Lessons to learn as a woman

I sit in a mall with the biggest burger which gives me the biggest smile. My aunt and my mother talk but I love my food. A group of people my age pass by me, a girl from them wearing a gorgeous peach-coloured mini sundress. I love it instantaneously before I hear my Aunt say, 'How can her parents let her leave her home wearing that?' I look at the girl again, she was gorgeous, I envied her, but I wondered how long before someone touched her bare shoulder making her shudder. Just like I did when the Arabic teacher asked me to sit too close to him so our knees touched. No, he never hurt me, but made me wonder long enough to know. So, I knew. I looked at the library shelves, to find something to help. The librarian did not allow me, I was 12.

I walk and look up to see the moon in the bright blue sky. It is going to be a good evening I think as I walk to meet my friends. On the corner of the pavement, a man slaps a woman and she holds her cheek, 'She must be his sister' I think, 'Or she must be his girlfriend'. I ignore them as he ignores her as she weeps. I wonder whether she had done something wrong. Or had she done something right? Then I continue walking to my so-called friends, away from the scene. I was 14.

The burger sitting in front of me seemed too big now. Because I saw my friends wear stockings and smooth legs. I also saw the large cut bleeding from her legs. She ignored it and we never spoke of it. She felt beautiful. That is what mattered, right? No one forced her, she wanted to be lean. I agreed. I was 15.

I go to a party with my cousins. All of us are pretty. My uncle comes and eyes us carefully, up and down and screams at one of my pre-teen cousins to cover her chest or else he will hurt her, it's her fault. She is baffled, unable to speak. I give her my scarf and we never speak of it again. She always has a scarf on now. She was a child, but I was 16.

I sit in an English class where subjects change and the teacher looks at me and says 'You are a good brat. I see girls your age smoke everywhere, but you quietly go home.' She does not know that my shoulders were bleeding last night, and neither does she know that I swallow my pillow every night when I sleep. The boy in the class winked at me and said, 'You should be loose, no need to be so serious'. Today I realised what he meant. My hair was covered and my hands were cold. I did not let my head be seen. I thought it made me holy. I was 17.

I walk to my college, watching the sunrise above the coast, thinking, 'It will be a good day'. I see girls my age smoke outside, their hair coloured as bright as mine. I praise it and they smile. I smoke in their passive smoke and forget about the beckoning ocean calling me to drown. I didn't know then, that day was good for someone else, I was going to be devoured. I thought I was the best I had ever been until he touched my spleen, I was 19.

I see them smoke, I see them drink. I yearn for its taste. I see the girl in the corner of the library thinking the same thing. We look at each other. We both smile, knowing well enough that that night, we would both strangle ourselves with our blankets to survive another day. The next morning, I almost gave myself to the sea. I was 20.

I run for my train and I ignore the slight pat on my hips. He was running too. It wasn't intentional I think. I go my way and he goes his, for us to never see each other again. It happens again, with another. It happens again, with another. No, none were intentional, I say to my friend. Her tight smile agrees. So today also, I see the train, I run. He comes towards me in the crowd, and I hit him with my bag, we go our way never to see each other again. Defending myself was fun, finally when I was 21.

I sit on a train with my father, we are going home from a party. I know I look pretty in pink. A man at the entrance, standing far never stops staring at me. I ignore his gaze but his eyes don't leave me. When he leaves, he nods his head, smiles and leaves, as if thanking me. I sit there, not knowing what to think. Next time, instead of pink which I love, I wear blue. Because now I know it won't ever stop, I was 22.

My uncle whose daughter is one of the smartest people I know, won't let her study. She was the topper of her town. Now, she sits at home, helping her mother bring up her toddler twin sisters whom her father had hoped to be twin boys. I don't talk to her about her favourite school subjects again. I was told by someone that it might hurt her. It's bitter, but it is the truth. I was 22.

A drunkard touches my foot with his toes. By this time, I am well acquainted with my foes. Despite the fact I was protected with too many clothes, he still did it, I carefully note. Again, from his filth I grew, as I was 22.

I fall in love with a man and he asks me to do things to look prettier. Later, he betrays me for another. Using my tears to wipe his stains, cleaning his mistakes using my pain. It was never about the looks, no one wrote that in those beauty books. My love exists, but I disentangled myself free, I am 23.

Another hand will touch, another face will betray, another one will look inside and make me his prey. Holding power is having fun. While I run and I run. At least now I know how to hold the gun. From them and from my own illusions. My lessons are learned from being a woman. I will always be taught the lessons for being a woman.

~ Aazka