this week, in open letters to the world

Read under the cut :)

I wonder how women, children and men feel,
when they are destroyed. 

Wednesday,      and I'm eating alone
in McDo,
silent and happy with my favourite dollar meal.
From nowhere a stranger splashes his hands (at me),
wet and drying from the in-store sink ((at me)).
He smirks.
I stop eating.

I don't even think I can go back to 

Thursday,        and I'm buying late breakfast
in 7-Eleven.
A guy serves me up, name with a J,
tells me it's only P35 because I'm so pretty.
I smile, flattered. I accept all sorts. 
He hands me the coins of my change, my food
I say thank you;
he pats me on the head, says
"Come again." 
I eat my fried siomai in thirty seconds.
I don't look back. 

And every time I step into the store,
I check and double-check if he's there.

Friday,          and I'm writing this story 
wrapped in a towel,
damp, drenched from the rain
and red, scrubbed raw and clean.
I've walked half a mile because
the clear sky turned to drizzle turned to rage; 
And I've lost count 
at the number of men - strangers - passers-by
saying "Baby, you're so wet"
to me, corporate attire sans umbrella
because in some degrees I am stupid,
and I lost count after five. 

So I stop now to wonder, and think and I'm so angry--
To stop and question every man at every corner:
why the fuck do you think I care?

Baby do you want a ride

to wonder at the universe that no woman commented on my condition
only men
to realize that only entitled shits like them 
feel obliged to criticize a stranger, a woman, a girl, a student;
to touch to mark to claim
to the realization that men can think themselves the world,
an authority whose every word can be law

Hey beautiful how's your day been

And I'm shaking because 
if any of you had said those words
and sold me an umbrella, 
I would have understood, 
but now I'm here with so much confusion
what you were trying to achieve,
     except to influence me, or ridicule me,
     or make me owned, even partially by your words

What's a girl like you doing alone

This has been a week in this godforsaken world,
and two pages back I wanted to stop writing --
maybe it's just in my head, maybe I'm overreacting.
But I feel fucking violated and used and no one has even hurt me
and I am secure, and I am myself
uneasy in my own skin?
and I am so confused.

I wonder how men and women feel,
when they take away another's life. 



Two funny things:
1) I ended up not going out the whole day and night after, since I felt scared enough of another encounter.
2) This shit has happened before, but the wonders of rationalizing also came with those instances. It’s easy to brush these things aside, until you stop and realize that no. I’m actually being made uncomfortable by this situation. And then tipping points.

Lastly, I wasn’t going to post this because of reasons, but the whole experience was so cathartic that I can’t even recall the depth of my emotions then (but quite interestingly, I really did shake and cry inside a blanket burrito), nor can I feel the need for censorship and shame now. The whole week is a bit removed. (The perks of faulty memory and effective compartmentalization, I suppose.)

Just imagine a Jari writing flushed with rage. And then taking a picture of said rage, before burning it to the ground.
Just imagine a Jari writing flushed with rage. And then taking a picture of said rage, before burning it to the ground.


:) Still a bit wary, but that’s the price we have to pay.

One Comment Add yours

  1. chatmonty says:

    maybe we could try together? i mean understanding the world ? am always here for you!!! <3

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