What sort of existence awaits me? As I sit in the womb, I wonder. Will I be allowed into this world? They were hoping for a boy. Or will I be lucky enough to move forward; with certain restrictions and gender-appropriate toys?
The roles and norms set by society, in the end, become part of the anxiety. Accompanied with expectations that they think fit the puzzle; lock pieces where the door was supposed to open. But it’s for my safety; the dog barks as they put the proverbial muzzle.
Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to not go through that, have a family that’s open, honest; who have my back. But will the male gaze ever leave my back? Will I ever be seen as more than a modern stereotypical damsel, a 10 on your list, an item number; the Bechdel test.
Somehow, I manage to go through life without experiencing what 8 in 10 faces; the slightest definitions of harassment; the spectrum’s vast, there’s disregard; it’s a phantom pain. The only thing that makes their blood boil is rape. I might become another statistic like the other 30,000 in 2019; I’d be lucky to dodge the red tape. Should I file my case and face ridicule in society? I should wait a little, but that’ll just become another excuse, they’ll claim I did it for notoriety. Then there are those who blame the victim; this cycle of rape culture never ends; it’s part of our system.
I’m due in a couple of months. But I wonder if I’ll be better off if I go “missing” like the other 117 million; infanticide is the first of many innumerable challenges, we’re a country of more than a billion. I’ve left out a vast majority of other experiences, dire grievances and the ones that are invisible unless you experience them. Bigotry, misogyny, gender identity and class struggle exacerbate these issues. Our identity as women is just a start; the other indicators are often misused and tip the balance askew.
My birth is a burden; foremost, it’s my shoulders that carry this womb.