Fuck

I curse a lot.

And I mean a lot. My favorite curse word is fuck. I love the way the air gets built up behind my lips before it slowly escapes through my teeth. It’s a word that encourages forward body movement. It gives me a sense of liberty each time it springs from my mouth.

It started in college, but I can’t think of the particular reason or instance. It may have been an imitation of my surroundings. Or not. All I can remember is my first Christmas vacation in college. I returned back to Istanbul and I was in the midst of a heated conversation with my father. We switched to English, as we tended to do when emotions heightened, and the next thing I know my dad’s face turned beet red.

My father has always been a perfect gentleman and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him utter a curse word. He’s the sort of person who knocks on an open door, just to make sure he doesn’t disturb your privacy. He looked at me and said, “I would appreciate if you wouldn’t use that language with me, Karen.”

Now it was my turn to feel embarrassed. I hadn’t even noticed the curse words.

During Junior year, when I was a Resident Assistant for fifty-nine women, the other RAs and our supervisor tried to come up with a replacement word so that I could feel the emotional release without offending any students. The best advice was “fire truck” but even that doesn’t come close. That year, I made an extra effort, at least in front of the girls, as I figured it was my responsibility.

Upon graduation, I started working at the investment bank that still employs me. If you know anything about investment banking, it should be that there aren’t many women in the industry. Same goes for technology. So as a coder in the bank, my cube was surrounded by the cubes of six men. A few weeks into the job, one of the guys walked up to me and asked me if I could lay off on the cursing for a while.

I hadn’t even noticed.

I don’t want to give you the impression that I’m not well mannered. I never curse in front of Jake’s parents and neither with mine. I behave perfectly appropriately in situations that call for it. I would lie if I said I’m ladylike and dainty, but I’m not coarse. I don’t curse at strangers or my clients. I try not to be offensive, but I don’t enjoy people tiptoeing around me because of my gender. There are women who mind curse words and women who don’t. Same goes for men. It doesn’t directly correlate to your gender.

I try to respect the values of the people around me. But when my program craps out with a segmentation fault and the debugger won’t tell me why, I feel a strong urge to abuse my computer.

It might not help me find the problem, but it really makes me feel better.

Previously? Biographies.