Message in a Bottle
I'm stuck in that moment again. That place where I find myself between what I should be doing and what I have to do, but nevermind that. I have no choice in the matter. When the heart wishes to speak, the fingers start to press the letters that you are reading right now in such an eloquent pattern and my brain shuts up.
Its no secret to anyone that we are stuck in a world of pride and prejudice with people that know nothing of important writers. We take the time to judge those around us without feeling sorry for ourselves for not knowing who was Emily Bronte, but the older I grow, the more I begin to understand that it has nothing to do with human's natural inclination towards criticism but more to its fear of wrongly understanding and forgiving the misunderstood and the unforgivable.
I'm no sexist, but it is an undeniable fact that women are held as a bigger objective towards verbal assault, whether it is direct or hypocritically done, than man for reasons that once again I know I will ponder upon without coming to any solid conclusion. A woman that drinks, smokes and fucks instead of ''making love'', whatever that means, is most likely considered promiscuous. Promiscuity is defined as having more than one sexual partner in a six month period of time, according dictionaries written 15 years ago, whilst modern dictionaries just define it as having casual sex with more than one sexual partner without any time specification. Sadly, this is a fact. Everything is relative to the era we are developing in, and as we grow older, we realize that acceptance increases but so does our vocabulary and the intensity of insults. Twenty years ago you would call a woman promiscuous and you would get slapped, while today, women call themselves bitches amongst each other if their friendship is strong enough and being a slut is no longer shameful, but of course, no man wants to marry one, and no woman will admit that it is easier admitting to being one than to being lonely.
We no longer judge publicly so harshly things we did not so long ago, but deep down inside, we all do so, because it is easier attacking someone's mistakes and being part of the oppressing society than to sit down and understand that sometimes the things we do aren't really for the fun in them or the kick of the moment, but because they are a way of cutting ourselves without leaving any visible scars. We drink, smoke and fuck sometimes for the pleasure, some of us always do it for this reason in fact, but not all. Comprehending that doing things that kill our souls, regardless of the sex, is just a way of killing the emotions that go with it. Emotions which we are too afraid to face, to stupid to understand, and too human to accept.
Not every smiling girl with a drink, red lipstick and a short skirt on a Saturday night is the same. Some should be loved and respected for doing what makes them happy, some should be pitied and helped for trying to shadow some deep pain, but none should be judged, only those that mask their actions with unreal motives deserve to be given the same nothing that their truths hold, while those with the make-upped marks underneath their eyes, being those the only sign of the exhaustion that comes with grinning to hide a frown in front of a civilization that has no time for weakness and hugging a pillow that doesn't hug back, deserve to be given some company and this quote: smart people enjoy being alone, others fill their lives with just any person. I wear pants, a shirt and a blazer, and as a man, I would have loved to hear a woman telling me that thousands of Saturday nights, regardless of the length of her skirt. I'm unsexist enough and yet man enough to admit that I've needed that like most of the women we judge or more because in the end, those drinks we take to forget might as well be bottled messages washed up on the shore. Have you ever heard that song from Sting?