Monday 29 June 2020

girls are horny too

Prerogative of a straight female after a conversation with a conservative male.


"Women always have something to lose, while men don't."

Growing up, I can't begin to fathom the number of people who preached this  my mom, some friends and even my ex-boyfriend have said this to me. I can never wrap my head around it because news flash: women enjoy sex, women masturbate and women have the itch too. Other than feigning orgasm while having sex with men, just what are women losing?

The notion that women is at a disadvantageous end in a sexual relationship is gravely flawed because it glorifies our virginity which is often intertwined with our self-worth and identity. As if losing it makes us less of a person, that we are conquered by the opposite sex which further perpetuates our gender as submissive and weak when we want sex too. This mindset is toxic and is prevalent in the Asian society.

We are told that we should not dress provocatively (read: no cleavage, nothing above the knee), that we should not dress for attention because it is natural for men to want to violate and fantasise about women. It is believed that men yield no power over their lustful nature which leaves men a menace to women. Our society normalises the animalistic instincts in men  that it is God given, and as females, it is our responsiblity to not poke the bear. Albeit with varying intensities, libido exists in all genders but it manifests in the nastiest way possible in a fraction of men from "harmless" verbal objectification of women to rape. Has society regressed to a stage where the brawny gender prevails? It is ironic that women are thought of as the weaker sex when it is perceived that men succumb to anything, even a slight gentle breeze.

I was also told that it is 'social etiquette' for a woman to cover her cleavage when she bends forward and that no one wants to see that in their face (yes, the things Asian men complain about, it's wild). I hereby officially convene a meeting with the Chairperson of the Social Etiquette Association for Prudes (seems pretty legitimate when italicised), to question the validity and the importance of this social law. Gasps why are my God-given breasts blasphemous for the eyes?

"There is a time and place where cleavages are allowed, for example, the beach", he mansplains. To which I retorted, what is the God damn difference? Apart from the corporate workplace, is it possible that breasts mutate to be vulgar in various settings? Might it be that cleavages are expected at the beach but anywhere else it causes distress and alarm? If you are not having fun in the sun, you better have the social etiquette to announce the arrival of your girl(s) or cover up politely when you bend forward, because despite all the porn, men do not want to be starred in the Attack of the Boobies.

I say fuck that. To hell with more social constructs.

"If you can't be comfortable with how comfortable I am with my body, you can get out of my life."

I never knew how toxic it was when I was constantly embroiled in such arguments  that when I wear sexy clothes I am asking for men to sexualise and violate me, and it is my fault if misfortunes were to dawn on me. When I don't agree with such conservative (offensive) views, I'm viewed as a free-spirit or a hippie unravelling away from the Asian cultural fabric, akin to strangers giving me the side eye because someone drew a penis on my forehead when I was passed out drunk. My views are categorised as avant-garde when all I'm advocating for is to focus on the root cause: aggressors. Victim self-blame ensues from the heavy emphasis on what the victim was wearing, where the victim was and what the victim was doing, which to me, is ludicrous. Dictating what the victim does in the name of safety only encourages more self-blame when in fact, there is nothing they could have done to prevent an attack. Why are aggressors not held accountable to what they do or what they say?

"You must think of other women this way, that's why you feel that all men will fantasise and violate women."
"Oh God no, these are just conversations that my male friends have."

A prime example of how the victim has to shoulder the responsibility of not inviting an attack. If the safety of women is a concern, why not put a stop to these conversations with your male counterparts? Somehow the logical solution is to control how a woman dress and urge her to censor parts of her body which only normalises the culture of "men are just like that". The rise of chat groups such as the 'Burning Sun Scandal' in South Korea and 'SG Nasi Lemak' in Singapore (now defunct but I'm sure many other chat groups have since taken its place) where men exchange and debase photographs or videos of women without consent, are rampant. The shared content are not entirely explicit as most men in these groups love a certain genre of fantasy that is perfectly encapsulated in the saying, "lady in the streets, whore in the sheets". It didn't matter what these women or underaged girls were wearing. Sometimes the more modest the better as it gave more room for lewd imagination and lecherous comments. Having such conversations, even for the fun of it, inevitably bolster the mindset that men cannot be educated and women are naught but a subject of objectification who are undeserving of any respect. If not stopped, the existance of such pernicious communities becomes a societal norm which encourages men to act upon their carnal desires with force.

I'll say it louder for the people at the back: The problem is never with what the victim was wearing. If I take my wallet out in public, I'm not asking to be robbed either because what is mine is not for others to take. It is time that we spotlight aggressors and stop victim-shaming. If you are one who is uncomfortable with how comfortable someone is with their body, you can keep your bigotry because we are not the problem. Stop fuelling the rape culture by saying "don't get raped". If you are a male who truly cares about the well-being of females around you, start with the root cause and put an end to all conversations and actions that contribute to rape culture. 

Women, hear me out. Men who ask you to cover up "for your own good" do it because you seem like easy territory to reign over in contrast to having a real conversation with his chauvinistic buddies (read: pigs). If such a male figure exists in your life, give him the good ol' flip off because women are not the easier gender to manipulate. I would have done it a lot earlier if I knew that under the mask of care and concern is a mere coward trying to put a band-aid over a gashing wound and then wondering why it wouldn't stick  pathetic and useless. 

I'm not entirely mad at this man who tried to change my views with his traditional beliefs because many men and even some women like him, are products of societal indoctrination. They truly believe that this is how they should care for women around them even though it is irrational because again, say it with me: women have no control over an attack. Upon reading this one might go, "ugh, here we go again, another woke feminist" and that I'm blowing things out of proportion but I urge you to give the labels a rest and read this a couple of times to truly understand how our attitudes exacerbate rape culture.

Exasperated, he says, "Is it really that hard to just cover up just in case?"

Then I'm curious. What do you say to rape victims who were decently dressed? What do you say to women in Muslim countries? What do you say to the women who were filmed in bath rooms without their knowledge? 

What do you say to these women?

Saturday 27 May 2017

Tired of being alone, to fight when you feel like flying

It was 5 in the morning and I watched him pack his bulky black bag for his next trip. I lay amongst his belongings in my yellow pyjama pants, hoping that he would pick me up next -- not to fold me up nicely to fit his customs but for him to stay and I dare say, fit mine.

A white cup of water with some scratches on the handle, a tight embrace, a rough kiss on the cheek. I scampered away from the door and climbed up the couch. I perched my little being on the tip looking out through the windows. I never liked the grills that held me back. The gaps were too small. 

Everything was beneath me, well, I lived way too high. 

Sleeping neighbours, trees, black and white, a public bus. Where is he?

A tiny figure emerged, slightly unstable with heavy footsteps. His baggage was way too big. I slipped my arm through the grills, my face squashed against more grills. Sometimes I screamed.

I was only nine.

When I turned twenty I dreaded heading for that window. It was too tiresome. I dragged my grown feet up the sofa, slipped my hand out the grills when it was time and headed straight back. No screams, just a ritual, a sense of duty.

He stopped coming back and he took a piece of my belonging with him. 

Out the door she went, with a piece of what's mine too.

It's all too familiar -- the same flush of liquid burns, the same dam broke. 

That very same abandonment.

Monday 24 October 2016

I knew you were trouble when you walked in

It's days like these that I dread.

I've always thought that it was a blessing but it comes with a very heavy price to pay if you fall out of it. Still, the feeling of receiving and giving is far too tempting.

It is the very essence of being human.


Monday 18 April 2016

Why don't you be you and I'll be me

When I just turned 19 I couldn't wait for 2016 to arrive.

There were so many things to look forward to and I was more than excited to get my life started at 19.

But 2016 was a test for me, a test to see if I could survive on my own.

There were times where I felt I was in a stage of dilemma and I didn't know what to do about it. There was a knot in my heart which I could not unravel - everything on the surface were fine but deep in my heart, cracks were forming.

I concealed the cracks with delusion.

I did not want to be honest with myself because I thought I could never live with the consequences. I was afraid that I would fall apart.

And I did.

I couldn't feel myself and that has been my excuse for being incompetent. I threw myself a pity party which lasted for weeks and I indulged myself with self-lament and relished in it. Hating myself just felt like the easier option.

My soul felt like it shattered into pieces and I truly believed that I could never be whole again. For days I tried to pick myself up and glue the shards of myself together, but tears aren't exactly the best adhesive.

A month has passed.

When I look back at the ordeal, I heave a sigh because it does get better. 

I learned that love could take you to wonderful places and milestones in life. At the same time, you could voluntarily carve off parts of yourself just to fit into the mould of the other - all in the name of love.

I have nothing to be sorry and I am darn proud of the person I am and the person I am growing to be.

I've always known that these two distinct happiness could not co-exist but I still tried, thinking that as long as I am trying and truthful, all will turn out well. 

But sometimes love just isn't enough.

I let the feathers of my wings fall and instead of soaring I settled for walking (at a rather slow pace I might add) because I thought it was the kind of happiness I needed. I was forced to have the courage to be a fighter once more, and for someone to see me as the person I truly am. 

The truth is I was enough, but I was more than enough and you never had the capacity to embrace me.

Thank you for giving me a shot at finally being myself again.




Monday 6 April 2015

Look for the girl with the broken smile

It's hard to let go especially since I know I am so close. The hard part about it is not knowing where I've gone wrong. But what could I do except to keep moving forward, to never look back and dwell in the past. I've given my all but it's never enough. It never was. I crave for more than doing what's best for me in this pragmatic society. I knew the risks. Regrets? Yes. Of course. I wished I was stronger. I wished I could be successful and achieve one with the other. But I couldn't help feeling lethargic. I felt like a fish out of water. Every ritualistic mundane day was draining; I was motionless, running on auto-pilot. The things keeping me going were the ones they asked me to stop doing.

"It's useless." 

Indeed it was.

I tried to prove them wrong but I wasn't strong enough. I want to prove my self-worth so badly but I have to wait. To wait for others to be ahead of me before I could.

I didn't dare to speak. How could I when others are doing better. I didn't know what I was capable of at all. While others were focused I was busy trying to find myself in this hectic mess. I stepped up but it was never good enough. If they don't slap on a title on you - it didn't happen - you didn't made it happen. You made a difference but it's not your glory and it never will be. You try to explain yourself and all they could give you were reluctant replies.

Now here I am. Neither gifted at this nor seasoned with that. What more could I do but continue to work towards my dreams. To keep moving forward. To have the mental strength to not lower the bar when people tell me to. Am I not capable of raising my standards?

"She is too distracted."

"She day dreams too much."

I've got my head in the clouds and it may be misty at times but I've never lost sight of what I wanted. Time and time again I did things people thought I couldn't. It made me bold, it made me want to do more than I could handle. I wasn't practical. I never was.

Unbearable mornings, sleepless nights.

People stroll pass, life goes on.