Squiggle No. 3 - Revisited
This exercise in revisitation has been remarkably synchronistic with things I have been ruminating on of late. Last weekend I saw the celebrated and deeply thought-provoking play Public Obscenities, by my friend (like, for around a quarter century) Misha Chowdhury. In it there is an incredibly well written scene between two lovers that I thought was one of the most accurate depictions of true intimacy I’ve seen on stage, and it reminded me of things I had forgotten about physical intimacy.
I am on the asexual and aromantic spectrums. It’s not something I talk about often because, frankly, it’s none of anyone’s business, and my general annoyance and frustration that people care so much about sexuality in the first place is, in turn, a part of my placement on that spectrum. Though I am neither sex- nor relationship-averse (for those who enjoy taxonomy, I occupy the “demi” position on both of those spectrums) they generally occupy status of importance far, FAR below work, friends, service, food, hobbies, alone time, travel, mentorship… you name it, it’s probably more important to me than sex and men.
(And, side note, nothing proves that sexuality is not a choice more than MY attraction to men, as I watch them, as a general category, continually destroy our planet and cause devastation, death, and starvation worldwide… Sure: Not All Men. But like… a hell of a lot of them throughout history and right now…)
But Misha’s depiction of sexuality in this one scene - as a way for two humans to be totally present with each other, see one another, and help one another let go of embedded shames through laughter, touch, eroticism, and authenticity - reminded me of the potential value sexuality and intimacy can have.
Though generally when painful things happen it is not “about you,” the inverse would be nice - if sometimes pleasurable things happened that were About You. As I hope the cartoon suggests through the humor of an unseen voice from below, consenting, authentic, laughter-filled sexuality can be a way to have moments be “about you” - the truly naked You - in a deeply healing way. I wish our representations of sexuality in media (film, tv, or theater) reflected that more often.