My feminism stands next to the person who is now called Jack, but wants to be called Jane. My feminism is the joy over a pride parade. My feminism doesn’t ask my best friend to ‘man up’ when he cries. When my heart breaks over yet another rape news, my feminism holds me up. My feminism doesn’t laugh when a man complains about going through domestic violence. My feminism refuses to let our pads be covered in a newspaper and then concealed in black polythene bags, as if it is a sin to bleed. It waves at little girls who want female superheroes. My feminism laughs with the boy who paints his nails the colors of the galaxy. My feminism welcomes ladies and gentlemen, and everyone who doesn’t fit any of those boundaries. It takes refuge with my gay, bi and non-binary friends because my feminism is a party, with its invitations open.
My feminism lives inside the womb of a woman who left the house because her husband wanted to kill their girl child. My feminism comes from a single father who’s learning how to braid his daughter’s hair. My feminism wants bodies to look like bodies, more real than reel – sometimes with more hair on the skin. My feminism doesn’t buy the idea of human bodies looking like flawless robots. My feminism tells me to walk past condescending boys who call me fat as an insult. My feminism isn’t a ‘one size fits all’, it expands everyday in our little acts of freedom.
My feminism comes from a grandfather who encouraged my grandma to work when the world suggested against it. My feminism comes from my postgraduate father who is nothing but proud of my mother’s Ph.D. My feminism comes from my mother who travelled 120 kilometers everyday for a job that everybody told her wasn’t necessary.
Have you heard about hybrid vigor?
Because my feminism and I are both, hybrid and vigorous.
And when you ask me to cover it up, my feminism stands tall with the naked goddesses you built on your huge temples. My feminism is full rage of the Bandit Queen, and the loud enthusiasm of a teenage girl. My feminism isn’t a complicated concept that is born out of my need to sound intellectual. My feminism is as concrete as my values. I was raised by parents who would ask four year old me, “What would you do if you were a president or a doctor or an actress?”
My feminism and I were taught that there was no end to possibilities of what we can be. My feminism and I, we’re both hopelessly optimistic, and we believe that someday we would conquer the world.
So when you tell me, “Shut up you feminazi!”
My feminism says “I won’t.”
You call us feminazis, because the idea of equality seems wild to you. If my feminism scares you, it is probably because you know it is here to dethrone your patriarchy.