food for thought, Narratives, philosophy

The whole fucking problem

Note: PUN IS INTENDED.

I was walking across the street the other day and I met an interesting fellow. The young man couldn’t resist himself from making derogatory remarks at me. I wasn’t wearing lingerie, nor was I in a swimsuit, I was just walking to my home in casual jeans and t- shirt and yet this fellow couldn’t take his eyes off of me. Boy! Was I on cloud number nine! But then to my dismay, he rode off. But just when I had begun lamenting over the end of this lovely encounter, he came back.

I enjoyed our little chit chat where he kept commenting and I kept ignoring. When our brief encounters kept happening again and again, I wanted to take my shoes off and throw them at his handsome face to express my love. But then I just thought that that would be too much display of my affection. I guess I am right in assuming that the nice fellow I had just met was so much worthy of my attention that ignoring turned out to be my best move. I didn’t want to fall head over heels for a guy I just met. Did I?

Why do I have to tolerate these fellows making nasty comments at me? I don’t roam around the streets in my pathetic rickety bike and make disgusting comments at any guy I come across. I don’t stare at them from head to toe for eternity. I don’t stop my fucking car and drive close to them honking repeatedly scaring the shit out of them. But of course, I can’t do all this but they can. It’s perfectly alright.
I spend a lot of time wondering whether what I am wearing is appropriate enough to go out in the street. I always make it a point that I don’t stay out of house too late at night. In spite of all these I happen to meet these gentlemen quite often and I make sure that I ignore them all every time. I have to do all this but they don’t and it’s perfectly alright.

Some of my rights are being violated. So what? That’s okay. Some of my freedom has been snatched. So what? That’s okay. Some of my respect and integrity had been compromised with. So what? That’s okay.
No really. That’s okay and the fact that I feel this is the saddest thing that could happen to me.
I have grown to believe that being a girl I just have to neglect some of the things. I have to learn to live with it. I have to tell myself that there is no other choice.
I have to bear it. Don’t I?
I have to be the victim of society. Don’t I?

No actually, you don’t have to do it. There’s someone inside me who is saying this on top of her voice.

I want to believe her. I want to stand by her. But what can I say? Old habits die hard.
I have spent too many years mastering the art of tolerance. It appears so normal that all those violations seem nothing.

Why do you bother girl? You know you are okay; safe and sound! Everything is alright!
So, I have to wait until I am not safe and sound? My rights can be played with and I am not going to give a single fuck?
What is wrong with me?

No, no there is nothing wrong with me. And that is the whole fucking problem. Like every normal person, I have a large limit of tolerance. And that is the fucking problem. Like every other normal person, I feel secretly stupid on not being able to do anything about my own self and yet I don’t do anything. That is the fucking problem. I avoid disrupting my imaginary peaceful life. And that is the fucking problem. I pour a glass of cold water over the burning rage inside me. And that is the fucking problem.
I know that I don’t have to live like this and to be honest no one is even stopping me.
No one except me.
And that…

Is the fucking problem.

 

Advertisements

1 thought on “The whole fucking problem”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s