If I’m ever caught in the unfortunate incident of walking alone in the dark, you tell me, I must decorate the slits between my knuckles with flimsy plastic keys in the case a man jumps me, or rapes me, or abducts me, or just kills me.
And yet in the same breath, you tell me I should not treat men in such a cold and suspicious manner, but rather always remain unprejudiced and welcoming.
My dad raised me to be ultra-competitive. He made me hyperaware of every move, plan, or sneeze of everyone around me, emphasised greatly the importance of coming first and even more greatly how failure was a fate worse than death or disease.
My mum raised me to be content with where I am. She cheered me on as I rolled my first oblong roti, she says yes whenever I ask for a mental health day off of school and pretend she didn’t see my stumbles every time I performed a self-choreographed dance.
From those early interactions, my extremely malleable infant brain picked up that women are supportive, reliable, loving and safe friends whilst men are eternally minimising, condescending and belittling competitors whom I must always remain vigilant around.
This is the belief system I’ve gripped tightly on to until this very moment. I do not blame myself for this deep attachment for,
I’ve seen more men raise their fists rather than extend their palms in loving and warm embrace.
I’ve seen more men share leaked nudes rather than break the rusty chain and shackles of its humiliation.
I’ve seen more men shrug at ‘locker room talk’ rather than simply disagree.
I’ve seen more men be raised by their wives rather than be loving and contributive equal partners.
I’ve seen more men steal the ball away from me rather than men who just give me space to score a goal
I’ve seen more men say ‘not all men’ rather than men who ask, ‘how can I do better?’
I’ve seen more men punch, and kick, and chase, and peep, and kill,
More often than I see them empathise with, and understand, and plant, and protect and create.
In the totality of my sights, I have not yet seen a reason to shift this defence mechanism because it has served me so well.
But it is unfair. It is discriminatory. It is not loving nor healthy.
And I can do better.
I need to do better.
Because the very gendered stereotypes and discrimination I condemn,
Is the very same stream of thinking I am perpetuating.
When I am honest with myself, I realise that there is nothing wrong with men.
I fear them. I feel disadvantaged to them. I resent them. I’m so confused by them. I envy them. I feel great frustration towards them.
But I do not hate them.
But one day, I might even find a man I love enough to marry.
And I might even have the privilege of raising a man or two.
And I hope my beautiful sons to be empathisers, who intervene in all locker rooms and would never dare raise their fists
To be understanders, who share the ball with others and regularly reassess how they could do better
To be planters, who use their powerful palms to hug and open doors because they will have revived chivalry
To be Protectors who do not need to be raised by their partners nor enable the dehumanisation of their fellow beings
And creators who sculpt safe spaces, warm neighbourhoods and loving and healthy sons and daughters of their own if they choose to do so.
So that this world, one day, there will no longer be a need for prejudice, paranoid pre-emptive self-defence nor keys embroidered into sweaty palms,
But rather a reliable and all-encompassing hug of safety, equalhood and oneness.
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