Girls’ First World Problems?

Posted by shulanda singh
April 10, 2017

Self-Published

girls' first world problems

Finally after missing two, I managed to board a train. All the space I got was just enough to rest my feet on. That wasn’t the reason of complaint, it was all the men peeing and pooping naked whom I had to see. A tiring day of groping and ‘Healthy’ * air quotes* sexism in office. All I need is a glass of wine and a funny show to suppress the things I cannot react on, under laughter. Too much to ask? I turn on the TV with not much hopes, two jokes later was made an extremely offensive comment on ‘The recent freedom women are getting’. Disgust spread in my blood. I punished the buttons of remote to rest my irritation, after multiple black screens and blinking of eyes I settled on a love story. What could go wrong? spoke the naive optimist inside me. The actress married the man who molested her. I was reminded instantly of that creep in my workplace who kept proposing me after scheduled intervals. I wanted to tell him

I told you it wasn’t ever you
I told you there isn’t much you can do
Don’t wear a mask i can see through you
I have made mistakes and that is exactly why I know
I see my ex in you and that is true.

Instead I said “ Sorry I am not interested”. I switched the channel and my eyes widened on watching a scene from one of those ‘Crime shows’ the man in the episode wasn’t only a rapist but a smart one. I wondered how many rapist might have adopted the genius idea he did, if at all A RAPIST WAS WATCHING. My night was spoiled, just like I am trained, I BLAMED MYSELF for turning on the TV. After finishing a cool beer, I picked up my shining phone and smiled at the name that popped up, that smile didn’t last for long after I started reading the message which said ‘ I read an article about a serial rapist on loose in your area. Don’t leave the house at nights.’, it was from my concerned dad. Sigh! was all the reaction my body could manage to give, it wasn’t the story of a day, it was my life. Went to bed trying to think of a happy thought so that my dream would be prettier than today. Following the ritual, I turned to Facebook, wasn’t a wise decision after all. Women objectified, some on their will and some with hands tied. Screaming ‘ Consent consent consent’ they lost their voice. I don’t remember signing up for any of this, maybe it was a hidden clause included in my birth certificate, exclusively for the gender: FEMALE.

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