When I was 15 years old, there was a guy who was always out to get me.
gender violence, sexual violence, the street
I don’t know where it’s going to happen next time.
I can’t predict who’s going to harass me next time.
Everyone’s a potential harasser.
They’re the reason I can’t tell anyone.
The day, since the very beginning, was filled with leery looks, catcalling, men rubbing against me, pestering me, and hands trying to grope me.
Whenever I lean forward to pick something up, everyone starts staring at my breasts.
The first taxi I stopped:
- "Garden City?"
-"Who could possibly say no to a beauty like you?"
-"Let me out here!"
“Why did you go there?”
Whenever someone asks me that,
I feel as if they only see me as a piece of meat that should be covered.
I get the urge to just cut parts off my body whenever I walk down the street.
All of a sudden, a car closed in on me, and I fell off my bike.
One of my knees hurt. I decided to walk back to the starting point.
I left the bike with them and turned back.
That’s when the comments started.
“You fell down, sweetheart? I wish I were that bike.”
I used to always watch her from the examination room window in the government hospital that I worked at.
Her name was Sokkara. She was young. She couldn’t be older than 13 years old.
I don’t think I’d be able to put up with the harassment,
And annoying behaviors girls are subjected to.
If I were a girl,
My mental health would be at risk.
masculinity; social pressure; the street
I was on a bus with my mother and older sister.
The bus was empty, but there was a man standing next to me.
I found his penis next to my shoulder.
gender violence, sexual violence, harassment, the street