Young girls are socio-culturally predestined to rebel. So oppressed and protected and restricted -- by the time we blossom as young women and learn the infinite power of femininity, we cannot wait to exercise it, to abuse it even. Once out from under the thumb of naivety, we are hungry for liberation.
And we all rebel, every last one of us. We like the feeling of our breasts as currency. It's no big deal to us at all -- our breasts are perhaps our freedom, and we've been waiting to be free for much longer than we've been aware of independence's existence.
Yet perhaps this too is part of society's plot to turn us into the ideal counterpart for male, according to his preferences and alleged convenience. We are led to believe that our breasts, uninhibited from the naked eye, are the key to our salvation from the global tradition of misogyny; but thinking back, now on the other side of the teenage trenches, I suppose we did not expose them because we were intoxicated and frivolous, we did it because we thought we could control him. We were not free at all, but grasping at straws of power to no avail. It was all a false inkling -- we were playing right in to society's clutches all along, figuratively lying on our backs without even knowing it. Perhaps we will always be prisoners of man's desire, so innately tickled by the audacity of his roving eye. Maybe we were indeed made secondary and for that very purpose.
The sociocultural weaponry is revealed in the fact that I even have to wonder.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
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