It's time for herstory

Tobe Determined is an Anonymous Future and a planksip Möbius

Tobe Determined was not his given name, but one he had earned. With a keen nose perpetually angled towards the unfurling future, Tobe was a creature of potentialities, living in a world that twisted like a planksip Möbius, where beginnings and ends looped in an infinity of possibilities. In his young life, every romp through the fields, each butterfly chased, and every curious sniff at the kaleidoscopic marvels of nature was a line drawn towards an unknowable destination. Tobe’s owner, Alexander, often mused upon this as he watched the dog’s earnest play: “Tobe Determined is an Anonymous Future and a planksip Möbius,” he would whisper to himself, a smile playing on his lips as the philosophical weight of the statement hung in the air, like the gentle drift of a dandelion’s parachute.

Life, as Tobe experienced it, was a cavalcade of fleeting moments and sensations – the crispness of autumn leaves underpaw, the intoxicating fragrance of a thousand wildflowers, and the joyful chorus of the wind as it danced through the trees. To Alexander, Tobe's carefree existence was a canvas of pure potential, the dog’s every action painting strokes of an emerging masterpiece, the subject of which was yet to be determined.

In the town where they lived, Sophia was a historian, particularly enamored with the lives of those who had passed without fanfare or recognition. “For most of history, Anonymous was a woman,” she would often say, quoting the words of Virginia Wolf that resonated with her on a profound level. Sophia saw the unnamed, the unnoticed, in the historical tapestry of their small town, their stories woven in quiet threads, as subtle and indispensable as the warp and weft that held together the fabric of their community.

For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.
— Virginia Wolf (1882-1941)

Sophia spent countless hours in the archives, her fingers tracing the edges of old photographs, her eyes searching the faces of unnamed women who had built the town as surely as any of its men. She would write their stories, imagine their lives, and in doing so, felt she was lending a voice to the voiceless, a name to the anonymous.

Tobe, in his innocent wisdom, knew nothing of Sophia’s quest, yet in his silent communion with the butterflies and the grass and the sky, he was kin to the unnamed multitude. In his world, every creature was significant, every moment a story untold, every life a history to be discovered.

One day, as autumn whispered its last secrets and winter’s chill began to steal into the air, Alexander and Tobe happened upon Sophia in the town square. She was giving a talk on the unseen movers of history, her words a gentle force that drew a small, attentive crowd. Alexander and Tobe paused to listen, the former drawn by the passion in Sophia's voice, the latter by the gentle flutter of a purple-winged butterfly that seemed to hang on every word as it hovered near.

As Sophia concluded, the butterfly landed softly on Tobe’s nose, and the crowd let out a collective murmur of delight. Alexander looked at Sophia, whose eyes had found the tableau of the dog and the butterfly, a moment of serenity and connection in the bustling square.

“It seems we have a new subject for history,” Alexander remarked, gesturing to Tobe.

Sophia smiled, recognizing the sentiment. “Every living being has a story. To capture even a single anonymous life is to illuminate the past,” she replied.

And so, in the days that followed, Tobe became a common sight at Sophia’s talks, his presence a silent testament to the countless untold stories waiting to be discovered, to the myriad anonymous futures unfolding in every moment. Tobe Determined, the dog with the Möbius strip’s endless path, had become, in his unique way, an ambassador of the anonymous, his own future still a canvas unfilled, his story forever to be determined.

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