Pink

"A pink girlie like you can't do it!"

So pink. Hated it.

When I was 8, I stopped playing with dolls. I stopped wearing pink. I started associating pink with weakness. I started playing soccer even though I hated it and I was so proud of being "one of the guys". I lived in a small town, a small town with lots of stereotypes and lots of taboos. I rendered submissive to those taboos, because in order to be smart and funny and "career-orientated", you had to blend in with the boys. You had to be like a boy, because boys were strong and smart and girls were not. Girls were weak.

When I was 12, I hid my sanitary pads like they were a crime, like my period was gross and my body was dirty because that was what I was told. "Your uncle don't like to see sanitary pads because they're inappropriate so don't leave them out." My mom had said, because this natural process was dirty and abnormal and I have to hide it, I must.

When I was 14, my mom was so proud. I made her so proud therefore I was happy. I had to be happy. She was so proud that I'm "not like other girls", I don't waste my time thinking about frivolous things like clothes and makeup. She was so happy, but I was not. I was guilty. I hid in the bathroom to do face masks and pluck my eyebrows and apply lip gloss and I was ashamed. I was ashamed because these things, these girly things made me weak and stupid, these things bring shame to my family and my name.

I was 15 when I saw a boy get beaten to the ground by a group of others, many others. His face was buried in the seat of the bus and the other boys landed blow after blow on his back. He was curled up into a ball, cornered against the metal wall and there was no escape. All I could do was watch in horror as a sickening crunch echoed louder than the roar of the engine. I asked what happened, what did he do to deserve this. "That sissy plucks his eyebrows and wears makeup to stores. Look, someone got a picture of him!" They laughed. The bullies laughed at the phone with no guilt anywhere in their souls.

I was 16 when I was afraid. I was afraid if I wear pink and makeup and heels and dresses I would be categorized as a girl. I was afraid I'll end up against the metal wall, getting my back broken and confined to a wheelchair. I was afraid, because girls were weak and useless and worth less than boys. I was told that. Femininity was compared to a dirty word, something unholy, something people look away from.

I was 17 when my brother came crying to me. I felt like committing murder. He confessed that he was raped by a woman, but he was not. Women could not commit rape, it was not possible. He was a man, he was of age, he must have wanted it. Men could not be raped, they could not be sexually harassed. My brother cried in a locked room with only me and our tears as witnesses, because men could not cry. If they cried they were weak, they were no better than girls.

When I was 18, I found out about all the wrong things. I tried out for the police academy. I got accepted because I didn't wear makeup and wore the suit I altered from my dad's. I was accepted not because of my capabilities, but because of my appearance. I resembled a man, therefore I was accepted. I refused to submit to this twisted system, the system that devalued femininity like it was trash. Any sort of femininity must be a statement, it must be political. No one could actually like femininity, no one would actually wear pink dresses because they like it. Well, I like it.

"Nice shoes, girlie!" I did not know that guy, but he slapped my butt like I gave him permission. I got sent to the commander's office because I broke his arm.

Yes, that was the price of being feminine, that was the price of being a woman and being comfortable in your own skin. Catcalls, insults, degradation, we have heard it all. There will be people who will loath you because you are comfortable being something they deemed a lower class.

I had nothing to prove, no matter what everyone else thought. I just started embracing myself and what I liked and disliked, not what everyone else taught me to like and dislike. So I started wearing pink. It is not a statement, it is not a disgrace, it is a colour and it went with my shoes. I wore pink because it is not weakness, it is not shame on a man's body. Strength and femininity are not mutually exclusive, I need more people to see that. I wished more people saw that.

The rope right in front of me seemed more intimidating than anything. I could already feel the adrenaline rush to my head and making everything fuzzy. "Oi! The girlie's gon' scale this thing!" The men were gathering around to watch, to watch the girl in the pink shoes and Taylor Swift shirt fail. They were going to be disappointed.

I grabbed onto the thick rope and climbed. The callous on my hands from training easily clung onto the rough surface of the rope. I heaved and kept climbing, putting one hand in front of the other, keeping the rope clasped tightly between my thighs.

I reached the top and I halted, breathing heavily through my nose. "She's gonna jump!"

"Girlie, come down before you hurt yourself!"

I glanced at the crowd gathered below me. My commander was already there, just watching. She was smiling for some reason unbeknownst to me. I shook my head and focused, because if I do not I will fall and dislocate my shoulder. Again.

The rope was only a meter away but when I narrowed my eyes onto it, it zoomed out of my reach. I have to jump. I gritted my teeth, tightened my stomach and pushed, leaping off the rope and onto the next.

There was a short moment where I felt weightless. There was nothing but air between me and the ground and my stomach flipped. I zeroed in on the rope and grabbed. The air was knocked out of me when my hand slipped and I reached with my second hand.

The rope caught onto my desperate reach and my hands seized hold of the thick fiber. My legs wrapped around it and my elbows curled, warping my whole body around it. I let out a wheezed breath. There was some buzzing going on, blocking out the sound coming from below. I slowly caught my breath and it went away.

"She's crazy." One said. "She must be crazy."

Yes, crazy, because girls cannot scale a five-meter-tall rope without shrieking and failing. There was no way a girl could dunk like LeBron James. There was no way a girl could lift weights like Dwayne Johnson. There was no way a girl could write like Shakespeare or run a business like Steve Jobs or build an empire like Julius Caesar.

You say that but girls could calculate orbital mechanics like Katherine Johnson and fly like Amelia Earhart and rule a dynasty like Hatshepsut.

And boys can cry and be scared and be sexually assaulted. Boys have emotions that they are allowed to show because they are human, and humans are not made of cold steel. So what if a boy cries? There world does not end, society does not collapse, and the sky does not fall. A boy can wear makeup and a dress and heels and not like sex. A boy can be a nurse just as a girl can be a doctor. A boy can be a makeup artist just as a girl can be a physician.

Gender roles were created, and then reinforced. They are not products of nature, not made by God. They were made by humans to put people into little boxes and it is time that we break them. 

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Words: 1396

By: T. Kimberly Xaffrina (2019)