What I Think About Machismo - This American Girl

Grananda, Nicaragua Calazada

 

I will never forget the first time I felt small, like I wanted nothing more than to hide, like I was less of a person, because of the attention of a man.

 

I was twelve years old walking home from a day at the lake with friends. It was late in the afternoon in the suburbs of Seattle. I don’t remember how I looked or what I was wearing but considering my age and rate of development I imagine I appeared innocent and slightly dorky.

 

Walking the streets of the town I called home, I experienced what we refer to in my country as “cat calling”. A response I, like all women, have begun to expect when walking alone.

 

Granada, Nicaragua street

 

The honking I could tolerate. The indiscernible shouts I ignored. But after walking for nearly three hours on busy streets, sweaty and exhausted, it was the man who stuck his head out of his car window and exaggeratedly blew me a kiss as he whizzed by, that finally collapsed my spirit.

 

Since then I have been shouted at on streets across the world. I have been followed by men for blocks. I have been begged for sex, companionship, a dance, and conversation.

 

Granada, Nicaragua street

 

A stranger stuck his hand up my skirt when I entered a crowded bar in Belize.

 

In Mexico I stood in an ATM next to a man pleasuring himself.

 

Walking midday in midtown clad in professional attire, an American whispered words dirtier than the streets of Manhattan into my ear as he rounded the corner.

 

Yesterday a man stroked my arm as I passed him on the street in Granada. Two teenagers smacked my butt as they rode by on a bicycle.

 

Granada Nicaragua market

 

And somehow it has all felt so disturbingly normal.

 

I lower my head and divert my gaze.

I try desperately to become invisible.

I tug at my shorts.

I absorb the shame that these men are somehow unable to summon.

 

Granada Nicaragua market

 

I expect police officers to undress me with their eyes.

I barely hear the whistles, the “mami”s, and the “guapa”s these days.

The exaggerated glances, the mumbled “wow”s, and the persistent “hola”s have become a simple nuisance in my navigation of the world.

 

Day after day I endure it.

All because I am a woman.

 

Leon Nicaragua

 

Now, in Granada, Nicaragua, where the looks, the whispers, the shouts, the touches are more incessant than any place I have ever been, I just can’t take it anymore.

 

Let’s try that again.

I refuse to take it anymore.

And you should too.

 

So, to the men out there who bother, follow, touch, shout at a woman who has the courage to be and walk alone, listen up:

 

Leon Nicaragua

 

I refuse to accept that a smile or a glance is an invitation for you to stalk me.

 

I refuse to consider how my attire will affect your libido.

 

I refuse to travel with a man simply to avoid your overt attention. News flash: I don’t belong to him either!

 

Masaya nicaragua bras

 

I refuse to pretend I don’t hear your disgusting remarks. I will respond and it will not be pleasant.

 

I refuse to listen to your wants and needs and decline them politely hoping to not offend you.

 

Leon Nicaragua

 

Instead I will tell you exactly what it is that I want.

 

I want to enjoy my walk, my swim, my coffee, my cocktail, my book

WITHOUT

you and your conversation.

 

Contrary to what you think, I want to be alone. I choose to be alone.

 

Granada Nicaragua school girls

 

And what do I think about your machismo?

 

It is not cool.

It is not manly.

And it most definitely is not hot.

 

Leon nicaragua cathedral

 

So please

just stop.

 

 

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