, though I now feel slightly more informed about the breeding habits of three dune-dwelling, insect-eating songbirds of the Netherlands. Namely, this includes the meadow pipit, the European stonechat, and the northern wheatear – neither of which is endemic to the Netherlands, nor does the song of any one of these birds strike me as particularly beautiful. Remarkably Jetty Paerl offers us a hypothesis why the birds of Holland are so musically adept:

‘t is geen wonder want nergens zijn de plassen zo blauw
Als in Holland mijnheer
Als in Holland mevrouw
‘t is geen wonder want nergens is het gras zo vol dauw
Zijn de meisjes zo lief, zijn de meisjes zo trouw
En daarom zijn de vogels hier allemaal
Zo muzikaal

Jetty Pearl

Regardless of the doubtful nature of statements implying that lakes are not as blue, girls not as sweet and faithful anywhere other than in Holland, I can’t bring myself to believe that this would hold up to any scientific rigour. Granted, the point of the Grand Prix de Eurovision de la Chanson Européenne is entertainment, not scientific accuracy. Though I doubt that a song that couldn’t distract me from this weird rabbit hole of research into Dutch songbirds will find its way into my regular listening.

In fact, I’ve been procrastinating listening to it again for long enough to essentially forget what I’ve even written a month ago. I mean, there are worse songs to listen too. It’s neither musically nor lyrically interesting, but good enough to sway to and fro a bit.

I hope I’ll see you next time around when I review Switzerland’s Lys Assia with Das alte Karusell.

The Happiness Colour Coordination

Red Nail Polish

Sometimes we need a bit of colour in our lives. We need the light to find our own way out of the darkness. And, yes, we need to find our own way. Expectations crush us, our lives seem predetermined and our mind recedes into the grey. Maybe a dash of colour will lead us the way.

Colours as such are a weird concept. We all have a mental image when we say red or green or blue, but if we dig deeper it is next to impossible to describe a colour without falling back on these basic colours. Can we even be sure that you see the same as I do when I say, “red”? Probably not, or actually maybe. But that doesn’t really matter. At least I don’t think it does. All of our experiences are fundamentally our own and really hard to relay to others. Yes, we have language, but a language is a standardised way to crawl slowly out of Plato’s cave. As a mere model of our world, it necessarily makes abstractions and implies assumptions about our world that aren’t necessarily true or true for us. A great example of how language can mould our perception of reality is grammatical gender like it is used in German. Any occupational noun (except a few that were traditionally associated with womanly work like nursing) is male by default in German. You can add a suffix like “-in” to it to make it explicitly female, but there is no way to make an occupational noun truly gender neutral without an awkward unpronounceable letter-addition or the use of both variants. But is this truly gender neutral? I don’t think it is. German has no good way to include people who don’t feel adequately described by either male or female gender identities. And in my experiences, this lack of the German language makes German speakers even blinder to the world of non-binary or genderfluid people.

But back to colour. We already established that language can make us blind. But what does blindness do to our colour perception? Well, it’s dependent on what we mean by blindness. Let us assume you are totally blind and can’t see even one shed of light. Does colour still exist? The question is really hard to answer. Hey, don’t expect me to know all the answers.

Fundamentally, colour is just different photons with different energies. Does it require these photons to hit our retinas to become colour? I don’t know. But our colour perception is definitely more complicated than it seems at first. We can’t just see orange and that’s it. Our eyes don’t just have a receptor sensitive to any colour there is. Not only have we a limit of what on the electromagnetic spectrum we can see at all. We can’t see ultraviolet light for example. But we also have only three kinds of different colour receptors. So any colour we can see is just made up by our brain as a mixture of the different light levels or cones detect. Human cone cells are receptive to blue red and green. Hence the colours of every pixel on this screen: red, green and blue. This screen works differently than our eyes though. While this screen has the same proportion of red, green and blue subpixels, our eyes generally have fewer cone cells receptive to blue and the percentages of red- and green-receptive cone cells vary quite a bit even in people with quote “regular” vision.

What stands out is that in the end, we in almost any case agree on what red is and what blue is. We have many categories we collectively agree upon, some are more cultural some others are more basic, but even terms for colours have a certain order of appearance in human language and of course that order influences how we perceive the world around us.

Still, this doesn’t answer the question of whether colour exists without perception, but to be honest I don’t have an answer to that. I just know that a dash of colour in the right place can make me quite happy. Why that is? I don’t know, but it might have to do with another categorisation I previously mentioned in this essay.

The category I’m talking about is gender. We’re all automatically sorted into one of these bins at birth or quite often even before we even leave our mother’s womb. We get a pronoun and our allocated room (some people like to call it a nursery) gets either painted in a slight pink or a dashing light blue. Of course, there are cases where this categorisation fails. Not everyone is born with a clear set of genitalia that fits neatly into one category or the other, some people don’t feel like they were sorted into the right box. But most of us are sorted cleanly, sometimes even if this decision should have maybe been postponed until we could make a decision for ourselves. The category itself isn’t the problem necessarily. Trying to categorise everything is human nature after all and usually, a useful shortcut for our everyday mental life. Just our desire to have neat boxes makes things complicated and our expectation, that nobody should change their assigned box makes these to categories appear a bit restrictive to some – maybe even like a mental prison to some …  me included.

I was sorted into the male category at birth. And well at least at first there was nothing wrong with that. A baby doesn’t care about societal expectations of gender. And why should it? Why should anyone, well I don’t know? I only know that people do in fact care. And at least for me, that is a bad thing. It is confining. Granted, I don’t like the male features of my body. Some of them I hate, a few I am indifferent about, and only a single one I really like, but does my body define my own identity? In part of course, but in the end, it is only secondary to my mind. Do I just want to wear nail polish? Yes, I want to wear a dash of colour on my fingertips generally associated with feminity, but it’s only a small part of what I want. I would also enjoy it tremendously if someone would flick the elusive switch that would make my body magically appear more feminine, but to be honest, I don’t care about my name, I don’t care about my pronouns as long as they don’t compromise my safety. My identity isn’t defined by the confines of society. On one hand, I, generally, enjoy feminine fashion more than men’s clothing. On the other hand, I really like me a suit, a tuxedo, or a tailcoat. I like me my Oxfords, but I also love me my high heeled pumps. At some point, I just want my tie to match my nail polish. Want the colour of my shoe to match my skirt. What am I? Male or female? Red or Blue? I don’t know, and I only care because society cares. But I’m captive in society’s expectations. I try to be me as good as I can.

Colour is my way out of it. Colour coordination is my goal. One day in a suit and tie, one day in a dress and high heels. Beneath that preferably a female body. Tie, handkerchief and nails matched.

At least maybe, that would make me happy. Sometimes it’s just small things though: perhaps just a dash of nail polish will suffice to elicit a smile from me. That’s definitely easier to pull off than the whole rest of my desires.

Update: New Header-Image

This is just a short update post to introduce my new header image.

Gas giant infront of stars
This is my new header image

I made it myself over the last few weeks, and despite my mental health not being up to snuff, I quite like it. I’m still thinking of adding a cutesie astronaut to it on the left, but that might be stuff for future alterations.

I hope you like it, but if you have tips, suggestions, or questions feel free to contact me.