trigger warning. sexual harassment.
As you can assume from the title.
Since October, brave women have been telling their sexual harassment stories with the hashtag #MeToo. I thought I would finally share my own. This post is only limited to three stories, but there are more. More than I can care to have.
These are just three of the countless.
ONE
JULY 2016
A notification popped up. "Instagram: [someone] wants to send you a message." Almost instinctively, I tapped it as one does. On my screen was a grammatically incorrect wall of text and a picture of a Malay man's genitals. Short, stiff and gross.
"It's urs if u want it :P"
He said he masturbates to my Instagram. He wanted me to send pictures. He thought I wanted to. I told him he was repulsive. I blocked him and I went to bed.
I woke up the morning with a new notification. Different account, same person. He apologised, it was never his intention to degrade me. He asked me out for coffee, I declined.
He called me a 'stuck-up slut.'
I told him it was an oxymoron, and blocked him again.
TWO
DECEMBER 2016
Alone, wrapped in a plain brown hijab with headphones on, clutching heavy shopping bags. A Middle Eastern man, mid-to-late twenties, walked towards me. He held his arms out, gestured to my body. He licked his lips and asked if I was looking for a husband.
"Mashallah Habibi, you are too beautiful to be lonely."
"Talk to me, baby."
"I can make you so happy."
He followed me until I ran into a Marks & Spencers. I waited by the racks until he disappeared into the crowd. I didn't leave until thirty minutes later, when my heartbeat slowed down and my eyes weren't so red.
I took a cab back home that evening.
THREE
MAY 2017
I was talking to a male friend outside a busy pub.
I wore leggings and a red dress past my knees, he wore a blue t-shirt and jeans. We chatted about the end of first year when a man came over to us, looking for a lighter for his cigarette. We told him we didn't smoke. He offered to buy us champagne. We told him we didn't drink. He asked for our names. I lied, and said 'Harry.'
"Why do you have a man's name?" He asked in a thick Eastern European accent.
I joked, "Because I have balls."
The stranger leaned down and lifted my skirt. His eyes looking up. I swatted his hand, and pushed my skirt down. He then whispered in my ear, "You're too pretty to have balls."
I wanted to say something. "And you're too much of dick to get laid."
I wanted to slap him. Painful enough to leave a red welt.
I wanted to scream. Instead, my friend and I stood in awkward silence. The stranger walked away, still looking for a light.
"What the hell was that?" My friend finally spoke up. I sighed, crossing my legs. I pressed my arms against my chest, and wished I wore trousers.
"It happens."
Sexual harassment happens. Regardless of what is worn, regardless of time and place, regardless of company or lack of.
They weren't factors as to why I was harassed.
I was harassed because there are men in this world who think women are lesser than them. As if we crave their attention or demand their validation. There is a power struggle in them, that could be satisfied by demeaning women. In their eyes, we wanted it. We wanted them.
Whether we knew it or not.
Do you have any stories of sexual harassment?
with love,
A Law Q&A from actual law students.
As Term 1 winds down, my friend and I sat down to answer some questions I received from Instagram. This is my third Q&A up on my channel. This time around, there is a good reason. It can be considered educational since it is a Law School Q&A.
Enjoy!
A big thanks to my friend Sam Boughton for joining me in this Q&A. He's seen me break down in the library, I've seen him knock a bottle before an exam. It's a great friendship based on mutual hatred of law school.
You can follow him on Instagram here.
Would you like more Q&A like these?
I have a Trusts lecture in half an hour (if I decide to go). My laptop is at 27% percent and phone even less. My friends sit across me, watching another episode of Rick & Morty while our other friend takes a nap. I'm pretending I don't have any more work and knowing I have plenty.
The blogger tab sits there, as I attempt to write something with meaning and moral. I fail. So I write this instead.
A sort of hello again.
The blogger tab sits there, as I attempt to write something with meaning and moral. I fail. So I write this instead.
A sort of hello again.
I've written a few posts like this, in the past, when I take unexpected breaks. I usually blame law school and my ineptitude to balance every single aspect of life. I still do.
Blogging became an outlet when I had little to do and much to say. That was three years ago. Now, I have much to do and little to say. Trying to maintain a social life, assignments, scripts among other things. Those stressful nights on a friend's couch with red eyes and hot tea, or the bruises that never fade. Just the overwhelming sense of dread.
When it's too much to handle, I crawl elsewhere to a safe place. What was once writing on laptop in my bedroom is now somewhere with open arms and a warm smile.
"You'll be fine. I know you will be." My friend whispers as I lay in their bed. Huddled under the covers, the rain heavy. "You've got a pretty cool life, pretty cool blog, and you're pretty and cool yourself."
I laugh, "Barely, always barely."
When they said it, it's somehow enough. Barely is good enough.
Blogging became an outlet when I had little to do and much to say. That was three years ago. Now, I have much to do and little to say. Trying to maintain a social life, assignments, scripts among other things. Those stressful nights on a friend's couch with red eyes and hot tea, or the bruises that never fade. Just the overwhelming sense of dread.
When it's too much to handle, I crawl elsewhere to a safe place. What was once writing on laptop in my bedroom is now somewhere with open arms and a warm smile.
"You'll be fine. I know you will be." My friend whispers as I lay in their bed. Huddled under the covers, the rain heavy. "You've got a pretty cool life, pretty cool blog, and you're pretty and cool yourself."
I laugh, "Barely, always barely."
When they said it, it's somehow enough. Barely is good enough.
Life outside of cyberspace is good.
I write more, I exercise often and I have a semblance of a proper diet. My friends are goofy but kind, school is stressful but decent, and I'm happier. I'ml more human than I've felt in months. Even if it's just barely, it's still something.
It's still feeling.
Right now, I want to know I can feel again.
Though I won't be as consistent as I was in Summer, this is me trying. In a bad attempt to balance regular blogging into an already-full schedule. After all, I have an assignment worth 40% of a module due in two weeks.
Who knows how I will feel in the coming weeks. Speaking of feelings...
Who knows how I will feel in the coming weeks. Speaking of feelings...
how are you?
with love,
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
