I’m sorry for my flakiness with this blog lately. I made an oath to post every week and I will keep trying my hardest to keep that oath. I’m just swamped in exam revision which is sucking me dry of creative juices. Don’t tell me that sounds dirty. Bear with me, please and thank you.
The 15th of April was the hottest day of the year (for the UK) so far. It was around 26 degrees and it was lovely and naturally, my skin had to breathe so I dressed down. I wasn’t naked, my chesticles weren’t in anyone’s face but I felt pretty so it must have exuded from me. That’s my big word for today – exude.
I got on the train and I was minding my business, reading Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie which is going so well, listening to Deathcamp by Tyler, The Creator which is also amazing and I noticed this man. He was not my type at all. Well, I can’t really say that because I don’t truly have a type. I thought I did but opinions change, growth happens, eyes open. But, I wasn’t attracted to him, let me just say that. But, like I said, I paid him no mind. I couldn’t have even heard him with my headphones in so if he was confessing his love for me, I would have missed it. The train was rolling in to my stop so I got up and walked to the train doors to wait and this man got there before me and he was on the side of the doors with the buttons so me exiting the train was down to him pressing them anyway. Train stops, he presses the button and I get off the train. I’m standing on the platform, looking at the departure board for my next train and as I look away from it, the man is staring at me as he walks away. He’s not looking at me in a stalker, I-will-kill-you way but in a I-see-you way, in a damn-you-could-get-it way. Now, I’m a bit of a jumpy person, I cannot be helped. The time between me looking away from the departure boards and me acknowledging this man looking at me was half a second and he was quite close to me, not in my bubble but close so I did a little leap accompanied by a little yelp, a quiet yelp so he probably didn’t hear. And you know what he did? He chuckled at me and walked down the platform, looked at me one more time, got on his train and waved goodbye to me.
The whole thing was endearing but I want to break down the mental chemistry of what goes on in my mind when a member of the opposite sex gives me the eye. Just me, I can’t speak for every woman in cases like this, to avoid stereotyping, I don’t want trouble.
On one hand, I am losing my mind with self-pride. My thought process is simply “YES, YOU’VE STILL GOT IT. SLAY THESE BISHES.” It’s a confidence booster, I can’t lie. I’m that person that can live off my own confidence but silently craves assurance from other people. I won’t beg for compliments but I really want them. Even if the person looking at me isn’t someone I would go for, it still gives me a sense that not all hope is lost, you know what I mean? I feel desirable, I feel sensuous, I feel womanly. Is it sad that a simple look of interest can evoke feelings like this in me? Possibly. Am I ashamed to own up to it? Not in the slightest.
On the other hand, I’m also losing my mind with how socially unjust it is. Hear me out. My thought process is “AM I JUST A PIECE OF MEAT TO YOU? DO I LOOK EASY? IS IT BECAUSE I HAVE THE MOST GRABBABLE PAIR OF MELONS YOU’VE SEEN TODAY OR BECAUSE MY ASS FILLS OUT MY JEANS AND MY THIGHS HAVE NO INKLING OF A GAP BETWEEN THEM, IS THAT WHY YOU’RE LOOKING AT ME, WONDERING WHAT MY MOUTH DOES, WONDERING WHAT I LOOK LIKE UNDER THESE ITEMS OF CLOTHING, WONDERING WHAT I’D LOOK LIKE SPRAWLED OUT NAKED ON YOUR BED? IS THAT ALL I AM TO YOU?”
It’s all very conflicting. It’s incredibly gratifying yet totally unwanted all at once. I want to be the object of someone’s desire but I don’t want to be this object that is only meant to be lusted over. I want to be more than a thought that generates arousal for you. I want to be approached, who the hell doesn’t? I’m not about to die alone. It could be anything: you can slide up in my DMs, you can smile at me, you can do anything. Just don’t look at me as if you’ve already conquered me in the bedroom of your imagination.
But yeah, that’s just how it is for me. I’m a hot mess but a mess nonetheless.
Album of the Week: Tyler, The Creator isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, I know. He’s loud as hell and he says “fuck” as many times as I say “like” when I’m trying to explain something. But his music is good, I can’t say why I like his stuff, I just do. He’s grown so much from the Goblin era. He’s calmer, his music is a lot less angry. Give Cherry Bomb a try.
P.S. I made a Facebook, a bit late, I know but I’m trying to make a page for the blog but I want to make it all pretty so when it’s ready to be liked, I shall let you know. And you better like it, or I’ll kick your asses.