In my home, we have a book of Joseph Stella paintings that my dad keeps in the basement.  One of my favorite things to do as a little girl was to sneak down and examine the many pages, filled with the variety of works Stella completed in his lifetime.  My favorite was always my avatar.  It was mesmerizing for me to look at. I loved the placid expression on Mary's face, and the way all the colors of the fruit and flowers seemed to tie into her body and facial language.  When I attended weekly Catechism, I imagined her in the same way as I imagined Disney princesses. As this godly, "chosen" human, she formed one of my first images of the female identity--the creator, the provider of all that is good and holy in this world.  Although I never was terribly religious, and wasn't capable of fully comprehending Mary as the Christian figure of divine femininity, I connected with the natural, lush beauty that she portrays in the painting.  I identify as cisgendered and queer.  In reflection, I realize that the allure of Mary's presentation intiated the beginning of my fascination with women on a sexual and spiritual level.  Through this, I could see that the woman is a beautiful and essential part of nature, and that as a self-identifying girl, I was part of that.  

My avatar is not very interesting; it is just a picture of yourstruly in my dorm room. However, I will use this paragraph to explain my username. By no means do I liken myself to either a missile or an axe. On the contrary, I am very much so a pacifist. I did not choose Tomahawk because of its colloquial meaning, but its significance to me. Tomahawk is a combination of my middle and last name (Tamiko and Hawkinson), and I have used it for various laser tag games and blog usernames since I was eight. 

The simple thought of going through a day without some form of music frightens me. Whether I am walking to meet a friend or on the way to school, music is my companion. It is my workout partner and my study buddy. Unaccompanied by music, boredom comes too quickly in its place. This is why my profile picture is so important to me; it is of myself and my one true love, music. Specifically, Jack Steadman, the lead singer of one of my favorite bands, Bombay Bicycle Club. This was back in January of 2012, and I still consider that night to be one of the most memorable of my life. Without Jack – without music – I would be alone. Many walks would have gone unwalked, many dances gone undanced, many car rides gone unbearable and monotonous. Not only that, movies would be lacking emotion, MTV wouldn't exist, and exercise videos would just be people sweating, someone yelling, and silence.

I’ve had a Serendip account for six or seven years. A few years ago, when the “avatar” option emerged on the site, I selected this picture of myself, which suited me quite well for a long while: I liked my smiling, welcoming face, the face that went with my user name (which is my real name). I liked being out, claiming, as myself, what I said on-line.

Last fall, however, I was co-teaching a cluster of courses called Women in Walled Communities, and some of the time we met in a women’s prison in Philadelphia. As a get-acquainted activity, we asked the “inside” women to pick an image to represent themselves, then printed off the avatars of all the BMC (or “outside”) women—and we had to go around and try to figure out who we were (we’re going to repeat this exercise ourselves on Thursday). But nobody wanted to talk to me, because it was so obvious who I was…. They were much more interested in figuring out who had chosen to represent herself with a cactus flower, or a bike, or an owl, or a beach…and why…

In Mark's office, in Goodhart

In Anne's office, English House 205

The picture I have for my avatar is one I’ve used a lot for things like gmail accounts, etc. It was taken on a day several summers ago when my older sister and I spent the day tie dying clothes, and thereafter used the extra dye on our bodies, because who wouldn’t love to walk around for a week with their skin stained in rainbow colors? I’ve always liked the picture and I’ve always thought it portrays me in a truer way than any picture of me dressed up in a suit or laughing at a party, but I guess I never explored why that was until now. In trying to explain why I chose that particular picture and how it relates to my self-identity and gender and sexuality, I think one thing that became pretty clear to me was that my gender and sexuality are secondary identifiers for me. I do openly identify as a cisgendered queer woman, but I like the idea of some ambiguity for people who don’t already know me well (for example, internet viewers who may stumble upon that picture). In the picture I’ve chosen, my face is not shown and my clothes are rather androgynous, thus taking the focus off of my gender or perceived sexual orientation. Instead the focus of the photo is the fact that I have dye splattered all over myself and I’m showing it off. I’ve loved making and wearing tie dye since I was little (my parents used to dress me in tie dye onesies), and people know me by it. (I even had to write and perform a love song to tie dye as one of my tasks for Hell Week!) It’s something that defines my personality, quirky and colorful as it is, and is a little piece of my history.

I think it was not fit,

but friction, when his limbs brushed

my back, he was already rushing, running, resisting. 

I was writing and he was life, 

a teacher; a man whose shirt was always unbuttoned

one button too low.  He was showing me how,

in fact, I was wanting you.  Now he is not wanting

to know me, now I am growing away from him, now I am

going where I am wanted. 

He was younger than you, yet, there was such richness

in rest or rant or wanting.  There was my writing.

“What do you know?”

said the sister to the writer.

“A writer is a little island, a summer land, 

what is a writer in winter?”

“What was I, when I was your age?”

I was torn.”

“Yes”

“Who are you, when you are not writing?  

You are the listener, the reader, the other.”

“A writer is only one who writes.  

Who I am, when I am not writing?”

“What does it mean to be a mature writer?

You should learn there are no mistakes only poems.”

“When I am writing, I am talking to you,

who are you?”

“When you are not writing, you are talking to me.

Who am I?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I am still torn; bitterness is also basic to us.”

“Well yes, we are twin cultures, where a poem

can be a puzzle, like a chemistry problem.”

“Either is interplay between the part