Less Raping And More Carrying My Bags

Dear Insane Minds,

I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and by that I mean the last 20 years, about the patriarchy and feminism thing, and caring and self-care. We are there fighting, resisting, thinking, squeezing coconut, guts, making assemblies of those that never end or that already connect with the next one, mounting demonstrations and all that, and there are many things that have changed and a lot of work to do, and I am going to put a point in this sentence because now.

Point.

We already know all this and it is for the record that I neither deny it nor do anything.

But I was painfully taxiing a suitcase through a train station the other day (1993) when I said to myself: “Damn it, Brigitte, we’re doing it so badly. ” Now men can cry and we can load suitcases infinitely and set up shelves.

Yes, of course, I know that the idea is to unlink these things to the genre and all that, but we are going. That they continue to rape us and now, in addition, we have to carry our suitcases, which is a central fact in your feminist thinking when you are carrying them through a train station after a thousand hours of travel and you are screaming.

“The thing is, we – you will tell me offended – are also capable of carrying suitcases!” And yes, I know. I am one of those women who show that statistics are a lie, who are 1.80m tall and can cut anyone’s face without messing up my hair too much. That’s me, by gift of my Celtic nature. But the point is: I can carry suitcases but… Do I want to?

What part of the world is better if I carry my own bags?

And do you know what I said to myself in 1993? That I don’t want, that I don’t feel like it. So I did not carry a damn suitcase again, because there was always a man willing to act as the aforementioned and herniate his back to demonstrate his masculinity. Well welcome, buddy. Me, to mine.

Now, with the years and the tomboyish look I have, I have fewer and fewer gentlemen willing to woo at the expense of their hernias.

But now I take advantage of my age, my 44 years as 44 soles, and there is always a cock willing to help an old woman to show that he is a new male of those. Well welcome too. And I, to mine.

I am lucky that no one can take my feminist card away from me because centuries ago it was taken from me for various reasons that do not come into the story but all of them are well justified. I am a nefarious feminist.

In fact, I am a feminist in quotes. “Feminist”. Because I don’t care about identity in it. Feminism is a perspective, a way of looking at and being in the world. And taking care of your back at the cost of male privilege strikes me as a wonderful feminist perspective on self-care.

And a street theater act of those disruptive ones is very funny if after the cock on duty has brought your suitcase up you make a show of force by lowering it by yourself or anything else like that. Or when you say to the girl next door: “You know? I can carry that suitcase, but I don’t feel like it ”. And the girl looks at you with a sparkle in her eyes and the man too, but with hatred.

Yes, dear. That they kill us. We have enough with it.

And finally, take a look at Sojourner Truth and her “Ain’t I a Woman?” Speech. (“Am I not a woman?”), Which was pronounced in 1851 at the “Ohio Women’s Rights Convention” in Akron, Ohio. To place the feminism issue and such.

Happy week, Minds.