By Eunice Wong [11 Dangarembga]
You see her on the faces of women at the march, Signs aloft, “screw the patriarchy” loud and clear. Their anger is a never-guttering inferno, Blazing at unjust and lawlessness. You see her on the faces on battleworn nurses, Some with steely determination and grit in their eyes, Some grieving over final breaths, Because contradictory to what some say, Feeling is a superpower, not a weakness. You see her on the face of a mother as she cradles her newborn infant, Overflowing with love and alit with a soldier's conviction. She is also the midwife, tender and unflinching, Whose hands have guided and soothed to a novel breath. You see her on the face of the hijabi girl on the news, Voice trembling from feeling, from anger. She is brave, with the spirit of an untamable mare, And my fury burns aside hers as well. You see her on the face of Olympians who have dedicated their whole life to honing this craft, Tenacity spanning miles and perseverance rivalling the ocean. Somewhere in front of a screen, a young child’s fire is kindled. These women bring glory and victory to their nation, But aside all that is gold, they are always inspiring, always igniting. You see her on the face of the teacher, Who didn’t hesitate to put herself between her students and the shooter. Or maybe she’s alive in that policewoman, Who fiercely believes that pacifying words triumph over bullets and bloodshed. Everytime another woman like them appears on the news, I vow, “I will remember their names”. But then they are ripped from my lips, from my memory before they are seared and etched in stone. Tossed away by the wind, because the media decides to focus on Leonardo DiCaprio’s new girlfriend instead. Sometimes I wonder why it’s “girlpower” and not “womanpower”. Sometimes I wonder if Fallopian tubes being named after Gabriele Falloppio – a man, should bother me that much. Sometimes I wonder why pink tax is charged for feminine products. Sometimes I wonder why people can still be sexist and where the hell they learnt to be this disrespectful. Sometimes I wonder why feminists are labelled as radical and overbearing, when all we want is equal rights. I hold on to that kernel of fury and wrath that is fueled by the banes of feminism, because everyday I ponder a woman’s place in a patriarchal society. To be a woman is to face struggles of gender and bias, wielding a well-honed blade of feeling and power; knowing that what they deemed weaknesses are virtues in their own right.
