To be just a regular woman.....

To be just a regular woman, to me,  is to be condemned to oblivion.  

From the amazing manga, Team Medical Dragon.

Out in the real world....

I'd thought I was okay.

Life went on and I didn't feel any different. I honestly didn't feel any different. Coming home that night, my mother noted that I was shaking and the "What's wrong with you?'' elicited a dazed sort of confusion.

"Nothing." I'm absolutely fine. What was she going on about? I wasn't shaking. I Stared at my hands to see if they were shaking, they looked like they always did. ( I recall raising them in front of my face, a few hours ago. Shielding my eyes because I was convinced that if I couldn't see them, those awful looking monster, they would cease to exist.)

But let's face it, it's not like the world ends. What's with all the drama, anyway? What happened to me was nothing, absolutely nothing. Not even worth mentioning. To do so would be a crime when so many other tragedies exist in this God-forsaken world. So many other horrendous tragedies existed that night alone. It would be criminal to cry out in pain. To utter any sound that alludes to turmoil is disgusting, akin to spitting in the face of those brave survivors.

Revolting. I was being revolting. Shut out the pain lest my self-loathing grows stronger. Had I no shred of decency? I had no right. Feeling this way is criminal.

I was absolutely fine, anyway. There was nothing to feel.

"You look subdued"  " Are you okay?" Concerned gazes. Inquisitive stares. What the hell is wrong with everyone? I'm smiling, see? I'm laughing and joking. I told you, there's nothing wrong with me.

Days pass and life goes on. Then there is a march, a funeral of sorts, for the potato boy in Tahrir. A little kid who was killed malignantly for no reason at all other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time. A street kid who had to work to provide for his family ( I never had to work a day in my life).

It's a terrible travesty, right? Crippling in its cruelty, so why is the world not collapsing in on itself? Why are the skies not crumbling? Why is the earth not shattering? Why is time still flowing?

The march is small. Not at all fitting for such a brave warrior but it doesn't really matter though, he's in a much better place anyway. A reality where he can be the child that he is and not carry the burden of having to put food on the table for his family.

( See? Real tragedies. Not the wimpy, disgusting make-believe ones of a drama queen.)

There are men and women, marching and chanting. I march along, looking around and thinking of the potato boy.

But wait a minute, we aren't marching side by side. We aren't marching together. We women are in the middle and a male chain is surrounding us. I'm in the middle and men are around me. They're closing in on me and now, they're on either side of me. They're everywhere, now. They're everywhere. They're going to hurt me, I know they will. Look at how they're grinning! They were grinning like that back then too! It's all a trap! They aren't protecting us, they're going to hurt us! I have to warn the women. I have to tell them to run. We have to run because they're going to prey on us and I was going to be completely helpless again. Their hands are going to mercilessly ravage my body again and I won't be able to stop them. I have to get out of here. I can't do this again.

I'm suffocating. I can't breathe. I'm going to die. The world is spinning and I'm nauseous. I'm going to die. I'm dying.

I fall back. My legs are paralyzed, heavy as lead. They have developed a mind of their own and they're refusing to carry me. They're just trying to keep me safe.

 I watch the march carry on without me. I watch the women chant and laugh and they're safe, no one is trying to hurt them. They're not getting preyed upon. They're safe. 

I was being paranoid. Everything's fine. The world isn't spinning and no one is trying to hurt me. These images were all just flash-backs, day-mares. They happen sometimes. I'm alright. Just breathe. Everything's fine.

     

The fear ebbs away, relinquishing it's death-grip and my legs, sensing that danger has walked out, are co-operative again.

I speed up to join the march again and I make it a point to walk amongst men ( I was fine, dammit!), specifically outside of the cordon only because I believe, well-intentioned as these cordons are, that there's something offensive and insulting about them. I don't want men to protect me, I just want them to stay away from me. To treat me as their equal.

Once danger recedes, self-loathing comes back full force, in multiplying waves threatening to knock me off balance. At the same time, there's an ache clutching at my heart. Like a flood gate had been opened and a river of pain long with-held had come gushing out.

I'd thought I was okay.  

'A girl was stabbed with a knife in her genitals, another was left in a coma and had her uterus removed, dozens were gang-raped'

Bile rises up in my throat and self-loathing consumes me again.

How dare I? I had no right to feel traumatized. What happened was so trivial, it can barely be called an attack. I'm grotesque and so fucking weak, it's so disgusting.

I'd thought I was okay.

I leave the march half-way and I head back home.