This blog
appears to be my outlet for the emotions troubles that plague my sanity; just
as well, I’m sure someone somewhere is suffering the same predicaments.
When I was younger people would complement me on the beauty and softness of my hands, I liked this and agreed. Sometimes they would also toss in that I was pretty-for a dark girl- which always made me view myself through a veil, like “yes I’m pretty, but if I were fair-skinned I would be beautiful” so I did not really consider how I looked since I felt I was not good enough to begin with.
I was a late
bloomer in my teens, until the fourth year of High School-when I was fourteen- I
would often be mistaken for a (pretty) boy, it did not bother me at all because
it drew attention away from me as far as actual boys were concerned, in that they
formed legitimate friendship with me that had no implications on my lips or virginity.
Alas, like a
flower I did bloom. First the attention was sometimes welcomed (as far as being
recognised by someone I may have had a crush on and such), but it escalated,
sometimes sprawling too far out of control to the extent that I would get depressed.
Into my adult years guys would get aggressive and insulting: some were minimal
with just nasty name-calling when rejected or whenever I would be boldly
feminine and ooze allure. Others I considered friends would touch me inappropriately
and do other dumb-shit I would rather forget.
These behaviours
ingrained in me an obsession to draw focus to my intellectual prowess and not
my looks (which ironically enough I had insecurities about for quite some time).
I became militant in my approach maintaining the tomboy image from my younger
years, I took it further when I became Rasta which in essence required that I dulled
down my sexuality by covering up from head to toe so that I would never be
viewed as anything but “an Empress”. It did not help!
I learned that
by covering up I actually called even more attention to myself as an object of
fantasy, men became blunter with looks of lust as they attempted conversations
with me. Men within the Rasta community disgusted me with their barefaced misogyny
and assumed ownership as if women were commodities. In the meantime I was also
making strides in setting foundations for my career, something that brought me
in contact with lots of men.
In as much as I was
no longer trying to conceal my gorgeous feminine features, I was also very
aware and deliberate in how I presented myself, working to draw as little
attention to my body (couldn’t do much about my face) as I could. Does it work?
Barely! I find that most times we get off on seemingly the right foot then out
of nowhere (call me naïve or just oblivious) I get a pass. This happens with
such regularity that it initially made me scrutinize myself a little too
harshly.
I attempted
various ways to counter it, from dumbing myself down, playing the ‘I have a
boyfriend’ card… you are my brother I do not look at you in that way- I’m going
through shit right now- I’m a single-mother- you do not know me well enough-
you are not my type- you are married-you have a girlfriend, whom I know … I become
crude and insensitive… brothers stay persisting. To the point that sometimes I am
overwhelmed with great fear for men because some have gone as far as
threatening to rape me or get me pregnant so that I would be tied to them
forever, who says that?
I do not understand it though, aren’t there enough loose women in the world that brothers could holler at? Women who are on the hunt are never discreet about it, how do I attract this thing that I truly and passionately hate? Why can’t we sit in a meeting and talk business without a dude getting extra-curricular on me, why can’t we enjoy conversations without a man going off-track, why can’t I just wear whatever I want whenever I want? Am I asking for too much? I am a heterosexual female in fine fettle that is not blind to the fact that she’s been blessed with humble beauty but it is something I neither wish to violate nor exploit and I am growing rather hateful and paranoid toward men for constantly throwing a fishing rod in my direction. It’s not cool!
