I still remember that morning, arriving at school in the courtyard. Waiting for my friends as I leaned against the chain link fence around the basketball court, rubbing my hands together for warmth in the bitter cold.
I remember seeing Malak a few meters away, sitting on one of the benches in the courtyard. Malak was one of the “popular” girls. I put it in quotes, because not many people liked her, you’ll understand why in a moment.
Salma, another one of the popular girls at school, made her way to where Malak was sitting.
“Oh my god, thank God you’re here! I’m like the only girl here.” Malak exclaims.
Salma turns her head to where I was standing, “What do you mean? She’s sitting is over there”
“Yeah, she doesn’t count.”, Malak said, with a look of pure disgust plastered on her face.
They both laugh. Yeah, Malak was not the nicest person. I don’t want to admit that I was hurt by a shallow 15 year old mean-girl, but I was and, I became a bit more self-conscious of my femininity, or lack thereof .
I did not know to dress “like a girl”, or how to flirt with boys “like a girl” or even how to tell jokes “like a girl”. I also didn’t know how to make boys feel big and strong around me, and instead had a knack for seeing through the tough exterior and eventually get them to talk about what was bothering them.
I did not know how to be dainty and soft. I did not know how to be effortlessly gracious. I was incredibly clumsy and awkward, and no, not in a cute “omg I am so awkward uwu” way. It was tragic.
I am not saying there is ANYTHING wrong with being feminine, but it just so happens that femininity did not come easily to me, no matter how hard I tried.
And perhaps it was my internalised misogyny that made me feel uncomfortable expressing femininity, or blaming my sexual assault on what little feminine qualities I did possess, or just feeling uncomfortable in my own skin. Whatever the reason was, the end result was that for the majority of high school I preferred being a genderless blob.
But what I didn’t realise at the time, was that both Malak and I had made the same exact mistake: we believed what we were told about there being only one, very prescriptive way of existing as a woman. We both expressed it similarly too, by adhering to a strict dress code and demeanour; hers being hyper-feminine, and mine was avoiding anything that could be perceived as feminine.
It wasn’t till I got older and miraculously rid myself of the thought that girly was synonymous with weak or frivolous, that I was able to try femininity on and see how it felt.
And I realised, I didn’t hate all of it. Pedicure? Don’t mind if I do. Waxing my legs regularly? Pass, my leg hairs don’t bother me. Getting my eyebrows threaded? Yes, please. Wearing winged eyeliner? If I had that much patience I would’ve joined med-school like my parents always had dreamed. That is a no from me.
And I eventually made peace with the fact that some of my personality traits are perceived as masculine, but that is totally okay. Why should it be a “masculine” thing to be protective over one’s friends? Or being able to be blunt when needed?
You see society has put certain traits into the different boxes masculine and feminine, but it is so much more fun dumping the contents of both boxes on the floor and picking what you like from each.