Washington University is my family's legacy school, if we ever had one. Located in St. Louis, the school was known to have the best living and dining facilities when I applied for college. Though my father, uncle, and cousins had attended the school, I failed to plant and develop any meaningful relationship with the school. My inability to identify with the institution was further cemented when I did not gain admittance to the school. Funnily, for someone who invests way too much time on family ties, heritage and identity, I never really gave that instance that much thought. And as a believer in a school and a student's goodness of fit, I was aware even before applying to WashU that we were not meant be.
Leaving our short-lived connection behind, I proceeded to mourn other rejection letters and attend my current home and larger enabler, Sarah Lawrence College. A school that most readers have already known so much about, by now, SLC would soon serve as a cocoon, where I would transform into somewhat a feminist and a constant social critique. Admittedly, the conversations that were being did poise elements of hyper vigilance for certain social issues, as well elements promoting personal reflection, sexual liberation and general openness to various conflicting and provocative perspectives.
By the beginning of my third and final year at SLC, I had become a self-professed television fiend. To me, the beauty of living in the U.S. involved having early access to new TV shows and the most recent episodes. Each season, my don and I would brainstorm through the newest shows that the small screen had to offer.
Masters of Sex, equipped with its brilliant cast, undeniably sharp script, and provocative topic caught my eye early in Fall 2013. A new series on ShowTime, the channel that never fails to inject elements Of questionable sex acts, Masters of Sex has became the unlikely bridge between the once unaccesible family heritage and I. Unlikely makes for the ideal phrase as the show, due to its rather provocative visuals and noble, yet not so "appropriate" content, appeared to be the last connection possible. To be honest, the series's overall look and feel, as well as as its heart, Bill Masters' primary intent, somewhat left me biting my lip, wishing that I were in 1950s St. Louis, conducting such an enticing, yet somewhat taboo study. Having said that, rest assured, my chances of being part of the research team at that day and age are particularly low, therefore I shall remain content with where I am today, babbling on a blog, writing children's books, and exploring other taboo subjects.
|I wish I were Virginia Johnson, more often than I should!|
Taken from http://www.damemagazine.com/sites/default/files/masters-of-sex-ulysses-dame_0.gif
Though, the show offers false hopes it did bring me one step closer to this world that so many of my family members had shared: a world where everyone loves WashU and is proud to be an alum or know one of the school's alums. In addition to providing me with inspiration for research, feminism, taboo subjects, and 50s dresses, Masters of Sex lend a hand in my newfound appreciation for this school, in an albeit unconventional way. I knew that people associate with things differently, but never thought I would find such an appropriate connection after all these years!
Now, all I have to do is come home for Christmas, sit at the dinner table, share my newest passion, and cross my fingers that no one pukes or chokes at me gushing over the bees knees that is Masters of Sex.
"Please pass the Ayam Kodok*," I would smile and continue, "So, where was I? Oh yes! Ulysses is this illuminating, glass rod, with a scope on the other side, vibrates and..." (you know the rest)! Wink!
*Ayam Kodok is a strange dish that my family serves during special occasions. Ayam means chicken, whilst kodok means frog. From what I understand it is chicken stuffed with something else, making it look like a frog.
Author only owns rights to the first photo. The link to the GIF is available as its caption.