A story I would tell my therapist anyone that doesn’t believe masculinity is toxic or anyone that tells me that a man, can be capable of lov

I. 

Surrounded by rushing cars

head lights and stop lights

In the back of a car, almost exactly like my ex’s with its red leather interior

but feeling a lot less at ease

I sat

and held myself as compactly as possible, as quiet, as transparent

I sat

in the company of

family-men-brothers

they sat

comfortably, relaxed and had their loud phone conversations

and we drove

and drove

’til a car subtly came in the way

not enough to make my heart drop

just enough to make me flinch

and in my mind we had continued driving

but we didn't

and

the manliness, the masculinity

it emerged

trying to put up a fight

rolling down the windows

grabbing onto anything to be thrown out

-an empty water bottle-

and now, I was no longer at ease at all

the man apologised

but “it” would not simmer down

I gasped, I murmured then spoke

don’t/stop/no- a variation of that

and now, I was afraid

the car filled with screams and words

ripping into me;

for intervening

for having the audacity to think, that I- could have a say concerning matters of men

& older ones at that

or for believing that I could understand the decision, to roll down the window to throw a bottle at a man

and in that moment I reached for the door and realised

that there could be no where to go

that my safe place to go- was supposed to be right there

amongst family

and it was right then and there where any conceptualisation of safety- I had-

was shattered.

II.

The car ride continued, it had to

and as I blocked out the words being thrown my way

I listed down the places I’ve felt safer:

Mama’s hugs

in my bed in a freezing room

making pasta in the kitchen with the music in the background

then the list took a turn to

walking in the streets of London at 6 AM

in a crowded room where everyone was/is drunk

in a stranger’s bed.

III.

Then my mind, it took a turn too..to the daunting realisations

that I’ve felt more at ease in a stranger’s bed, safer even, that I did with family. Because knowing full well what a man wants and being okay with it, is the only way to go.

&

In that moment, and as it continues to linger, my mind spirals and thinks of the immense love I've had and expressed towards the men that were supposed to love me the most. Unrequited. Affection was a woman’s territory, and was never meant to be reciprocated- the banter was love, or at least I was told. “He annoys you because he loves you… He’s a man- it isn’t in his nature to be loving.”

&

tonight and every night- I am thankful for the home that feminism has helped me built within myself and for the painful (but hopefully liberating experience in the long run) of being able to identify toxic relationships.