The first time I was sexually harassed, I was on my way back from school with my girlfriends.
It had been the last day of exams.
I remember that day well.
I also remember what I was wearing.
I remember us being happy that vacation time was finally here.
Then, out of nowhere, a man on a bike rode up next to me, grabbed one of my breasts, and rode off.
I felt bewildered and embarrassed in front of my friends.
As a defense mechanism, my brain started coming up with explanations for what had happened. Explanations that bordered on denial.
Maybe he had meant to steal the gold chain around my neck. Even though the chain hung well above my chest, I still refused to believe the fact that the man’s only intent was to touch my body.
Or maybe, at the time, I was just an innocent child who didn’t understand why the man had acted that way.
But I was aware that I felt upset, and I could still feel the place where his hand had been.