Sometimes I Buy Myself Flowers

So what would you say if I told you that sometimes I buy myself flowers?
I mean, my brothers would probably make fun of me…
I obviously think it’s the right thing to do, because I do it from time to time.
Ya wanna know why? I’ll tell you:

Because out there on the streets of my city—
it’s an emotional rollercoaster.

Just the other day I got done with work, where the men are my friends, supporters, representatives & bosses. Upon exiting that safe haven, I took to the streets to go record some music for a friend at his recording studio, just a 15 minute walk away. [I don’t take a taxi if I don’t have to, especially not for such a short distance, on such a nice, sunshiny day.] And as I’m happily walking to go do something I love for some dear friends, I put in my one working earphone & turn up the sweet tunes of Tristan Prettyman [my favorite].

As if my life were a movie, a car approaching me on the road starts honking incessantly. Do I know this person? No. Do I want to know this person? No. He gets closer to me & slows down. Unfortunately, my ugly white sunglasses broke. [Actually—that’s a “fortunately.” The unfortunate part is that I’m not wearing sunglasses when Mr. Honk-My-Horn-Till-You-Get-In-My-Car is staring me down.] I pay him no attention, readdress my posture & keep going. He stops when he reaches me. I ignore him. Then he rolls his window down. He’s still invisible to me at this point. He starts staring that creepy stare, making head motions, beckoning me to his car. I angrily wonder what makes him think that I’ll just stop, hop on in & thank him for the ride. [Please.]

I’ve found that I have an intense temper when it comes to situations like this. The treatment of women, even, or maybe especially, foreign women, really hurts my heart & the desire for justice burns within me. However, I know that I am only one girl & I need to make wise choices that are full of respect, honor & safety.

Yet, sometimes I fail. As he threw the car into reverse to go with me, [ya know, just in case, upon seeing his perseverance I should change my mind] I had had enough. I quickly scanned both sides of this busy part of town, taking note of how many spectators I had, & gave them a little show. I made [what some might call] an inappropriate gesture, said a few shaming words & continued on. He finally got the point & sped off, leaving me with an audience.

I didn’t feel any better. Some people here would say that encounters like this are my fault—because I’m not covered, because I’m foreign, because I’m “shagra.” Somehow, I was the one who invited HIM to approach me in that way, that he couldn’t help himself. “He’s just a man,” I’ve been told. I would beg to differ. There are many men in this world, & even in this city, who can “restrain” themselves from such behavior, acting respectfully towards women, treating them as humans.

As I talked myself out of my street rage & composed myself once again, I finally had reached my destination. In the elevator I looked in the mirror & saw that my face really did reflect my heart. I quickly put on some lip gloss, fixed my hair & cleaned up my eye makeup. I was delivered to the third floor where I was immediately met by enthusiastic smiles & warm handshakes of two men who just adore me. They had been waiting for me, as it was their day off, & welcomed me with a glass of cold water [my drink of choice]. I only returned their smiles & well wishes. I said nothing of my encounter outside—this is what we call, “aadi” or “normal.” I just gave them the chocolate chip cookies I had brought for them for their hard work.

I left their studio smiling, having been encouraged, knowing that I’m loved & appreciated, only to return back to the streets where I slap on my stone-cold face that says, “Do not mess with me OR ELSE!”, watching every man who comes within 20 feet of me. It’s a very normal day of emotional whiplash.

Before going home, I make a little visit to Sayeed,
the man at the flower shop in my neighborhood.
[His name means “Happy.”]
I walk in, he greets me like a queen, I hand him about $5,
take a seat & he whips up a bouquet of fresh flowers for me.

And so sometimes, I buy myself flowers.