056. Appropriate Attire
Lately, doing anything has been kind of tough.
Getting out of bed in the morning, making it to the yoga mat, putting my shoes on to go for a walk, making it to the kitchen to feed myself; all of it has felt like such a drag to reach. Minus the echoing pit of dread, one could say, these are the early warning signs of a depression. However, I feel okay. Strong in mind, steady in body, but, something just feels a little miss aligned.
For the first time in a long time, I think it may be possible that I am just surviving.
Today, I believe I might have ran into the same man from my first walk here in this foreign land. It wasn’t until yet again he relented “tu veux quoi” as I attempted to take the cover photo for this article, that the idea of survival mode presented itself to me.
Perhaps this experience has been reminiscent of being cast out of the garden of Eden. Like those first moments when we realised we were nude, grew shame, and learnt to hide ourselves from each other.
When I started my sojourn, I was filled with optimism and wonder. I was beginning to grow a little jaded of my routine. The same walks, the neighbourhood folk, the same dogs running around the neighbourhood, the meals, all of it just the same. I liked the variety that work would randomly offer, perhaps, the weekend hijinks, however, it was all the same. I loved it all but, my wanderlust sought to see more, and do more. I guess it's true what they say; be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.
This wish however, felt like the magic genie had intentionally misinterpreted my wish in order to make me question the want for exploration. I found myself seeing new sights, new faces, new neighbourhood dogs, new meals, all of it new. For a little while, it fed the wanderlust. When the explorer in me dared to venture outdoors, I learnt an anxiety that I suppose only a woman would understand, or perhaps, anyone who could be othered could understand.
Much of this sojourn has been haunted with the recurring question, ' is it because I am a woman, or, is it because I am black?' and unfortunately, I fear the answer may never be known. I have also considered that the question in itself is what may be the wrong one.
Defining a woman's morality by the way she dresses, sits, or talks has always been a little peculiar to me. However, deciding how a person should be treated based off of those same measures can be understood in the right contexts. How you show up to the office allows people to make judgement on whether or not you are capable of understanding what is appropriate for the office environment. The way you dress for a black tie event, attire for a pool party, uniform for school; all of these spaces offer their own set of rules for you to abide by, measures that intentionally or unintentionally, inform how others around you will treat you. None define your morality but, all offer the opportunity for an individual to demonstrate their understanding of 'right place, right time'.
In the months I have spent here, I have not been able to decipher the appropriate attire for the occasion that is existing. No matter how long the sleeves, or low the hem, I find myself only performing on a stage where it does not seem to matter. The more I try to hide that I am a woman, the more I appear as one.
The simple truth is, for you to need to cover so much in this heat, there must be something you have, that they don't have, and that in itself, warrants the attention. Because, why else would you wear long pants and a t-shirt in such heat - because you cannot wear shorts.
A part of me wonders if perhaps I am making mountains out of mole hills, but, the part of me that has spoken to other women who try to offer me comfort by suggesting that there are other regions that are slightly better or, I am lucky to have arrived where I did because in other places 'the men would be grabbing you', that part of me longs for the time before the apple that catalysed this reality. A time when we ran around naked in the garden, with no illusion that there was any way that you could hide that you were you, and I was me.
Lately, it feels a little harder to exist. Simply being, seems to warrant a crime. One with no attire that could save me. One in a place where you can simply hope today will be a slow day.
So far, the only resolve I have found to this predicament is one that is not accessible to all. Unfortunately, we do not all have a brother, father, friend, or lover, willing to be worn as an accessory any moment we wish to step outside our doors, so unfortunately, that is not a resolve.
Dear reader, lately I feel as though I have been wondering, 'what is the world?' Not to any depths of woe but, why is it the way it is and how can it become a place that inspires life. Perhaps this week some answers will be found to those questions. Until then, I have done my best today and I cannot wait to see how the week will unfold as we continue to do all that we can.
