I’ll tell you what happened but don’t tell anyone else.
Last week, when I was going home,
There was a guy who wanted to get into the elevator with me.
He looked strange.
I refused to get into the elevator with him.

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.
gender violence, sexual violence, harassment, the street

A friend of mine tried to convince me to go for a swim.
He told me the water was great.
I kept telling them that I couldn’t swim.
“We’ll teach you,” they said.
“The water is great.”
I eventually gave in.
gender violence, harassment, child molestation

I was still in my first year of highschool.
I was in the metro, and it was really crowded.
Someone came and stood really close behind me.
I was so anxious and confused that I wasn’t able to say anything.
gender violence, sexual violence, harassment, public transportation

I entered the women’s metro car, and as usual, found men there.
Usually I fight them, but that day I wasn’t feeling well, so I said nothing.

“I want to lick your pussy,”
He said in a disgusting whisper.
It was 2 in the afternoon,
In a relatively wide street.
I turned around,
And my body froze.
I wanted to vomit.
Sexual violence; harassment; the street

I was on my way to college, and I was  in a hurry. I was looking around for an available microbus to get on, when a little boy sexually harassed me.
gender violence, harassment

It was a cursed day. I’ll never forget it.
He called me at 7 in the morning, so it didn’t seem unusual.
Long story short,
His voice suddenly changed.
“What are you wearing?” he asked.

I was walking down a street with two friends of mine, and a man kept following us, saying,
“I want to fuck you” and do so and so to you. The kind of talk everyone’s familiar with.
One of my friends stopped walking and cussed him out.
gender violence, harassment, social stigma, the street

My father was the first person to touch me.
I used to tell myself that I was imagining it.
When he’d touch me with his leg from behind,
I’d tell myself he was just being playful.