Whispers of Anger: My Journey Through Harassment
Catcalling. Not a new concept and experience for us, women. Something that’s deemed “normal” by society. But something “normal” wouldn’t haunt you. Something normal wouldn’t make you feel scared for just existing.
When I was in 6th grade, I got heavily catcalled by boys in my class. What adds to the scary part was, I just moved to this city a few weeks ago. A little girl in a school and city she barely knows. With a language she couldn’t understand. Walking alone through class full of boys she doesn’t know with no friends.
“Abis dari mana, cewe?”
“Where’d you come from, girl?”
“Sendirian aja, nih?”
“You’re alone, huh?”
“Sini dong duduk sama aku,”
“Come here and sit with me,”
I hated it, of course. I hated every single day that I had to go to school. I hated looking at myself. “I’m too grown looking,” I thought. I hated it when they looked at me. Whispering things about me just between themselves.
Maybe they thought just because I’m not from there that I was some kind of animal. That I wouldn’t know and understand that they’re talking about me.
Every day at school, I never paid attention to the lessons. I was always busy writing down my anger, frustration, rage, and anxiety in my notebook turned journal. I got through more than five notebooks in less than a year. All of them full of my handwritten rage at men.
I was so sick of men. I didn’t want to be near them anymore. I wanted to live. This 12 year old girl just wanted to wake up in the morning and not feel scared to go to school. And when it was finally time to choose which middle school I wanted to go to, I chose an all-girls Islamic middle school.
Well, technically it’s wasn’t “all-girls”. The boys and girls were just heavily separated. That school is full of strict sharia based rules, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind at all.
I loved going there. Those three years of my life are still one of my best ones. I went to school with no worries about boys. That pre-teenager didn’t even have a crush on anyone.
But in those years, I’ve never processed my rage. Instead, I have forgotten what men are. To me they didn’t exist. To me they weren’t humans. To me they were merely just a manifestation of all the bad things in the world.
This is the part of the story where I should write some kind of thought process about how something changed my mind and my experience suddenly got better. But as I get older, I realize that it only gets worse. Interacting with any kind of men — older, same age, younger — are just ticking bombs of when they’re going to say something that’s demeaning to you.
I made meaningful friendships with men but even then, they’re still men. Here and there, they’re gonna say something so insensitive and misogynistic that, at this point, it doesn’t phase me anymore. At first, I tried. I tried to educate and tell them that what they do and say are insensitive and, honestly, rude. But why would they care, right?
Even older women and some of my girl friends say things like, “They’re boys. That’s just how boys are,”. That’s when I realized, the problem is deep rooted in every aspect of our lives. Our whole world is built off of this whole patriarchal system.
The impact of catcalling and harassment is not just a fleeting discomfort but a deep-seated trauma that shapes my worldview.
While the journey towards healing and change is ongoing, sharing these stories is a crucial step in breaking the cycle. By voicing our pain and demanding respect, we challenge the normalization of harassment and pave the way for a future where we don’t have to feel scared just for existing.
It’s a long road and it’s most likely won’t get any better, but it’s worth a try.
