Today, I had a merienda (afternoon tea/snack) with Isa and her wonderful mother and their beautiful cat. At 5 pm, I got dressed and boarded the metro to go to Isa's parents' house. As usual, I sat on the metro pondering profound, blog-worthy topics...I honestly don't know why I contemplate the things I do, but today's metro meditation revolved around my arrogance and off-the-charts self-esteem as protective mechanisms from physically, emotionally, and mentally abusive relationships. I don't think an abusive person looks at me and thinks, "She'll be an easy target." In fact, I can be pretty hurtful to others if I'm not careful. Anyway, I sat there on the metro, feeling grateful for the protective bubble that my inflated ego has always given me.
My stop came and I stepped onto the escalator leading to the exit. A man in his 60s came and stood next to me on the escalator and this happened (in Spanish):
1) I know that it takes me a little longer to decipher verbal cues in Spanish, so maybe there was something in the way he talked that should've warned me earlier.
2) I see myself as a kid (and I look like one, unless I make an effort)...so I was caught off-guard by this man who was old enough to be my grandfather.
3) In Spain, everyone talks to everyone. I'm used to friendly people approaching me and talking to me, especially about India. So I thought this was one of those situations.
I could easily have knocked the old fucker's teeth out if he had tried anything more with me, so I wasn't concerned for my safety. But for those five minutes of our interaction, I was an object to him, without agency or dignity.
I hate that he did that. I hate that this is nothing compared to what so many face at the hands of bolder, stronger men. I hate that many women just accept it, and don't or can't complain. I hate that he went jauntily on his way, not even remotely affected, while I'm here writing about it, and feeling victimized. I hate that even for just five minutes, I didn't feel like I was in control.
Here's the connection with the most basic form of gender inequality. I could cover my bare shoulders, I could wear looser jeans, I could make myself look like shit. But I cannot force a man to see me as a person, and not just a body. Whether it's in a community gender-based violence project...or on the metro, men have to be part of the solution.
My stop came and I stepped onto the escalator leading to the exit. A man in his 60s came and stood next to me on the escalator and this happened (in Spanish):
He said, "You're going to be cold outside the metro."
"No, it's quite warm today, I'll be fine." (It was 25C/80F).
"What are you doing today?"
"Well, I'm going to have merienda with friends."
"You don't want a coffee?"
"I'm on my way to a friend's house for merienda," I repeated.
"You'll definitely be cold."
"No, I really won't."
I was feeling uncomfortable. We got off the escalator, and I picked up my pace a bit, simultaneously calling Isa. Unfortunately, she didn't pick up, and I had to leave her a voice message. I was sure he would've gone while I was on the phone, but I turned around and there he was, smiling at me.
"Why not go for a coffee with me?" He asked again, and he was standing really close to me.At this point he reached out and grabbed my left wrist. I wrenched my hand away, and at that exact moment, my phone rang, so I walked away from him and out the metro station, into the sunlight where the lovely familiar Isa was waiting for me. I told her what happened, and she was appropriately disgusted and offended.
"No, I'm meeting my friend. I have plans," I said more insistently.
"Well, what about tomorrow then?"
"No, sorry. I'm not interested!"
"Come on, pretty one, let's have a coffee."
1) I know that it takes me a little longer to decipher verbal cues in Spanish, so maybe there was something in the way he talked that should've warned me earlier.
2) I see myself as a kid (and I look like one, unless I make an effort)...so I was caught off-guard by this man who was old enough to be my grandfather.
3) In Spain, everyone talks to everyone. I'm used to friendly people approaching me and talking to me, especially about India. So I thought this was one of those situations.
I could easily have knocked the old fucker's teeth out if he had tried anything more with me, so I wasn't concerned for my safety. But for those five minutes of our interaction, I was an object to him, without agency or dignity.
I hate that he did that. I hate that this is nothing compared to what so many face at the hands of bolder, stronger men. I hate that many women just accept it, and don't or can't complain. I hate that he went jauntily on his way, not even remotely affected, while I'm here writing about it, and feeling victimized. I hate that even for just five minutes, I didn't feel like I was in control.
Here's the connection with the most basic form of gender inequality. I could cover my bare shoulders, I could wear looser jeans, I could make myself look like shit. But I cannot force a man to see me as a person, and not just a body. Whether it's in a community gender-based violence project...or on the metro, men have to be part of the solution.
