My Clothes Are My Clothes

My clothes do not determine my consent. Yet my clothes reek of your scent. I  went to a a girls day at my church one breezy afternoon and they taught us the importance of saying no. Sounds easy enough right? The boys had their separate get together that day too and they taught them the importance of what it means when a girl says no.

I wish you were there that day you would have learned a thing or two. Well considering the letters ‘N’ and ‘O’ were not in your “massive human brain”, I could be wrong.

I was also taught by my strict but loving asian mother that “ Boys and men will come into your life to attack you dear anak, because they attacked me too.” She stands today with her head lifted high on the top of the ghosts of the men with the pretty words but strong hands from her past, for they do not dare to be part of her new story book. She stands bravely but has a twinge of sadness that seems to follow her wherever she goes.

In the Philippines there  is a secret rape and abuse culture that is not so secret there. There is a Filipino TV show where people send in letters about their life stories and struggles. Most of these stories are about women. Most of these women were raped and abused in all types of ways.

Women time and time have been looked down on for not saying yes and obeying a man’s orders there. “Huwag kang gumawa ang mga problema,” or “ Do not make any problems,” they say. I am sorry I had caused trouble is what they would have have wanted me to say.

I was given all of these warnings and understandings on guarding my heart.

To not be too naive.

To fight back and stand up when I didn’t want anything to happen.

I didn't want anything to happen. It wasn’t my fault.

So why did I feel so guilty? Why did I feel like i should hide and be ashamed?

Too you looking good and seeing my confidence in my clothes meant I was asking for it. I was covered, no skin showing not even my shoulder could be seen, except for my head and hands. But why did I feel so naked when you looked at me?

My clothes cannot say yes or no for me. My words SHOULD be louder than pieces of cloth.

So I will scream it at the top of my lungs “NO.”

I will repeat it until it is embedded in every single one of your brain cells in your “massive human brain” :

No

No

No

No

NO

Do you understand it yet? DO you?

No more girls will be under you pinned and scared, ashamed for how they dressed that day, and ashamed for feeling good for once.

I have washed away your scent and now just like my brave Filipina mother I too, stand on the ghost of a man with pretty words and strong hands. I too have entered my new story book, that you will never ever be part of because I have said no.

My clothes are my clothes, and my words determine what I do and do not want.

 

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