Today I was happily walking to class and I felt it; it was the stare of a man upon my face. All my life I have been regrettably receiving these stares; I have been subject to these sorts of things all my life. I felt the stare beam down onto my face and knew his thoughts. I knew his mind was far from pure and his eyes were filled with lust. And I knew this without even making eye contact. Out of natural impulse, my eyes looked upwards to a truck with two men in the front; one man driving, and the other a passenger. For the brief moment of eye contact, the passenger made an obsense gesture. He raised his eyebrows and licked his lips. At first, I was embarassed. And then anger overwhelmed my heart.
How is it that a man can make such perverse gestures at a complete stranger and get away with such a sinful deed? How is it that a man in the twenty first century can treat a woman with such disdain? How is it that women are still treated as inferiors to men? And how is it that the term sexual harassment was just coined in 1974?
I am aware that the term sexual harassment to some means far more serious advances than a simple stare and gesture; but to me, sexual harassment is that simple stare and gesture. It is that unwanted sexual advance. It is that unwarranted sexual attention.
To some, beauty is something to be desired after. It is a dream that can easily be claimed with a few nips and tucks and makeup and clothes. It is highly praised in our society. Beautiful people have favor over other less beautiful, inferior people. People around the world spend thousands and thousands of dollars to become beautiful. And here I am, wishing to get rid of it.
To some, beauty is a curse. It is the very thing that causes women (myself included) to honestly wish they could run away. It is an essence that cannot easily be stripped away. It stays with you even if you feel ugly and bruised on the inside. Most women come to a point in their lives when they regret beauty.
Astrid, the main character in my favorite novel White Oleander by Janet Fitch, has been subject to compliments and unwelcome sexual advances all her life. She has been sexually abused by foster fathers and hurt by comments made in passing from her peers. After being attacked by a vicious dog, her face was covered in stiches and later scars. She speaks of these wounds with endearment:
"In a perverse way, I was glad for the stiches, glad it would show, that there would be scars. [...] Seams traced my jaw and cheek, arms and legs. Everyone at Birmingham High still stared at me, but differently, not because I was a baby hooker, but because I was a freak. I liked it better this way. Beauty was deceptive. I would rather wear my pain, my ugliness. Marvel wanted me to cover the weals with pancake, but I wouldn't do it. I was torn and stitched, I was a strip mine, and they would have to look. [...] They were thinking I was beautiful, but they were wrong, now they could see how ugly and mutilated I was."
Astrid was thankful for her scars. It was a way to escape the beauty that she had been given. Countless times, I wished for scars like Astrid's, ones that would hide my beauty so that I could be free. Countless times have I decided to shave all of my hair off, but have been unable to follow through. People are trapped by all sorts of pains, mine is beauty.
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Today is a day that I wished I were male. Today is a day that I wished I could run away from the world. Today is a day where I admit my fear and my prison to you in hopes that I can be freed from it someday.
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I gave you fair warning, friend. I told you this was not a blog about living gluten free, but instead it is a blog about me and my life that just happens to be gluten free. Not all things in my life are difficult, or at least I refuse to perceive them that way. This is just my life: Scars and Beauty. And everything in between.
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Always, Your GFGF
