The (Violent) Language of Men
I’m tired of having to advocate for feminism in every aspect of life in my village, even in 2024
This morning, I heard loud noises coming from the back of my apartment. I was happily reading a book and having coffee when my peace was interrupted.
I quickly rushed to the window to see if someone was in danger. I wanted to intervene, but the sharp, violent sounds left me frozen, paralyzed by the sudden violence on what seemed to be a tranquil Saturday morning.
The falling rain and the settled fog had plunged us into a deep silence, today wholly shattered.
In that hidden area, there’s a row of garages belonging to various neighbors living in this cold, stark, and soulless neighborhood where I also live.
The yellowed color of the buildings, now fading and being replaced by the black stains of humidity, perhaps says a lot about the people who live here.
Smiles last only briefly, masking the true intimate lives of each family. But we all know very well what happens around here.
The flimsy construction with poor insulation reveals everything that the masks try to hide: the drunkards, the ex-drug addicts, the irritated children, or the woman stuck at home, caring for a child with…
