Man oh man...

Diary entry: 8

“Must be a woman”, a man’s favourite sentence. Especially on the road, because how dare a woman drive her own car on a road for the general public to drive on, right?

Men are insecure, ludicrous creatures. They always have a word on their lips. From my experience, this is quite a funny sight, like how kids watch stone skipping and find joy in it. I am not saying stone skipping is a silly, useless thing to do. It is a fun hobby, but when you do it for far too long, you just end up messing yourself badly, and so I’d say it is an unnecessary hobby to have. Sometimes I do want to have a man by my side, but then I remember how a 5’4, fairly mediocre human being wanted to be earned by me because of this deep desperation to have what others had- another human being by their side. Men want everything but nothing in their lives. They are nobody’s. Not even their own.

Now, with all the 468 things I hate about men— there is one thing I absolutely adore a man for. The will to exist. They just live on. Even after a lifetime of wrecked-up events, they WILL find a way to forgive themselves. I wish I could do the same, but that’s besides the point. Misogyny itself is a very weak and insecure concept- for weak and insecure people, there is no “maturity in realising” or “men need to” “women should”. This core realisation that co-existing in this world is going to cost you your life, but ONLY if you are a woman, should be enough to detach yourself from this fantasy of a man’s world. Because if it were a man’s world, well— I can only hint at something terrible.

Let’s go back to when I was mansplained what a “jump ring” is by a man who has nothing to do with jump rings and everything to do with how to trick women. I was 19, happy as always, yet still desperately wanted to test myself and put myself through hell, because who am I without my whimsical spark and plot-building? And then at 20, a guy told me when to use hair and when to use “hairs”, speechless because who knew that guy would grow so much and write about the most bland and untruthful feelings a ma- any human could ever experience and think of himself as a saint. A saint who thinks his life is equivalent to 500 days of summer. Ironic.

The moral of everything is, this is an apocalypse. The world is controlled by these creatures, absolutely horrendous, and again, with a hint of insecurity and the harm it brings altogether. I dig my fingers sharply into a rice bag to suppress how I feel at the sight of it all.