She said to me, you are loved, I asked where? She said to me, you are loved. I asked how? She said to me, you are loved. I asked by whom? There was an eagerness in my voice, a longing that I couldn’t quite recognize. The sweeping desire to be accepted coursed through my veins. What are the odds?
What are the odds? I ask. The odds that I’m loved but I do not know. From dusk to dawn and with each passing day, I wonder if. If anyone loves me. If they can even see me. See me enough to love me. See me enough to accept me for who I am and not turn me into what I’m not. See me enough to appreciate my femininity, and understand that what makes me woman is not the clothes on my back or the powder on my face, but me. Just me. Beautiful. Whole. Complete. What are the odds?
What are the odds? I ask. That if I speak, the world will hear? That if I speak, the people will listen. That I will not be silenced for making my thoughts known and not punished for the raw ring in my words. That my hands wouldn’t be tied about my own future. That it’s enough to dream, and through hard work and perseverance, I’ll get there. That if obstacles came my way. If ever I suffered a setback, it would merely be fate and not because I’m a woman. What are the odds?
What are the odds? I ask. That my yes will be my yes and my no, my no. That I will say no and the world wouldn’t make me think I said yes. That I will say no, and it would be a full sentence. Binding and complete in itself. That I will not be ostracized for saying no. That I will not be maimed for saying no. That I will not be pinched, and prodded and pressured till my no finally gives way to a yes. A pain-filled yes. But a yes, nonetheless. What are the odds?
And now I say to myself, what are the odds that I find love totally and unarguably in me? What are the odds that I love me, so much so, that the hate around me becomes merely bullets of flowers. Valiant in its attack. But not enough to hurt me. To make me think less of me. What are the odds that I see myself as enough? See myself as whole? See myself as strong and beautiful and chosen. Never looking down or being spiteful at those who look like me. Because they are, in truth, me. Just in a different body.
To bring it to a close, I adore me. I embrace the pain, as I embrace the joys. I give back love even in a field saturated with hate because there’s an overflow of the former in me. I do not hold back to keep safe. I fight because that’s where my strength lies. In my silence as well as in my outbursts. Because that is all that matters. That I not only love me, but I accept me. Unadulterated. Unfiltered. Divinely Me.
So, I wrote this short piece to celebrate the stubborn women. To celebrate the women who consistently fight back. I wrote this piece to celebrate the survivors. To celebrate the women who are outspoken and refuse to bow to or condone misogyny. To celebrate the bold and audacious women. To the feminists, and those who constantly seek justice and equality.
I wrote this piece to celebrate my entrepreneur women. My 9-5ers. My women who work hard and hustle for everything they have. Who take responsibilities like the Queens they are and place each brick that form their empires. I wrote this piece to celebrate my laid back women. The ones who are still trying to get it all together. My women who are still finding ways to make it work. Who have a world of questions in a universe that does not offer too many answers. I see you. I love you. And I hope you never forget how amazing you are.
Happy International Women’s Day to all my Hive women. We’re constantly trying to prove something or the other to ourselves. Always striving to be a better woman than we were yesterday. Always pushing against the boundaries that seek to restrain us. It’s my earnest belief that the lines will fall onto us in pleasant places sooner than later. Lots of love to you ladies. It's such an honour to be woman!
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