In Chimamanda’s words, women grow to master the art of pretense,
but I think this art at times reaches a certain edge. Culture does not make
people, people make culture, still Chimamanda’s words.
Thus I’ve decided to
make my own culture, a culture of boldness, a culture of not being sorry or
apologizing for doing something good or anything that makes me happy. I read
somewhere that, when you stop to throw stones at every dog that barks at you,
you will never reach your destination, so I’ve decided to soldier on and do
what is right to this world.
Note, this is not because I don’t want to go to
hell, (though I really want to go to heaven) nor because of some rules, but
because it’s the right thing to do.
I’ve grown accustom to like my skin, my
body, my height, the way I speak , the way I walk, dress, and also love the
size of my breast. Women grow up in shame as though they were born guilty to
this world.
They are made to feel ashamed of who they are and everything they
do. It’s even surprising that you find people seated and the topic of
discussion is the hair on your head. Women or ladies are people of diversity.
They love to look good, I for instance, do a lot of things with my hair and I
could braid it into long braids, plait lines or put a weave. What’s the problem
if I look good in a nice weave, or as one of the poets would put it, if I
funded the education of one or two Indian girls somewhere in this world?
In the spirit of #worldwomen'sday,... CHEERS!
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