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There are six and a half billion people in the world today, but I am still me. Amuse me and avoid the generic questions as to who I am as a person, with interests and characteristics combined and conjugated to create the insides of my five foot four stature, because I have yet to answer the question for myself. I can sit here and dissect traits that I have inherited, those that I have acquired. I can sit here and explain my background with facts and figures. Can the superficial qualities I reserve for the acquaintances I mingle with be accounted for inspection because, really, that is a part of me that many associate my name with. I consider myself a superhero of the modern world for I have three identities to suit different standards for different groups to avoid unnecessary drama: Mika, Michie, and Michelle. They are all very real people to those I perform to; all absorb knowledge from the outside world and integrate it into my developing mentality.

Mika (ME-kuh) is the girl that everybody loves, plain and simple. The definition of learned gender, the experiment of theory on socialized young women, and the girl assigned different by society norms that creates half of the attention. Mika is who I introduce myself as when I am making a contact, when I run into someone that I might need a favor from later in life, when I have no desire to become more then small talk conversation to them. She is the girl who gradually developed throughout the harsh teachings of adolescence living in a big city dominated by an exotic culture as described by the rest of the country. She is the giggle and the wink that seeks mischievous adventures, gossiping in Spanish to enhance the effects.

Michie was borne out of claiming sincerity and care. Michie, (ME-chi) is harsh against the ears compared to its elongated form, but usually lingers off the tongue since used only during intimate occasions. She peeks out of the shadow only when called upon by dear friends and family. She is the shy young child with the big laugh, polite and polished poise, raised by old-fashioned, respected-in-society Argentine parents. She is home, she is comfort, cozy and cute hidden amongst the overstuffed pillows on giant sinking sofas with a drink in hand at small get togethers for the holidays.

Michelle is the number to society, the taxes, and the winning vote. Printed legibly on official documents, asking to sign hereHEREandhere. She gets called during attendance and converses with the adults. The healthily insured classified by the professionals as “Young Hispanic Female, 5’4, 100 lbs, Bi-polar” in order to keep the sessions coming. A natural accident, happily welcomed into the family with a seriously sweet name just in case the decision to deviate from the traditional woman role arises but pretty enough to be begin from the throat and float from the mouth into the surrounding air alluding to classic femininity. Her vocals become higher in pitch while words are said with a smile to deter from the double-sidedness of the name for she is the same girl who is called when despair flows within the body. Hysteria allows for the whispering “Michellllllle” to ease the spirit.

So what is my gendered identity? It is Mika, it is Michie, it’s Michelle, each shaped into different characters with the same underlying goal. Throughout life I have come to learn the simplest path to my own happiness is to allow for those surrounding me to believe they are flawless so I inspire their self-esteem and transform to their norms, to their ideals while I can still get the thrill of adventure and truth. I know I am not just what name rings to my ears each time but the completed frame of three ideologies combined to form one complete, whole, constantly learning, always transforming being, because people, society, and the world never stay static, so why should I?

-Women's Studies Final, Fall 2006