Bad Things Happen To Bad Girls

Free AI web copilot to create summaries, insights and extended knowledge, download it at here

1909

Abstract

my way. I kicked it inside my door and picked it up once I was out of his sight. I ran to the bathroom and read it over and over again. It said meet me tomorrow on your roof past the last prayer call. Oh, what a night it was for teenage me. Every love song running through my mind with him and me dancing in foreign locations and behind trees.</p><p id="adeb">Somehow I got through the day and the moment the last call for prayer for the day was over, I ran to my mother’s room to wash my face and apply the compact powder my father had gotten for her from his last trip to the city. One last look in the mirror to wipe any smudged kohl around my eyes. Made sure no one was around as I opened the wooden door going up to the roof. I ran up the steep steps without making any sound.</p><p id="1553">He was already there, standing in the corner of my roof that was joined wall to wall with my neighbours. That is how he had managed to climb over. We both looked at each other as shyly as two newlyweds. My mouth going all dry and my blood pounding in my ears. He smiled and I thought that was the prettiest sight. Just then, I heard steps behind me, I turned to see my mother rushing up with my elder brother following close behind. My heart stopped beating, the ground disappearing beneath me and I blacked out.</p><p id="2573">Only to be woken up in pitch dark. I looked around adjusting my eyes to my surroundings and noticed I was back in my room. My mother was sitting in the corner, quite like a stone statue. As I sat up and she jumped on me, started hitting and slapping with whatever she could grab. She pulled me by my hair and brought my ears close to her face. “Your Uncle touched, you were complaining and crying! Here, you met up and did God knows what with this scum!” Why did I birth you, you disgusting bad girl!”</p><p id="6094">As a grown-up woman now, that incident hits home hard. It’s a t

Options

rauma. I want to ask my mother today, what made her say that to me back then, justifying the horrific incident of an abuse by comparing it to something totally out of context. Did she believe in what she said to me? But, these things are still off-limits between us. She is old and fragile and almost pitiful, so I let it go. But, watching her life or mine or other women around, it’s not easy to fight off these years of customs and rules surrounding us and ruling our lives. We all are in this Stockholm syndrome as a gender and species of our kind.</p><p id="6efa">I have tried to come to terms with few things in life. There are two parallel worlds running side by side. One where this older generation has accepted modernity of the world, but in material forms and another, where tradition, culture, and religion still rule their mind. It’s so deep-rooted that they will slaughter anyone challenging them without even blinking an eye. The women in these kinds of societies are used as tools to keep the traditions alive because a mother’s touch and approval to this makes it so much more pious and right. It’s this internalised misogyny of women, which perpetuates patriarchy.</p><p id="58d1">©2021 TJ</p><div id="004a" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/you-can-only-be-blamed-for-the-situation-you-are-in-a4e2ee7cde72"> <div> <div> <h2>You Can Only Be Blamed For The Situation You Are In</h2> <div><h3>Yesterday, I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today, I am wise, so, I am changing myself — Rumi</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*9tcH2FT75k9m2Ti1)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Bad Things Happen To Bad Girls

A comfort zone is a beautiful place, but nothing ever grows there — Anonymous

Well, bad things happen to almost all girls…

We don’t have dialogues in my family on forbidden or taboo topics. Abuse, sex, and even menstruation, to name a few. My parents change the channel if an intimate scene or song comes on. All of our siblings are married now, but we still can’t show affection or sit next to our partners in front of our parents or each other. Culture and religion being the guideline for our such attitudes and behaviour.

I was 11 when I was abused by someone close to the family. I told my mother about it and she scolded me and told me to never ever bring up this dirty topic. She asked me what was I wearing and was I being too friendly as was my nature. “Stop parading yourself around people, now you are a big girl!” I didn’t understand what wrong did I do? But, I got the message that I had to look out for myself and avoid such situations because I was to be blamed.

I was 15 and reading a lot of romance novels and dreaming about heartthrobs, falling in love with every male hero in these books. There was a boy in my neighbourhood, who I was going gaga over. On my way back from school, I will always find him hanging outside my doorway with his friends. We will exchange shy glances, never fully making eye contact.

One day, as I walked past him, he threw a piece of paper my way. I kicked it inside my door and picked it up once I was out of his sight. I ran to the bathroom and read it over and over again. It said meet me tomorrow on your roof past the last prayer call. Oh, what a night it was for teenage me. Every love song running through my mind with him and me dancing in foreign locations and behind trees.

Somehow I got through the day and the moment the last call for prayer for the day was over, I ran to my mother’s room to wash my face and apply the compact powder my father had gotten for her from his last trip to the city. One last look in the mirror to wipe any smudged kohl around my eyes. Made sure no one was around as I opened the wooden door going up to the roof. I ran up the steep steps without making any sound.

He was already there, standing in the corner of my roof that was joined wall to wall with my neighbours. That is how he had managed to climb over. We both looked at each other as shyly as two newlyweds. My mouth going all dry and my blood pounding in my ears. He smiled and I thought that was the prettiest sight. Just then, I heard steps behind me, I turned to see my mother rushing up with my elder brother following close behind. My heart stopped beating, the ground disappearing beneath me and I blacked out.

Only to be woken up in pitch dark. I looked around adjusting my eyes to my surroundings and noticed I was back in my room. My mother was sitting in the corner, quite like a stone statue. As I sat up and she jumped on me, started hitting and slapping with whatever she could grab. She pulled me by my hair and brought my ears close to her face. “Your Uncle touched, you were complaining and crying! Here, you met up and did God knows what with this scum!” Why did I birth you, you disgusting bad girl!”

As a grown-up woman now, that incident hits home hard. It’s a trauma. I want to ask my mother today, what made her say that to me back then, justifying the horrific incident of an abuse by comparing it to something totally out of context. Did she believe in what she said to me? But, these things are still off-limits between us. She is old and fragile and almost pitiful, so I let it go. But, watching her life or mine or other women around, it’s not easy to fight off these years of customs and rules surrounding us and ruling our lives. We all are in this Stockholm syndrome as a gender and species of our kind.

I have tried to come to terms with few things in life. There are two parallel worlds running side by side. One where this older generation has accepted modernity of the world, but in material forms and another, where tradition, culture, and religion still rule their mind. It’s so deep-rooted that they will slaughter anyone challenging them without even blinking an eye. The women in these kinds of societies are used as tools to keep the traditions alive because a mother’s touch and approval to this makes it so much more pious and right. It’s this internalised misogyny of women, which perpetuates patriarchy.