Under the radar

While building a small campfire outside

To boil a pot of water and make a cup of coffee,

I'm waking up and brushing jumbled thoughts.

My current life is permanent camping, living off the grid.

I used to work at marine science camp, in Florida

It would be a little more convenient than here

If it was not for exhausting schedule (ugh)

And communal living (double ugh).

There, some people thought I'm a diva,

Not capable of surviving when the going gets tough.

How wrong were they.

As the thick smoke over pine needles and bark, all damp,

Gives way to cheerful flames,

I imagine talking to one of these people --

Right here, by the fire.

John has been dead since 2010,

But it doesn't matter. Not on quantum level.

"I am saying this because I'm still hurting;

Your opinion mattered to me.

You were the person I respected,

But you did not respect me.

Well, maybe you did -- but why did I hear the rumors

About you, scoffing: "This gal would rather paint her toenails

Than do science?"

Yes, I painted my toenails, -- and fingernails , too;

I wore makeup and nice clothing,

Even though most others didn't.

And I was really into science.

I'm sorry you believed women scientists must be sloppy.

My English was better than theirs --

The jocks who passed the killer swim test

And knew little of science or even spelling…

But let's be kind and say they were dyslexic.

Do you remember boat docking

On that windy day in spring 2008?

I loved driving boats.

I could be one with the boat and feel her

The way a horseman feels a horse.

You were supervising the interns who demonstrated their skills.

The weather conditions and the angle

Between the dock you were standing on

And the flattop I was maneuvering

Were unfavorable, but I was dead-certain

That I can dock the boat successfully.

"You're never gonna make it!" you yelled, "Go back!"

"I can do it," I replied -- and did.

You never said a kind word about it,

Because I disobeyed the order and proved you wrong.

That gal with painted toenails

Made a good captain.

Do you want to know why I was so flamboyant?

Maybe you don't,

Because it will prove you wrong again.

Remember that night in November 1995?

Yes, that long ago.

My first visit to the Camp, and the USA.

You were the science education director.

I was blown away by marine science, and the hands-on manner

In which it was taught there.

I worked hard towards my goal to become a scientist --

An eighteen-year-old, ambitious, hard-working.

I was an ugly duckling,

And didn't paint my nails back then.

That night, between 2 and 3 a.m.

I was at the back porch of the dining hall,

Working on my report on dune ecosystems,

Going out of my way to make it shine.

The lights were out at the whole camp,

And the only lit place was the dining hall.

I broke the curfew

And worked through most of the night,

Because I was so darn into it,

And wanted my passion to take me high in life.

Yes, I have an ego, and back it up with action.

You walked in on me unexpectedly

And headed towards the coffee machine.

You waved your hand at me and walked out.

You didn’t get me busted,

I thank you for that.

Maybe you were in an office trailer that night,

Also working on a science project,

Pushing the deadline -- and yourself.

Maybe that encounter at the dining hall

Was the reason you OK'ed me being hired

As a science instructor later, in 2007.

I thank you for that, too -- many times,

From the bottomless pit of my aching heart.

It hurts me that you were disappointed

In what I became, or appeared to become.

Oh you didn't have to tell me -- I read people:

What they say is just a cover on the book.

So yes, I dyed my brown hair blonde,

I was all made up,

And wore the striped leg warmers,

Which were bugging the hell out of you.

(That's another rumor I had heard --

Nothing you say is a secret at the Camp!)

You don't understand,

Because it's easier to pursue a career if you are a guy.

But I entered this world in a woman's body --

And I hate it, hate it, hate it.

I hate being a woman.

You have no idea how many times

I had to hear morons of both genders

Telling me I won't go anywhere in science,

Because girls are supposed to do different things;

How hard male chauvinists had tried

To block my way towards my PhD.

I failed and they succeeded. Fucking assholes.

You didn't walk in my shoes --

And I'm certain you wouldn't want to,

Especially when I remember

That you called mine “ankle-breakers”.

"Flexibility is the way," you once said,

Meaning adjustment to the crazy schedule

The whole camp was running on.

Then, I hope, you understand

That I had to be flexible adjusting myself

To other types of craziness.

I was learning to "fly below the radar"

And be at least as pretty

As my IQ is intimidating

To the males who want to believe that women are dumb.

When you were alive it would be inappropriate

To tell you how I passed my final exam

To get my Master's degree in environmental management.

Now that you're dead it's OK.

You won't be surprised to know

That I wanted only an A+ and a "red" diploma with honors;

I was determined to get it.

Just as Bruce Lee said, beware of the fighter

Who won't quit until he does what he decided to:

If he is set on biting your ear off,

He is very likely to.

I am that kind of a fighter.

I presented my project in front of a few professors --

All men in their fifties, looking stern and worn.

They kept asking me questions, hoping

To find a weak spot in my presentation,

But instead I hit a few of theirs.

They got on my case and grilled me for an hour

But I knew the subject well,

And was getting bored.

It was time to take the big guns out…

I dropped the chalk and bent down to pick it up,

Giving them a little bit of a leg show

Under my knee-long gray skirt,

Letting them sweat and drool a bit.

I'm sure their eyes wandered off the blackboard

Towards something they were not supposed to see, but hoped to.

Guess what, they all ran out of questions!

I got what I came for, and worked hard for.

No one cares if a girl is a genius;

All they care for is you-know-what.

I realize you are an exception

And you must be as disgusted as I was,

But you are not a woman.

You don't know what it's like

To work twice as hard as an Olympian athlete

Only to get half of the reward a lazy ass receives, --

And to be attractive, too --

Otherwise male egos will crush you if they can.

Yes, you were a normal person,

That's why you stood out --

But it never occurred to you

That my makeup is my war paint;

That outings in Key West with my drinking buddies

Were some form of intensive care.

You thought I was happy-go-lucky?

Wrong. I was very stressed.

It's "damned if you do, damned if you don't" for most women:

If she's smart, she's ostracized,

Often lonely, without  income or recognition.

But if she's pretty she gets cat-called,

And everyone believes she has no brains,

Even though she gets her "cut" in a sneaky way,

Having to swallow her pride and hide her real self.

I've been both ways. You've seen it.

I gave you some insider info,

And now you have no excuse

To think I an unworthy

And you made a mistake

To have me come work at the Camp.

Maybe if you still have any doubts and don't believe me

When I say I totally get out of my way

To be a noble, intelligent, classy person --

Then go ahead and pick a woman's body

For your next incarnation.

I want to be your friend, so I advise you strongly

Against it. Please don't do it!

You'll be bummed.

But you may disregard my warning

And go explore the challenge --

That's what scientists often do.

Good luck.

Before you go I want you to know:

I haven't given up on science completely.

I did respect you, and I enjoyed working with you.

The effort you put in your students, me included

Is not wasted.

I'm still that girl who stays up 'till morning

To excel in her work, her passion --

The girl you silently supported, and it gave her hope.

Remember that you did, and rest in peace."

May 12, 2016.