It's been a week since my last, WUA series. Yup, I'm calling it a series now since I've decided, as days goes by, that I want to at least have one post per week that talks about my musings and what nots.
It's a Sunday. It's that time of the week where you can just sit comfortably at home while watching a movie or two - or binge-watch your newly discovered TV show. That's how it was for me, at least.
The past week was sort of a roller coaster for me. I have experienced events that portrayed one of the most dreaded things that can happen to a woman - catcalls.
As a woman who grew up with my mother, two older sisters, and a younger sister, I was taught not to talk to strangers, most especially not to reply to awful catcalls. You learn how to keep your head up high, face straight, and to never ever reply. An eye contact may trigger them from talking to you. A "provoking" outfit will make them stare at you from head to toe. Your decent make-up will make them notice you. You basically cannot be you if you want to avoid yourself from being a piece of flesh in the eyes of people you don't even know.
I found myself crying as I tell my mother and sister my two recent catcall experiences earlier this week. I am not scared nor hurt. I simply don't understand why people have to do what they did.
My mother said that maybe they're just being nice - but it doesn't feel that way when one of them stopped from walking the opposite way as mine's, looked at me, lift his fingers towards me, and demand me to come and walk towards him. It doesn't feel that way, when the second man repeated, "Hey, how are you doing?" twice, and complain: "Are you going to ignore me?" As if I was their property who's obligated to feed their cravings of masculinity in the world of men and women.
I simply don't understand when my sister told me to stop wearing cosmetic products and clothing that makes my breasts and buttocks stand from my appearance. I don't understand. Was it my fault I want to feel good when I look at myself in front of the mirror? Was it my fault that I was being me?
I realized that it isn't. It's not my fault. It never was. I'm not accountable for people's actions and behavior. My face and clothes won't stop people from doing what they want to do. I am responsible with my actions, though. It's my responsibility as a woman to be stronger in voicing my anger and to not feel inferior when men choose to be obscene in front of me.
I still don't understand why men catcalls, I do know that I don't deserve to be treated like a piece of meat.
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