I’m eighteen. Just eighteen. Already eighteen. I don’t know. What do you reffer me as? Am I old enough, am I strong enough? Am I still fragile and weak? Am I helpless and little?
Or am I a woman, am I me, am I the definition of strength? Do I get considered as a powerful human being? Do I get treated the way my neighbours daughter gets treaten?
I’ve grown up in a society where men were considered weak whenever they cry, and if I cry it’s normal, it’s cute, it’s acceptable.
It’s bare poison to believe that someone’s tears are less worth than the other person’s. It’s sad, honestly yeah, it does make me also cry, even though that’s the whole issue.
When girls cry, they are told to stop because “You’re too pretty to cry” and “You’re ruining your make up”.
Seriously? Do I look like a doll, because whenever I try to express myself, it gets blamed on my hormones, my emotions, my weakness, and especially my gender.
When men cry, their gender tells them to be ‘strong’ and powerful. Trust me, sometimes I wish I was a man, but I would never give up the hard work I put on myself, my body, my life, my everything.
I’m a big girl, in a mans world. But trust me, I’m that girl that can do anything, everything. I’m not weak. I am no symbol of weakness. I’m strength, I’m power and I’m love. Pure love.