Hello peeps!!
It actually felt like it has been ages since I last talked
to myself here, and tbh i did miss it, although this tingling feeling of wanting to pour out either my not-so-sophisticated playlist of the week or school updates has been haunting me, it has long been swallowed by the anxiety of "will i get enough sleep if I finish this assignment?". yeah so i ended up sleeping with my laptop next to me when I was halfway through writing one of my essays aka i did not even try to blog. oh well it is a tad bit sad if you look at this unfair judgement of the seemingly endless torture from the education system as the sole reason which stops me from doing what i love, but actually school is tiring
and enriching at the same time. Anyways, today I was not planning on ranting about anything in particular, but instead I wanted to propose a fruit for thought for many of us teenagers here, who I am sure can relate to my sharing. It may be a little bit uncomfortable to some of you due to the unspoken nature of this event, but I personally believe in being vocal for what you believe in, and stand by it as much as you can. so here it goes:)
It was a mid-morning during this year's June holidays, where the Sun was overhead, shining to its brightest, coupled with the sweltering heat that activated my sweat glands, a little bit too excessively. It was a Monday, I remembered, a seemingly mundane Monday where I would laze around for a bit, reading some philosophical book in my attempt to 'enrich' my holiday experience, which was... back at my hometown lazing around. As I realised my growing laziness should be put to a stop, I actually requested to have a short-term tutoring on maths in order to catch up on those loopholes in newly-taught concepts from earlier in the year. Thus on this extremely hot day I chose to ride my geared bike to a nearby tuition centre, all dressed in sweat-absorbing clothing for extra protection from the reeking body odour I expected myself to be wrapped in. Everything seemed fine, just a bit of flattened hair due to my sweat and some sweat patches on my clothing. Mind you, I was already in my shorts and T-shirt, the bare minimum in order for me to look *cough* decent *cough* enough for biking to the tuition centre.
To my surprise, or more of like my "forgotten bad memories" from my earlier years as a teenager riding a bike on the streets of Medan, I got catcalled. Not once,
but twice. The journey to my tuition centre was really short, it was at most a 7-minute bike ride, and yet those passerbys just cant control their whatever-you-name-it-libido-crap and have to make
me who wears
shorts, normal running shorts people, feel guilty for my wardrobe choice. This incident actually did not only happen once, but multiple times, even during my pre-puberty years, especially so because I am physically taller and therefore often perceived as older than my true age. It bothered me at first, as I was not sure as to why this could happen, even when I dress "appropriately" with jeans and a t-shirt, but I kept quiet.
I never really talked about it with my friends, my families, my teachers. no one. simply because when it first happened I was with my personal nanny, and what she said was not a single word of comfort or sympathy, but instead a near shouting, " Mei! (short for meimei, the chinese word used to call younger daughters) kan udah kakak kasih tau berkali-kali pakai baju yang panjang!" or in English, "Mei, how many times have I told you to wear longer clothes that are more appropriate!" I was shook, but I agreed to her scoldings and felt guilty myself, because that was what was taught to me, so I assumed that it was the right thing to do. This same mentality has stuck by me for the longest time because that was what the people around me live by, what the societal norms were, that was the accepted and agreed upon justification to the issue of disrespectful actions of catcalling. Now that I am older and more aware of the stigma of being the victims of catcalling, i often ask myself, is this really my fault? for wearing whatever suits the weather and more importantly for wearing what I was comfortable in? Isn't this my body and my choice in the end of the day?
It was like a breakthrough--a realisation that came too late, but at least I see the light now. It was another drowsy bus ride after my Sunday ballet class when I was mindlessly swiping articles from bbc news on my iPhone and I stumbled upon this one article where a female journalist was recalling on her journey growing up in the Middle East being casually molested by many people, and this article hits a personal spot in my heart. The anger and frustrations from my short one month June holidays filled with daily catcalling fuelled up my hungry heart, the hunger quite unexplainable but i feel like it is the hunger for justice and the hunger for a voice which can represent the same injustice felt by many young women out there who experienced the same thing yet they are called to dismiss it because it was "their fault". It was also emphasized that women should "act as if nothing happened" and remember, most importantly, "do not make a scene and quietly dodge the person who molested you". It seemed right at that moment to not provoke further disrespectful actions, but seriously though,
should I really not say anything? should I just surrender to the societal norm of keeping quiet? and thus just let injustice and the voicelessness of female youths prevail in this generation filled with what they called "brilliant millennials"?
I highly doubt so. I am sure that many who comes from the same background as me can emphatize with me on this issue, and they want their stories to be heard. I am sure many ask the same question of "should I or should I not talk to my families, friends or teachers about it?" It is a glaring fact that having lived in a developed country now I can look back and stand on a firmer ground on my beliefs of the importance of speaking about what your moral values are and telling people my stories which may be beneficial to others, but it is not the case in other less developed (both socially and culturally) places. It may be hard to talk about it due to the social stigma that surrounds it, but I would just like to say how important it is to really know your worth and know what is worth fighting for. In this case, it is your core human dignity and what you want others to see you as, which is clearly not just a physical body, but a human being who should have been respected and treated as one. So, having said that, I would encourage all those who feel that they have a story to tell to just do it, tell your family, tell your friends, or even publish it online like this post. It may give you the liberty you have never experienced before, and I am sure it is a great catharsis to all your spite and bitterness of bottling it up simply because it was perceived as the "correct thing to do". It is not, and you know it is not. So wait no more and untie that knot! tell your stories, as if it does not make anyone else's day better, it certainly did to you! :)
Ps don't take this as a bash post on the seemingly degrading culture of Indonesian adults, because there are so many other spectrums of its culture that I can never stop adoring. but there really is a stark difference between those who understood basic respect to others and those who ignore the importance of mutual respect and stay as people of no understanding of others , and it should also be known to people as I am sure this disparity not only happen in my hometown, but it could be dimilar anywhere else in the world.
love love and always love,
Maretta Simon, xx.
