I think I was 9 or 10 years old.
I was at the marketplace with my aunt,
When a man with a crutch, and who was older than my grandfather, groped my behind.
He kept walking around in the market looking for other girls to grope.
I looked at him in disgust and anger.
He looked back at me knowing that I couldn’t do anything because I was a child.
I couldn’t tell anyone because my parents taught me it was “inappropriate” to talk about these things.

I was harassed for the second time in front of my house.
An asshole groped me from the front.
I still couldn’t do anything, even though he fell off his bike afterwards.
I regret not doing anything.
It’s “inappropriate.”

The latest harassment incident, or might I say attempted rape incident,
Was by a doctor I worked with.
He was like a father to me.
He was almost as old as my father.
He knew everyone in my family.
I did my job well.
I cared about his business.
I tried my best to be as hardworking and diligent as I could be.
And I wasn’t even compensated fairly.
He paid me back by cornering me and trying to assault me.
Luckily, I was 21 years old then and had learned how to defend myself from my previous experiences.
I hope they one day get a taste of their own medicine.
I hope their daughters experience the same thing they put us through.

I never considered these things to be “inappropriate”—only my parents did.
I didn’t do anything wrong for it to be considered inappropriate.
But when I tried to tell my family, they said nothing but,
“Keep quiet,”
“Don’t say a word about this to anyone.”
As if being a woman was my fault.
But there’s one important thing I’ve learned:
Never trust anyone, especially the male species.
(I don’t consider them “men” because they’re all disgusting and weak.)