Me: “I have finally become confident in myself that I can now go and enjoy seeing a movie, walking in the park, driving to a city alone.”
Him: “Do you mean alone with (my boyfriend) or you mean by yourself?”
Me: “Alone. By myself.”
Him: “But you are so vulnerable.”
Me: “Isn’t that the concern for every woman?”
Him: “That’s why they go places together.”
Me: “But it’s okay for men to go and enjoy places alone?”
We are the Lost. The Dark. The Wishful. The Wondering, Aspiring. Intellectual.
We are the Weaker Sex.
We are the Kitchen Dwellers, the Vacuum Queens, the Baby Makers.
I must feel a connection to wonderful, beautiful, intelligent women of the past that way. Women who were looked down upon for even having the slightest sliver of radicalized progression in the morose days of which they lived.
So-called radical women, although humanitarian, who only wanted a voice of their own.
The Whispers of History.
Joan of Arc. Elizabeth I. Marie Curie. Sacajawea. Mother Theresa. Dorothea Dix. Annie Oakley. Emily Dickinson. Frida Kahlo. Susan B. Anthony. Sojourner Truth. Amelia Earhart. Georgia O’Keeffe. Eleanor Roosevelt. Helen Keller. Maya Angelou. Harriet Tubman. Marilyn Monroe. Sylvia Plath. Rosa Parks. Sophie Scholl. Anne Frank. Kasturba Gandhi. Margaret Thatcher. Malala Yousafzai.
And many, many others.
To all the Rosie the Riveters.
To all the Hermi0nes.
To all the Little Lulus.
To all the Julias.
To all the ones who was told You Can’t Because…
You Shouldn’t Because…
Weak. Irrational. Emotional. Sensitive. Naive. Soft. Sexy. Critical. Ditzy. Hormonal. Complicated.
Don’t ever give a damn
For you are the Shouters of Change.
*Julias: A reference to the free-spirited character from George Orwell’s 1984.