I Painted My Nails Today…
I painted my nails today. After a long time I actually made the effort coz I had bought a colour I liked. So I put the base coat, two layers and a top coat. Went the whole hog. And then spent a good hour or two trying to dry the wretched thing. This was the worry coz I hate smudged nail polish. Gneek.
Anyhoo. This drying business meant that I could not do much else but listen to music and perhaps type some wayward thoughts into a story. So here goes.
Somewhere in my head I had formed this imaginary conversation with someone. It went along the lines of me being the quintessential woman who is “like a man” “tough” “iron” (which are actually some things I have heard about myself). They aren’t nice things to really tell someone but tell me when people have been truly ‘nice’? Scarcely. Especially when the said woman questions all they hold dear on a patriarchal mantel of ego, male dominance and stereotypes. And so this imaginary conversation was me defending my blunt self to someone who was the poster boy of masculine achievement – sports, fast cars, money, watches blah blah. Why do I even bother? It’s so fucking annoying. Everyone has an opinion on how you should be based on various rubbish they have in their head. Growl.
I gave up.
Not that it mattered. Some days you just gotta let go. Some people were never worth it and sometimes it takes a while to realise that. I don’t need to explain myself to anyone. Yea even imaginary characters. It’s hard to accept and hard to follow but it is vital that we do.
It’s so easy to get caught up with what everyone expects of you. How a woman should look, behave, speak, react, whatever. I hate it. It’s almost like the mind forged manacles of Blake fame – and this is self inflicted. Sigh.
I am now looking at the bleeding of red on the edge of my right hand – the red nail polish somehow has got on my fingers coz my nail polish application skills have suffered through years of neglect. Snort. It’ll wash off but for now I look like I have attempted murder. That’s ok. I attempt symbolic murder every day by just existing. By speaking. By posting shit on social media. To silent judgmental eyes and ears.
“Oh this one is on a rant again”
“Tsk. How unladylike. Why does she swear??”
Yea I bloody swear. As do half the world. Just that they pretend they don’t. I don’t pretend. Know the difference MoFo.
But how to know the difference?
When you’re surrounded by bullshit pretence? Where falsehoods adorn people’s walls on the internet and at home from happy family pictures to lovey dovey poems and the truth is found in the backseat of cars, office toilets and WhatsApp messages hidden from the eyes of the other. Ohoma yung.
Being real is hard. Being blunt is worse. Coz you have to hide being real ok? It’s not part of ‘our culture’. My foot and my red painted nails.
Learn your proper history and culture. Not Victorian prudish cock that we have embraced. That stench permeates every nook and cranny of our society except in the practice of sexual desire. That is rampant. But hidden. Instead it peaks out through dodgy ass movies like ‘Underpants Thief’ aka Jungy Hora coz that’s the kind of fetish this society breeds. And everyone will be surreptitiously watching those, Porn Hub and any dodgy online content at internet cafes, on their phones and at office. Bahaha. Sanskruthiya of perversion.
Ah well. My nails are finally dry. And now I can head to bed in peace not having to worry about any smudging.