'Playthings'

When I was in my teens, I used to walk with my friends in Caba from the Poblacion to San Carlos (I have no idea the stretch of that in kilometers) but the walk took about an hour at a leisurely pace. We went there to watch the lovely sunset. I was the Mayor's daughter then so when passing by homes, most would stare. Not only because I have a pretty face (yes, I am so full of myself) but because they were curious. There were spots were young men would wait for us to pass by, then whistle. Back then, I basked in those whistles, I thought they were a form of compliment. The rest of my friends walking with me were, and still are, headstrong, so they laughed off the 'whistles'. Of course the men who wasted carbon dioxide on us were smiling, content with what they have accomplished, whatever that was. 

In college, I became friends with a beauty title-holder in Physics class, well, because we were both idiots in Physics. After each class, we would walk together by the quadrangle, and of course, men would stare at us (actually it was just at her but I would like to think that I was also being ogled at). And the men whistled. But that time, no longer young and innocent, I felt offended, (and I did not know why then) so I scowled at them. My gorgeous friend beside me, used to these things I supposed, waved back at the men and said 'hello' in this exagerrated way, I caught the sarcasm. The men stopped. Then my friend whispered to me, 'See, that is how to show them you are pissed. Gracefully.' She was not the idiot I thought she was. 

At work, I once had a boss (and I would like to emphasize not in this organization I am in now) who pretended he wanted to dictate a letter for typing and asked me in his office. So pen and paper in hand, I sat in front of his table. He led me to the sofa where he received his visitors, and we sat side by side. He then put his hand on my lap. Thank God for long pencil-cut skirts and stockings, I did not feel his skin against mine. I stood up, ran out of the room and went to the human resource management office. I told them what happened. It was the right thing to do, I thought. I was in return, told not to say anything to anyone about it. They told me, no one would believe me, or that they would all say, I seduced the boss. Alrighty then.

Nowadays, no one stares, no one whistles behind me, and no one so as much as attempts to put his hand on my lap. That is primarily because I am now three times my size from my teenage years, so if any of these happened, it would be an insult to men and their tastes, not to me. Throughout my adult life, I have mastered the art of fending off advances, graciously smiling at stares with sexual innuendoes from head to toe, and the like, from the dirty, old men and the not-so-old men. I had to. It was a progression of events that led me to mastery.  If I were a man, there would have been no need for this mastery. But I am a woman. 

I made something out myself, though, my head still held high, despite my sex. Or rather my gender. I take pride in the fact that I got through these creepy episodes of harassment not traumatized but rather empowered.  I wonder when the time would come when women would not use that phrase: 'despite my being a woman...' And I wonder why it is so difficult for some men to understand that we are not playthings. I mean, really. Why.