I concede. I am biased against men, and I think I always will be.
It’s because of the time he put his hand on my thigh, and I couldn’t shake it off for hours because I was young and naive and wanted to remain in his good books. When I didn’t stop him from putting his arm around me and leading me into a room to flatter me because I was a game to him, when he tried to get me to open up to him in that smoke ridden room, but it all ended up being centered around him because why shouldn’t it be about the smart, handsome, accomplished young man right? He may not have made any physical, or sexual advances towards me, but it didn’t change the fact that he expected me to act his therapist.
I am biased when he used me to write for him without any payment but forgot me during the months between since that was all I was good for, right?
I am biased because how many of them were laughing, when I was struggling to conceal my emotions about their opinion of what a certain movement should’ve been, but failed and stormed out in tears of either rage or agony, I’m not sure, just like how I don’t remember how many of them were laughing.
Maybe, it has something to do with the triumph in his eyes when he drove me to look like an emotional mess and I had to be taken away because clearly, I was irrational and a simple discussion shouldn’t have stung so much, right? I’m always supposed to be calm, and I mustn’t allow him to get to me.
Hey, maybe it’s whenever I leave my university in jeans and a kurta that isn’t long enough by their standards just like the hair my father hates, and their eyes never leave me, and since their eyes aren’t enough they pull up pornographic images and when I get angry at that and threaten to hit them, they gather around, prepared to molest me at any given time.
Does it count when they gather to make decisions about my future, without involving me because little girls can’t decide what’s good for them, and they know best? So they plan out my life and hand me over to a stranger who will now be responsible for planning out the rest of my days, which I must spend with this stranger because they knew best and he does too.
Perhaps, it’s because no matter who I become or what I accomplish, I will always be terrified of being forced into a so-called sacred union, wherein I will bear the brunt of some man’s frustrations, and as controversial as escape sounds I won’t get a chance at it because they’ll probably make me drink chemicals like the woman I heard about in the news.
Oh, maybe it’s because my hands are shaking as I type this, partially because of the cold, and because I’m scared they’ll read this and come at me with their questions of who did this to me, which will always lead to more restrictions imposed on me, rather than any amount of efforts made towards changing themselves. See, I’m confused about these men, now. Who is who, they appear all the same!
Then again, how can I be sure any of these little things – and quite a few others too – mean anything because, I hold biases against men, right?