It’s hard to say I’m a feminist

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I grew up believing in feminism, only to stop feeling like it was for people like me.

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“Feminism” is simple. Men and women should be treated equally. Many interpret this as “the same”, but that’s not quite accurate. You wouldn’t treat your mom and your dad the same way, but you try to love them and treat them equally. The concept is simple, but the world was never ready for feminism. Not as much as they should be.

As girls, we were always taught the traditional ways of things. No matter the generation, no matter how outdated the information is, no matter how much it hurt us, and no matter how much it brought us down. I find that girls have a traditional clock. Absolutely no boyfriends until you’ve reached a certain age, or else you’re a slut, a whore, a disgrace, and it’s only a matter of time before you make a mistake. It’s like they’re waiting for it to happen. My cousin had to stay over at her boyfriend’s place for a few nights because her own mother kicked her out, and instead of seeking help, most of my family members treated her like she was about to be a single mother. I never had a problem with it, though, because I never found much interest in guys my age. My issue started at 19. All of a sudden, everyone around me expected me to have a boyfriend. My grandmother suddenly told me to show more skin or else I’ll be “unwanted”. The very same grandmother who kicked her granddaughter out for having a love life. I’d fantasize about cutting my hair and telling her, “I’m a lesbian”, or wearing a bikini and flirting with every guy I see right in front of her. I wonder what would piss her off more. But, I guess if I were to do that, I’d go against what I stand for most, my self-identity.

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There are certain requirements expected of a girl, and each person has so many opinions that they won’t keep to themselves. My mom has bugged me about doing house chores for years. Cooking, cleaning, washing, sweeping, she said, I’d have to learn how to do them sooner or later because no man would want a girl who can’t do chores. I realized she never talked to my brother about it, but I also realized she stopped bugging me about chores after my brother had grown up a bit. I think she either noticed she was being unfair or she just gave up on me. My dad has, what I would call, an unfair idea of women's aesthetics. He told my mom a few times that she should get more fillers or Botox when more wrinkles appear. He’d sometimes make snide comments on a woman’s weight, he’d shame women who show too much skin on the internet, yet he never really bothered to dress well when he didn't need to. Don’t get me wrong, they’re not half bad. They try not to step over the line, they try to grasp modern concepts if I bring them up, and they don’t shy away from apologizing when needed. In fact, I could argue that my parents are one of the best out there. And for that very reason, it proves my point even more. Because even in, what I consider, a healthy household, with good parents, the traditional values and glimpses of women's concepts cannot be erased.

Don’t get me wrong, sexism doesn’t always come out as rude, just like fat-shaming, skinny-shaming, or concepts of different sexualities; they decorate it with “worry” and “curiosity”. At a family gathering, three people asked me why I chose engineering. No one asked my male cousin, who was sitting next to me. We study the same major. It wasn’t rude, it just dumbfounded me a little. And that’s just the problem. Women are allowed to participate, but not to exist unquestioned. No one asks a man why he’s single. No one asked my cousin about weight control after he finished 3 bowls of food. Yet, people stared when I was eating cake. And the baffling parts are that one, the person who asked me about weight control was a woman, and two, I’m not even fat. 50 kg, 162 cm, perfectly healthy. I can’t imagine how girls who are bigger than me would feel.

This belief does not only stem from family and traditional values, but is also largely captured in the digital world. Social media, throughout several decades, has never seemed to correctly project the real purpose and meaning of feminism. Emma Watson, a long-standing feminist, is being portrayed by the media as “a whiny feminist” just because she stands for what she believes is her truth. Marilyn Monroe, a brilliant actress, a bright individual, spent her entire life proving to people she was not just a dumb blonde with a pretty face, only to end up being one of the most sexualized and objectified women in Hollywood history. Practically, countless more women received the same treatment, especially recently, with the surge of conservative views and activists, speaking up on how the traditional view of women isn’t considered “weak”, which many “feminists” associate with being a stay-at-home mom. Social media makes it seem that in feminism, a girl isn’t strong when we associate ourselves with love, isn’t fierce when we choose to want a family, and is passive when we choose family over our career. It seems to me that the media just wants to objectify us by associating “being comfortable in your own skin” with “showing more”. Somehow, “showing less” became insecurity. “Showing more” became confidence. And once again, we were being measured by our bodies.

Contrary to what I’ve written so far, I’ve actually always wanted to have a family. It is my ultimate dream. I never had a doubt about it, but because of all the interpretations I’d consumed, I felt weak to call myself a feminist. I once found a sort of comfort and strength in listening to some of the conservative views, laughing at how absurd some feminist views are, and reassuring myself that most outdated information is now gone. Yet, I just found myself surrounded by sexist comments. I realized the world hasn’t changed. Not as much as it should’ve.

The feminist movement failed many women, not because women want different things, but because it refuses to respect choice without attaching hierarchy. It failed me, who wanted a family; it refuses to depict loving as a strength, and it avoids the eye contact of all the women they failed to protect.

I am a woman who wants a family, and I will be an engineer who eats cake in whatever outfit I find flattering. It doesn’t matter if I’m gay or if I want a boyfriend. I am not a contradiction. I am simply human. If feminism can’t see that as enough, then maybe it isn’t just the world that isn’t ready for us; the movement itself has gone stale.