Okay, That's It.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
It’s beyond logic now. I’m chalking all of this up to the faint idea that the Force Greater than We Are has decided to make a mockery out of me. Yun na. I’ll just have to resort to that explanation for the rest of my life so I can stop mulling over this in cyberspace. Because, really, I fear that this blog has taken up a tiring theme.
As I’ve mentioned too many times before, the past few years as a walker/commuter/taxi patron have rendered me as prey to cat calls and wolf whistles, a masturbator, and what could possibly be a rapist. Because of this, I turn my iPod up to max volume to drown out the sleaze, as well as wear more jeans, sneakers, t-shirts, and jackets in lieu of tanks, skirts, and sandals as some sort of preventative measure. My eyes are fixed on the sidewalk at all times. I have done all I could to be nondescript and dead-focused on going from Point A to Point B. And still, I find myself the target of scum.
I talked to someone about this recently, and was told it was most likely because I looked every bit the middle-class Filipina that I am. Because I don't look threateningly beautiful--tall, mestiza, refined, gym-toned--to the blue-collar crowd. Because, that person told me, I looked, well, a tad more accessible to them, as opposed to the said knock-out mestiza who’d be too out of their league to be harassed any further.
What that person told me was pretty much racist, sexist, class-ist, etc. and can be disproved. It doesn’t have to be a reason for all of this shit, much less the only one. What that person said had enough loopholes to appease me. I like my Filipina features, and would like to think that having them does not make me or anyone else with a similar look eligible for verbal harassment. Plus, while it's true that I’m not some shapeless, buttoned-up frump, I know I don’t dress like the street corner skank, either.
Still, political correctness aside, I can't shake the feeling that that person had some sort of point. Because of some features of mine (though I'm not sure which in particular), I unwittingly toot some sort of whore horn when walking past certain kinds of men. And, at the risk of sounding like a Starting Over housemate, it makes me feel bad about myself. It makes me feel horrible, though I know it shouldn't.
Take this afternoon, for instance. Besides the random cat call and up-front ogles (their lascivious, grinning faces swoop literally inches from mine), there was this one guy from this large group of construction workers who actually yanked at my hoodie to expose my shoulder while I was walking past. This was in broad daylight along Shaw Boulevard, amongst crowds of other people. The baggy hoodie was zipped up over my chest, and was paired with normal jeans and normal sneakers. I was walking normally, a tote bag on one shoulder and a plastic grocery bag in one hand. I wasn’t looking at his group. I wasn’t doing anything. I never do. But that happened, and all these guys hooted and laughed right after.
I don’t know why I’m subject to this, considering that I’ve done everything to ward any attention off myself. And the fact that these guys aren’t just some sad saps flirting--that they try to get a rise out of me, that they hound me, that they basically make fun of me--makes me feel a hundred times worse. They are lewd and mean, and I can’t figure out why.
Character-wise, I’m no nun. But I’m far, far away from being some shabu-snorting, VD-ridden, ambition-less humanoid clump, either, and don’t go out in public with a For Lease sign tacked to my ass. But since I can’t seem to fathom why all this is happening, and am getting way too tired of trying to understand and dispel it, I will just deem myself a victim of the universe. My, such convenience.
posted by marguerite @ 7:40 PM
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