April 2014 — İstanbul, Turkey
Last night a guy follows me into a dark and completely abandoned street (right in front of my door) and tries to talk to me.
Says he wants to talk to me.
I have a sixth sense for perverts. This is no lost tourist asking for directions. And the innocent do not attempt harmless chitchat in the obscurity of darkness.
I whip around! I SNARL.
GO AWAY. I DON’T want to talk to you.
He keeps coming closer and tries to keep talking anyway.
Go AWAY. I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU.
I growl at him with all the pent up aggression that has built up in me from having to deal with the endless perverted sicko dickheads, dozens by the hour.
He wavers but he opens his dirty little mouth again,
and this time I yell at him. I feel as though the hatred in my voice might just be able to push him down. Down onto his slimy ass.
He is defeated. He knows he has to go, but he makes a desperate jab for my hair, too cowardly to make a move for my face, and too dastardly to simply turn around and go. He slaps my hair into the air and BOLTS. It may seem an odd and pointless gesture, but we both knew exactly what that meant.
It was contempt. It was disrespect. A pathetic attempt at a display of dominance…. gone pitifully awry, betraying more than anything… *COWARDICE*. He couldn’t properly take advantage of me… so he contents himself with feebly flicking my hair to the side. A meek but direct challenge to my command that he stay AWAY from me!
He bolts. I ROAR!!!!!!
HEY!! HEY!!! HHHHEEEEEEEEEY!!!!!!!!
…with a growl that would have enthralled a heavy metal fan.
In my fury I scream at him more senseless threats, raging on in unbridled anger… in a full-throated scream.
But I do not chase after him very far. This is sadly all to familiar to me now. My fury is great.. but my passion burns swiftly. I am able to calm down.
. . .
Much, much worse is the disappointment… the crushing crushing disappointment I feel at the reaction of the people around me I’ve subsequently confided in. Much, much worse is the disgust. The disgust I feel might poison myself and all the poor fools around me. I relate my hot fury and confess that the wretched sense of indignation still lingers as I wish that I had had a way to hurt the offender. To grab him by the hair and cruelly plunge his weasel face into a boiling pot of his own putrid cowardice…
By one guy I’ve been told that I’m overreacting to the catcalls on the streets. Maybe I should be flattered. He said.
If disappointment could burn………
To another male friend I said I wanted to learn to defend myself.
He told me to get a longer skirt.
I am now sitting in front of my computer, seemingly calm.
I am NOT calm.
I AM NOT CALM.
originally written : Nisan 2014 / April 2014 / İstanbul, Turkey