My hair was my feminist movement.
I had a dream last night. I was 17 in my 25 year old body.
I got off the school bus, listening to radiohead.
You float like a feather, in a beautiful world.
Still best ever written lyrics.
I walked through the school door with a few friends who looked 17. I have always had the shortest skirt which caused me to be picked on by the principle every day. This is Turkey, btw. A woman was murdered and burnt in that country yesterday.
I was childishly in love with my high school love who always wanted me to become a woman. To walk like a woman, talk like a woman, to love like a woman. What the hell was that meant?
Was he finally happy?
I was 18 when I cut my hair really short after being asked by this guy if I was comfortable wearing bikini in the summer since I had a serious scoliosis. My hair was my feminist movement. It came in the same package with letting the guy go.
A few months of heart break, and a few years of… just break… I enjoyed every single second of not being a woman yet, or getting to become a woman, or just.. getting there.
A few dream hours later I woke up.
Now I was 25 years old in a 25 year-old’s body. 7 years later, I am growing my hair back again.
I am a woman. At the right time. In this moment.
to all the women whose womanhood was taken away.
