Summer 2002—you’re riding through town, both feet firmly planted on the footrests of the hottest guy in school’s BMX bike. Your curly brown hair is blowing in the wind. You can smell the BBQs and see little kids playing ball in the street. You feel beautiful in your denim shorts and white T-shirt with a bow in the front. At just 14 years old, you’re experiencing your first love.
You stop to buy Mr. Freeze ice cream at the convenience store. You’re holding hands. That human connection gives you goosebumps. You’re opening up to a boy for the first time. You’re a little shy, and your rosy cheeks charm your boyfriend.
Tonight there’s a party, and he’s invited you. You don’t really know the people who’ll be there or what you’ll be doing, but you’re looking forward to it. Your parents have let you stay out until 9:30 p.m. When you arrive at the house where the party is being held, hand in hand with your boyfriend, you don’t feel quite right. You’re a little nervous. It’s your first party as a “grown-up girl,” which is probably why you’re nervous. Once inside, people are sitting on old couches. Some have a beer in their hand, others a cigarette in their mouth. They’re all guys you don’t know, and there’s only one girl. She’s dressed in black and has a lip ring. This isn’t the kind of night you’d hoped to spend with your boyfriend, but you don’t want to make him look bad—you don’t want to disappoint him.
After about fifteen minutes, sitting among the crowd without speaking and trying to take up as little space as possible, your handsome dark-haired boyfriend suggests you go upstairs. You agree without hesitation. Finally, you’ll be free of this constant awkwardness. He leads you into a tiny room with a stained rug and a mattress on the floor. He looks you in the eyes and says, “Fuck me!” You’re speechless. You don’t want to do it at all. You have no idea how to go about it. You look at your tiny, childlike hands. You tell him you won’t be able to do it with the plastic nails you went to the trouble of putting on for the evening. You’re proud of your excuse. That’s when he grabs your wrist forcefully and pushes it into his boxers. That’s how you had physical contact with a man for the first time. You don’t move. He masturbates using your hand. You suddenly feel pain. Inside you. He ejaculates on your hand. You feel a wave of nausea. He leaves the room, satisfied. You stay there, motionless. You quickly wipe your hand on the curtain, rush down the stairs, and leave the house, alone. You walk all the way home. Without crying. You wonder if that’s what love is. You wonder why you didn’t like it. At 14, you were a victim #toiaussi.
And my dear, you’re going to go through dozens of experiences like that. People will touch you without asking. They’ll insult you. They’ll use words that shouldn’t be said about you, your person, your body.
Despite your refusals, despite the fact that red lipstick doesn’t mean you want to have sex, that a skirt that’s a little short doesn’t give anyone the right to touch your butt without permission, and despite the fact that you have the right to sip a rum and Coke at the bar alone without any sexual intent, many will continue to cross your boundaries.
Today is International Women’s Day. The day that reminds us we’re still considered inferior to men. This day brings to mind both our victories and our defeats. We’re still fighting, in 2018, simply to be human. We’re working hard to earn the same rights and, above all, the same respect.
On this International Women’s Day, my dear, remember your worth. Remember that everyone in this vast world is entitled to the same things. Remember that everyone has equal value. My little one, dream big, dream boldly, and don’t let anything or anyone stop you from achieving your goals and becoming whatever you want to be. On this Women’s Day, promise yourself to respect yourself, to set your own boundaries, to fight, and to never give up your place simply because you are a woman.
#youtoo—you have the right to be, to know, to learn, to want, to refuse, to dream, and to succeed. Go beyond the limits imposed on women, but set your own.