gender & breastless

2 October 2024
last extended/edited: 12 November 2024

gender

Gender never made sense to me. I remember arguing about it with my mother when I was still pretty young.

Looking back, one of the things that fascinate me is that I didn’t bother with gender. I was as naturally Sinbad the Seafarer as I was Pippi Longstocking. (And, yes, in my childhood Sinbad was a seafarer not a sailor.) It didn’t even occur to me that I couldn’t or shouldn’t be them. I don’t remember ever being a princess, though. I was, of course, the prince. He was the one with the adventure. Adventure was the thing that mattered, not body parts. However, I remember being a queen. Makes me chuckle, to think about this. These days, it’s characters like Cicero, Aragon, Sam Vimes or Granny Weatherwax I feel a connection to. And I’m still not bothered about anyone’s gender.

In most of my religious time (1984-1996), I submitted. And I remember being horrified by the idea of having to be a woman or a wife once I was older. They nearly married at sixteen to someone more than ten years older than me. More on that in book 2/2, travelling, Otaon.

When I broke with my faith, it was as if someone had turned a switch, and again gender made no sense to me. Around the end of my twenties, I had enough and decided to identify as a human. I remember telling a supposed friend about it, and she stared at my then sizeable breasts, her face contorted and she spat: Of course, YOU ARE A WOMAN!
So much for friends and how well they get you.

While I don’t like the term non-binary, and I hope we will establish a better term. I am very grateful to whomever unearthed this old gender and brought it back into the public consciousness. It is such a relief to just be me.

Another key moment for me was a flare-up I wrote for book 1, beginning. My memory says I wrote this in 2016. But today, I think it might have been 2017 already.

This is what happened. Something about gendered fashion got me to flare up, and I poured my indignation into my fingers which frantically danced across the keyboard to keep up with my scorching fire.

When I reread the scene, I noticed the following passage: I have no intention of denying or negating any part of myself – be it female or male. All of it makes who I am.

And I straightened and thought. Yes! Bloody hell, YES! This is me!

It was the first time that I had unwittingly described my gender this clearly for myself. That was some years before I looked up what that strange term non-binary means.

Here more of that scene from book 1, beginning.

There were satisfied and rebellious smiles on most faces until Lucy carelessly brought up the subject of gender, in particular, dressing children in blue and pink.
Alice flared up.
‘Bollocks! I believe every human has the right to become what they want to become. I loved to play with my cars and trains as much as with my doll’s house. I have no intention of denying or negating any part of myself – be it female or male. All of it makes who I am. Kids shouldn’t be dragged into one corner. Sometimes I think we love order so much that we strip ourselves of all the potential inherent in our personality. And instead of enjoying every single layer of our being, we deprive ourselves of true freedom. And for what? For some freaking conventions? And that goes for women and men alike. Besides, it’s not fair that women get so many more dressing choices. If a man wants to wear a dress, why not? Why do we have to make this divide between the sexes? And frankly, the way men dress is mostly boring.’
‘So you’re not against women dressing up or dressing in pink?’ Seth asked, a bit too calmly for Alice’s liking. But she took the hint and a breath while Seth continued: ‘You’re just saying there should be more freedom for all parties? And gender shouldn’t have to play a role? And boys should be free to dress in pink too?’
‘Yes. And it’s the kids I’m most concerned about. It’s the assumption that we know what they like and who they are. I remember I hardly ever liked what I had to wear as a kid. And I hated the fuss my mother made about this sweet dress or that wonderful coat. I had my own ideas. And there is another point in this. If we curb the curiosity and freedom of kids, their natural instinct to explore, to try out, then we end up with people who are too dull to develop any ideas of their own — ever.’
‘Children are children,’ John protested. ‘They need looking after.’
‘I wonder whether looking after is a fitting term,’ Alice countered. ‘Kids need someone to rely on, to turn to, to learn from. Other than that, they are fine on their own. And instead of creating our children after our own image and pushing them towards some idea or ideal, we could enjoy their infinite nosiness and curiosity and uniqueness.’

And there is more. I remember a moment in 2019, the year I finally looked up non-binary. I was standing in front of my writing desk, and suddenly I realised that I had fought my female side all my life because I knew I couldn’t be a woman but people always assumed that I was and were often taken aback when I was just myself.
But in this moment, this big smile and sort of inner peace spread through me. If I don’t have to be a woman, then I don’t have to fight what is female about me, and maybe I could even celebrate some femininity — like once every three months. I haven’t done this, yet, but writing this now, I hope I’ll make some time for the feminine in me next year.

A word on feminism. For the easy town story I have a rule. Whenever I need a new character with a specific profession, and I automatically attach a gender to this profession, my character has the opposite gender, and by now I also add the odd non-binary, gender-fluid and trans people into the mix. It took years for this practice to have an actual effect on me. But today, when I think of a pilot or a doctor, I automatically think of a woman which is why one of the doctors in book 3/3, shaping, is a man.

In other words, I pay attention to inequalities and I hope that my work will contribute to a world where we treat each other with respect and curiosity regardless the gender, origin, abilities and all the other things that still divide us.

However, when it comes to full-on feminism, I have to pass. When I was supposed to be in my puberty, my young mother had her second puberty and with her friend, the activist and painter Annemirl Bauer, for whom I have a lot of respect, she got so deep into feminist thinking that it became a minor trauma for me.

I am very grateful for every woman, man, diverse gender person who stood up and reminded the world that every human is a human and that none should be repressed.

But ultimately, I believe that while feminism has made some enormous contributions to the freedoms of millions of people, the way to equality is to overcome the divides, not to cement them by assuming that one gender is better than the other. That one is a devil and the other an angel. That the genders have to fight for dominance over the other.

Personally, I don’t understand the fight between women and men. To my mind it is unnecessary and robs both sides of far more than the fight could possibly be worth.

I have used this thought in book 2/1, travelling. It’s a scene from the story’s movie The Invention of Evil.

You probably don’t know it, but more than a hundred and fifty thousand humans are born every year who have physical characteristics of both sexes. And even more duals are born whose souls and minds merge the sexes. Out in the world, they are conflicted humans who are forced to be one half of themselves while being denied their very own other half. In our order, we have great respect for duals. Their minds are so wonderfully flexible and inclusive. And they are not affected by the gender divides. How could they be? They incorporate all that is human — female, male and everything else.

When I finally chose my pen-name, I was glad that I could make two central points with it (and that it sounds good).

Charlie and Alice stand for my dual gender. I’m both, I’m neither, I’m everything in between.

Charlie and Alice also signify that my work is for every Charlie and every Alice on this planet and for everyone else.

My work is not about fighting. My work is about creating, thinking, shaping, overcoming divides.

breastless

When I got the breast cancer diagnosis at the end of July 2023, I was shocked and overreacting. I demanded that both breasts should be removed. Of course, it’s not that simple. While I impressed the doctors, the health insurer took their time to consider my case. It was frustrating to wait, but today, I am grateful for that time.
I had fantasised a few times about having my breasts removed. But when this became an actual option, doubts began to surface. My main question was: Can you really just cut off two organs, and the body will be okay again afterwards?
I wasn’t worried about being breastless, but I was worried about how my body would deal with the removal. Contrary to a former client who exclaimed that I couldn’t possibly have my breasts removed. It would ruin my sex life. It still makes me laugh to remember the serious conviction in his voice. And, of course, this input got into the story, book 3/1, shaping, chapter 1.

Mudiwa exhaled noisily, just as a man strode into the courtyard, talking loudly on his phone.
‘This is Michael, head of the Society Team,’ Mudiwa whispered.
‘No!’ Micheal said to the caller. ‘No one needs breasts to have sex. That’s just one of the strange things we think we need. The whole body is capable of sensual pleasures, with and without breasts. And not just that, the obsession with breasts, breast sizes, breast symmetry, nipple forms and sizes is so needless, as is all this fuss about naked breasts. Breasts are natural, nothing to salivate about. Some even seem to think that half the world has to have sizeable breasts. What for? Because some men have developed an obsession with breasts? And can’t even look at one without giggling like ridiculous girls? Why would a female breast have any meaning to a man? It’s not like men are still babies, sucking on a mother’s breast. And anyway, there’s too much rigidity about how things should—’
Mudiwa and Rose gaped after Michael as he strode along the other archway, and Mudiwa whispered: ‘Maybe he is with the sex talk team.’
‘Should we interview him?’ Rose asked doubtfully.
‘Maybe not today.’
‘Maybe after the sex talk meeting in October?’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Mudiwa said with relief in her voice.

While I haven’t been in a relationship in a long time, I’m not a bit worried about having sex. I love my new chest and the growing muscles. I, for one, don’t need breasts for sex.

About a week before the operation, I was a little worried about my gender. I remember looking into the mirror and saw a man. And I thought, bloody hell, will I turn into a man, now? I am non-binary, neither man, nor woman, both and everything in between. What if I lose that?
Funny enough, my gay doctor in the rehab clinic told me at our first meeting that he was sure I would soon come out as a gay man. Some weeks later, he explained to me, with a similar enthusiasm, that I really am both, a woman and a man. He sees it clearly now.
I can’t help chuckling about this now. In the meeting, I just mumbled: ‘Er, yeah, I have known that forever.’

The turning point in my big question to be or not to be with breasts, came when I realised that I had ignored that these weren’t my options. I had ignored that I had cancer. My choices were: to keep one large breast and with that create an imbalance, plus the breast already had something funny that might have turned into cancer, too. Or to have both breasts removed and then have an implant. But an implant is a no-go for me. For one, I don’t need breasts (neither real nor fake). And for another, I don’t like having things on my body, I don’t even wear my glasses, which I really should. (And, yes, I’m OK with clothes, sort of.) And there is no way I’m having things IN my body. Moreover things which need to be removed or exchanged after ten years. And that was really it. I would lose one breast anyway, and keeping one would only cause trouble for the body. Plus, there was that fantasy about the muscly breastless chest that was gaining on me again.
I’ll say it again. I am glad, I had time. All in all three months. And this allowed me to ponder all my options, and it allowed to finally pay my breast attention and to say a proper farewell.
Despite being positive that I wouldn’t mind being breastless, I never expected the complete happiness I still experience about being breastless. I find it odd. But I’m not going to complain about being very happy. And not just that. It’s like my body finally feels like it’s my own.
I’m still non-binary. Though, by now, I am sure that with the way I am, I would have done much better, if I had lived as a man. And for everyone who meets me, I recommend to treat me as a man, you will get closer to who I am, if you do.

Eleven month into being breastless, I still can’t say whether the body will ever be fully okay with this. My chest and scar still get funny when I am stressed. And while I love my chest, it’s not fully fine, yet.

If you are dealing with breast cancer or overwork, I recommend a visit to my breastless website. It’s still under construction, but I hope it will offer some support and hope.

2 October 2024, Charlie Alice Raya