“I Want a Daughter, not a Son”

“If I were to have a child in future I would want a daughter, but not a son.”

One sentiment, often echoed by many a male friend. I could see why. It’s hard being male sometimes, often pressured to be strong and not cry. To be teased and called being a girl because one isn’t overly masculine, overflowing with masculine brawn and athleticism. To feel ‘not enough’ because one doesn’t look manly, being on the scrawny side. To go through a breakup and having no emotional support, not even your bros because “men don’t do this”. Damn, patriarchy. This side of it dishes favour to no one, ridicule and inferiority being served smack cold.

On the side of femininity, women rally around another when another’s neck deep in broken hearts and tears cried dry. We shop together, discuss feelings about our annoying siblings, mother, father and cat which insists of drinking your glass of water instead of its own bowl. Women go to the toilet together, which I, for the life of me, as a woman, simply do not understand why either. If I wanted a heart to heart Best Female Friend conversation I’d call or simply meet to hang out.

It’s hard too though, to be one of those women whose inclinations are rock music, military stuff. “Dare to be different” so goes the quote…Then be given the weird eye for being the nonconforming exception.

To abhor wearing flowers and K-pop and yet everyone expects you to like them.Especially the flowers. Oh God. I’d eat them in confectionery and tea, but I never fit in being a feminine flower.

It’s hard to when you feel so much more empowered during physical stuff like martial arts, and wearing leather bracelets and boots.

To have a few physical ‘incidents’ happen to you, and no woman believes you. Women’s questions:”Are you mistaken? Are you sure he wasn’t intending to tap your shoulder instead?” And the cliche “Is he handsome?” To be expected to scream for help in an enclosed lift even when it won’t even matter and no one could enter an enclosed lift anyway. Its boys who perpetuate these ‘incidents’, men the ones who would look me in the eye and believe what I said had happened. Say it once, taken seriously by all, no doubt about it.

If only differentiating between boys and men were as easy as distinguishing age range.

Then the pain of reliving memories from time to time, of no woman backing you up, and adrenaline being pulled into overdrive by a heavy tap on the shoulder or arm every other time. So much for feminism, anyway.

Patriarchy and stereotypes favour no one, ridicule and inferiority dishes served cold.

I just sincerely wonder; if my male friends knew about this side of being a woman, would they still want a daughter and not a son?



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