I've experienced double standards in relationships, in how men have several partners but "respectable" women cannot.  My brother has embraced these standards and I hope to change his way of thinking as well as the thinking of all men. 

I have no clue why sex is a taboo.  It seems like such a positive thing that people can share with others and it is through its perversion that it becomes something negative.  Maybe it's because people are naked but again this seems perfectly natural. 

I believe that this will be one of the most crazy, beautiful, passionate explosive, and meaningful things I will ever do in college, and probably even my life.  I have never been one who can "be me" without being on thinking who everyone but me thinks I am.  I believe that talking about something that no one else can control will bring out from within me the strong, empowered lion queen that I am.  I want my passions and my love to overwhelm me so that I have to roar, yell, scream and take my life back who knows, maybe it never left. 

I, personally, feel proud when I say vagina.  I mean if it weren't for vaginas, I, along with everyone else in this world wouldn't be here sharing all of life's beauty.  I don't understand how anyone could possibly be ashamed of or embarrassed by having one, let alone in saying vagina.

V-day is a form of empowerment for women, a chance for women to talk about issues that are sometimes hard to express or tell someone.  It's an opportunity to open up.

I think this experience will make me a stronger person and more open to share stories. 

I don't think my involvement in the Vag Mono. will affect others perception of me; I am very vocal about vaginas, but I hope to gain more confidence in the realm of public speaking. This is my last year of undergrad--I'm trying new things!

Until I came to Saint Mary's, I only ever had one friend who was comfortable talking about vaginas-her own or others'-and this was after she and her mother had seen the vagina monologues in Reno!  Most women are taught by society's code of silence that vagina is a dirty word, and especially being raised in a modest Catholic Family,  After being involved in the Vagina Monologues last year I now ADORE talking about vaginas, saying the word, and doing what I can to support vagina-related issues whenever I can. 

I want to do a higher energy piece, something funny and upbeat after my two sad pieces last year. 

-Sharon K. Sobotta

The summer that has just passed us will likely be remembered as a season of unrest. Michael Jackson died at age 50 of sudden cardiac arrest, just days before his revitalization world tour, Farah Faucett lost her public battle with cancer, as did Patrick Swayze. Demonstrators who disputed the election died for their cause in Iran. After I finished a summer of self-discovery in Indonesia, more than 1,000 people lost their lives there due to a natural disaster. Middle and working class Americans continue to struggle to make ends meet as employers distribute rounds of pink slips. Everyone is either doing more with less or experiencing the impact of others who are doing more with fewer resources. We are reminded that we are nothing more than tiny pieces of the universe.

As spring turned to summer, I felt a knot of anxiety in my stomach and a suffocating pressure in my chest. I wasn’t having a heart attack or developing a stomach ulcer. Every fiber of my body and soul was telling me that it was time for me to leave, not in the typical-- weekend in New York, day in LA, week in Wisconsin-- kind of way. It had to be substantial. I didn’t have an immediate heartbreak to escape, a spot that I was dying to volunteer at or a friend getting married abroad. My passport had expired and with the exception of a day trip over the border to Mexico, I hadn’t left the country in a full year. Perhaps it was the reality of knowing that without a valid passport, I couldn’t partake in a spur of the moment international trip, even if the opportunity arose, that put me over the edge. Staying in the United States for 15 straight months, while intentionally scheduling more-time with immediate family members, distant relatives and old friends, running a department single-handedly after the economic realities resulted in a temporary hiring freeze, and literally having nowhere to escape to when my oldest friend from high school abruptly disappeared from my life, pushed me further out of my comfort zone than any trip could ever have. I’ve learned from experience not to use as traveling as a vice for escape, but instead to embrace it as a temporary pause from life.

I decided to go somewhere I hadn’t been and do something new and then visit the countries that have most inspired me. This translated to studying traditional Indonesian dance in Bali, followed by five days in one of my favorite-- picturesque, laid back, go with the flow, drink tea and take life as it comes –places in the world a.k.a. Malaysia and finally some time in the country where my journey of life began—Japan.

Traveling solo, as a non-tourist, has proven time and time again to be the most enriching experience for me. In spite of my pale skin and blonde hair, I am often asked if I am a resident of the place I am in or an expatriate worker. Ironically it is Japan, the place that I have lived for a collective total of more than two years, the place where I studied, worked and speak the language of, the place that I have visited more times than I can count, the place where I feel most at home, that I am sometimes met with panic. ‘Omatase itashimashita. Irashaimase’ is followed by ‘Sanku you for waitingu, Werukamu,’ the Japanese followed by the katakana English equivalent of ‘Thank you for waiting; welcome,’ is followed by yokatta, nihongo wa daijyoubu desu ne (Great. You speak Japanese) and a sigh of relief. I also breath a sigh of relief as soon as it has been established that Japanese is the language we’ll be speaking. On my journey to Japan for the first leg of my flight, I was seated in the middle of two Chinese people, who were mistaken by both me and the flight attendant staff for being Japanese. When flight attendants approached our row, it was the Chinese women who they initially addressed in Japanese not me. There’s nothing that can be done about this necessarily. It is an unfortunate reality of having no visible indicator of the language that you speak.

After enjoying a 24 hour layover at Hotel Nikko Narita, preparing my radio story about the impact Michael Jackson’s death had on Japan from my hotel room, I was writing about cultural/lingual assumptions when a kind almost 80-year old lady sat down beside me and started talking to me. The woman took for granted that I spoke Japanese and launched directly in to conversation. ‘I’m almost 80, but I’ve never been sick in my life. I was a school teacher and so was my dad,’ she told me. She was ecstatic when I told her that my mom and sister were also school teachers. I put my computer away and gave her my undivided attention. Not once during the conversation did she ever question why I spoke Japanese; she just talked. ‘Tomodachi ni narimashita yo (I made a friend),’ she told her daughter and granddaughter when they came to join us. When it was time to part ways, it was me who requested to take a picture together, so I could remember the special serendipitous moment. As I walked away, I felt like the entire purpose of my first 24-hour layover in Japan had been defined in that simple moment.

When I arrived back in Japan after discovering new depths of myself in Indonesia and reuniting with several old friends in Malaysia, I immediately reported to the Swine Flu check station so I could confirm that my sneezes, my cough and my drippy nose was merely a cold. I found a rental phone, bought a bullet train ticket and hopped in a train for Yamagata. As I sat in the train, the contemplative feelings of whether or not going all the way to Yamagata was the right thing to do, melted into a feeling of assuredness and confidence.

When I arrived at Tendou station, two of my closest friends who happen to have the same name, Nami and Nami picked me up. We then headed directly to a cake shop to pick out three slices of cake that would pair up with tea and chat time. It had been more than two years since we had a chance to spend time together, so we had a lot of catching up to do. We talked about everything from relationships to our old memories of hanging out together. There is something beautiful about connecting with old friends and discussing the universal topics of love, dreams and memories in a language other than your native one. After we finished our cake, we brought the Tokyo-bound Nami to the train station and my best friend Nami and I stood doing the traditional wave, which means that you keep smiling and waving until the train is completely out of sight. Later that evening as Nami and I dined at a curry house with her new husband Kensukei and I watched the chemistry between them as they discussed their students and exchanged stories and work advice, I felt inspired by the chemistry between them and decided that marriage should stay within the realm of possibility for me. For the rest of the week, I accompanied Nami to school and helped her teach English class. I helped her student named Saori with recitation practice and helped Keiya write his speech. Keiya was the son of factory workers and was not necessarily on the college-track, but was the most respectful student I’d ever met. In the evenings, Nami, Kensukei and I did the simplest things. One night we put on cute outfits, found a laundry mat that was conveniently located next to a nomiyasan (drinking and dining place) and drank, ate, chatted and did laundry all at the same time. We taught by day and then visited an onsen or tried out a new restaurant by night or sometimes, we took the day off of work and shopped, ate sushi, had tea and dessert and did more work like refine Keiya’s speech further and work on radio stories.

Our work paid off and Keiya won the contest.

I bid Nami and Kensukei farewell just in time to grab the bullet train back to Tokyo. Once inside, I noticed three 30-something year old men who were happily chatting, snacking and enjoying beer. I felt happy to see such a profound bond between three old friends. The laughing had a meditative quality as it blended into the background. Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, an old man appeared and began scolding the three men, insisting that if they didn’t quiet down, he would punch them or kill them. He returned three more times. On his third visit, one of the men apologized profusely, bought him a drink and then accompanied him back to his seat. By the end of the trip back to Tokyo, the grumpy old man had become friends with one of the men that he had threatened to kill. I couldn’t help smiling about the beautiful moment.

I missed the Tokyo-Nami’s phone call in the midst of my norikai (train change) to Asakasa and assumed that we had missed each other. Then, while trudging along with my luggage that had grown even more, I literally collided with Nami. We went out for Okinawan food and drinks and chatted further about relationships and interesting memories in Japan. Again, I was reminded that pretty much everything in life happens for a reason.

I got into the onsen (community bath) in my inn, tucked myself into my futon and woke up to my final traditional Japanese breakfast—salmon, rice, nato, salad, yogurt and tea. As I boarded the train to the airport, I realized that I had been transformed. Rather than resisting the immense amount of structure that comes along with Japanese society and determines the details and the decision-making process, I embraced it. The sleepless nights that I spent helping my friend prepare her student’s speeches paid off and her student won the contest. When I watched Nami’s students go through their semester closing ceremony, I saw pride in their faces and it was all worth it.

The universe has a way of working with us if we let it. We can either resist it or embrace it. While traveling won’t allow us to escape for life, it certainly promises to provide insight about our own lives. Life is a journey. Have a great trip!

Hi Everyone,

            My name is Jennifer Kennedy. I am a senior at Saint Mary’s College of California. I am a Communication major and a Creative Writing minor. Soon, I will be writing a blog on this site titled “Jenn’s Corner: Gender Politics and Hip Hop.” This semester, I am taking a Communication class about social justice and hip hop. This blog is apart of the experience as a member of this class. We have each chosen our own projects and our topics to partake in. I plan to discuss through this blog, linked to my school’s Women’s Resource Center (WRC), the portrayals of women and sexism in mainstream hip hop, how sexism is addressed through hip hop, and finally some of the positive images of women in hip hop, particularly in non-mainstream hip hop and politically conscious artists. I would like to provide a space for people to comment back to me about my blogs, so that my blog space can become a discussion board between viewers of the webpage, not just me rambling about my opinions. I want to welcome everyone to challenge my opinions, add to my opinions, bring up their own topics, and so on. I would also like to encourage people to submit any creative writing or spoken word pieces they have written regarding sexism or hip hop. I plan to attend some WRC events, particularly ones where students are encouraged to write or share their own work, so that I can find pieces to post on my blog. (By the way, you are welcome to post anonymously). You can submit your work to me at hiphopjenn@gmail.com (This is not my personal e-mail, but an e-mail set up specifically for this blog). Please stay tuned for my blog page. And please spread the word to your friends if this is a topic of your or their interest.

            Now after explaining what I am going to do, many of you may be wondering what interest does a “white girl” from Sonoma County have in hip hop? First of all, I have always had an interest in issues around gender and women’s rights. I volunteered in high school at the National Women’s History Project. Last semester, I developed a particular interest in all that the Women’s Resource Center on campus had to offer. As for the hip hop aspect of my blog, my freshman year of high school, a competitive hip hop dance group came and performed at my high school. Instantly I fell in love with the dance. I begged my mom for classes and I actually went to the same dance studio the group was from. Ever since then, I’ve been in love with hip hop, particularly dance. Now, since I’ve taken this hip hop and social justice class my eyes have been opened to even more aspects of the hip hop culture. I am, also, currently the Public Relations officer of a hip hop dance group on campus called Pulses. Although I may not be the most knowledgeable about hip hop and the culture surrounding it, I am interested and passionate to learn and explore. So please join me in my blog coming soon….

For now check out the following artists: Ise Lyfe (particularly the song “beautiful”), Talib Kweli, and Michael Franti.

 Fifteen years ago I helped establish one of the first public libraries in my second favorite country, Greece, a country full of avid readers and with a literacy rate far above our own, but so convoluted politically as a result of being caught between the East and the West that the concepts epitomized by public libraries and that we take for granted as Americans haven't had a chance to be firmly established. Not that Greece needs to become more American, God forbid, but that the grand ideas that began in Greece, democracy and free access to information for all, return to this proud country in the most practical way. Public libraries are the best America has to offer, not only because they are free and non-discriminatory, but also because they represent the spirit of generosity, volunteerism, community, and freedom like no other institutions. You may not have used a public library lately, but their use is up 60% in the last ten years and new ones are being built across the country that reflect today's needs more than ever. And I'm certain you have memories of your first visit to a library and that you will return to them as you age.

In 2007 I returned to Skopelos with the offer of a large grant to establish a second library on the Island. Alas, the local government had changed back to an old boy's network, and they were more interested in using the building that was donated for the new library as a money-maker for the town. I had to tell the foundation that had made the offer that there was no longer a building to use. I felt like giving up. I wondered what I thought I was doing offering my help with a project that wasn't wanted.

Over the last few months I have found new energy to use towards upgrading the existing library. I will return to the Island in December with donated laptops, a database to use to organize the collection, and Dewey Decimal books in English and Greek. I realized I had been pushing the timing on this work, and needed to round out my initial contribution to what is to me, a very important project. I can't tell you why it's so important ... probably kharma ... but I am so grateful to be given a new wave of energy ... and a new appreciation of how important it is not to be discouraged when you feel you have failed, but to wait and to trust that the Universe knows when it's time to take the next steps.