Avoid ya!

The day I hit puberty, I became another person. Someone, who was taught, not by her parents but by every other person around her, to be afraid of being alone as soon as the sun sets. What they did not tell me was that sexual abuse happens with children who do not even have an idea of what is happening with their bodies. Children, who were under the misconception that ‘home’ was a safe place to be. Children, who are too scared to even talk about what is happening. Children, who go quiet for a long long time. Children, who grow up with a lot more mental blocks and psychological problems than others around them. Children, who lose what is most precious in that age, their childhood. Because, it doesn’t matter. Because these things ‘happen’. They’re children. If they live through the incident, they’ll forget about it someday.

Growing up, I realised that there’s another word I must be afraid of. Sorry, terrified of. Rape. A four letter word that has the power to take away my dignity, my self-esteem, my happiness and all my reasons to live. That every time I step out of the house I should be careful to avoid any kind of behaviour that ‘attracts’ men towards me or simply ‘provokes’ them to randomly touch me, harass me, molest me or rape me. Rape. Four letters that have tied me down with information, rules, regulations, do’s, don’ts and guidelines. The timings I should keep in mind. The kind of clothes I must avoid. The roads I must not take. Also, most importantly, the kind of food that makes people want to rape.

The intentions can range from putting me into place for improper behaviour, teaching me to wear the right kind of clothes, or just because I had the audacity to say 'no'.

I must admit that I am, in fact, terrified. I am scared if my loved ones (those who are, unfortunatey, women) are out late. I am scared if I don’t hear from them for long. I want to know all the time that they are safe. I warn them to be careful. All the time.

I wish I could quit reminding them all the time that they are women.