Ever since I was a little girl, I have been taught by my family, mostly my father, that girls are supposed to be quiet, elegant and submissive. I grew up with two of my older brothers. And they always had the freedom I wished for; They could leave the house without asking for permission. They left dirty clothes on the floor that I had to pick up. They were able to complain about anything that bothered them and were always taken seriously. Whilst I, if I said that the food was too salty, or that I wanted a new shirt because my old one had a hole in it, I would be yelled at, and sometimes even grounded. “Be grateful, some kids don't even have a roof over their heads” is what my father always used to say. And I do agree that I should be appreciative. I am. I have food on the table, nice clothes and shoes, unlike some children who live in much worse circumstances. But just because I have all that doesn't mean I should ignore all the other problems. My mother was a stay-at-home mom. And whilst I think it’s a very hard and an important job, I feel like if the world just gave her a chance, she could have been more. Her dream of becoming a lawyer was never taken seriously. Her goals were minimized, and her intelligence was never questioned. And why, you may ask? Simply because she was a woman. She never got the chance to achieve her dreams. She unfortunately passed away when I was only six years old. I don’t remember much of her but based off the stories I’ve heard from my grandmother, she was truly a wonderful woman.
Even at my school, girls get treated differently than guys. They're expected to wear long pants that go below the knees, while boys, on the other side, can wear whatever they like. The dress code applies to them too, but the school's main focus is on the girls. They're expected to cover their body parts because they're a „distraction“ as they say. But have they ever thought that maybe if one gets distracted by a young female's body, they are the issue? Instead, the blame is usually placed on girls and women.
In today's society, women are doubted before they even speak. They are considered too emotional, too vulnerable. What a woman could yell for years, a man could whisper and suddenly be considered a hero, a genius, the greatest man that has ever lived. Since a long time ago, women were taught to keep their voices quiet. Imagine how many women in the past could have changed the world if they weren't just kept in the kitchen and treated like a baby machine. It is time for a change. It is time that we prove to the world that we are more than just baby machines. More than just emotional, vulnerable human beings. It’s time we realize our self-worth. In fact, anything a man can do, women can do too, if not better.
A day I thought would just be an ordinary one, turned out to be the one that would change my perspective on everything. It was the day I realized I'm more than just a girl. And I tried to voice my opinion at lunch, among my two brothers and my father. I have finally brought up the courage to do that – but it all came crashing down. My father and my brothers, they burst out laughing. Straight in my face. And something in me just snapped. I felt my face burning up. I had the urge to just get up and yell at them like my life depended on it. But I did what I was always told to do. Stay quiet, let them mock me. At this moment, I realized how unfair the world actually is. How women have to go through being put down and mocked. But just because something happens commonly doesn’t make it right. I tried to eat the rest of my lunch silently, trying not to be bothered by anyone else, but as my oldest brother tried to reach for the salt across the table, he knocked over a glass of water by accident. Water from the glass spilled all over the table, wetting the tablecloth. He started to apologize, but our father cut him off saying mistakes happen. After that, he ordered me to go get a cloth and clean it up. I asked him why me; if he spilled it, he should be the one cleaning it up, not me. Common sense. It wasn't a problem for me to clean it up – that was the last thing that bothered me. It was everything else I had a problem with. I always had to be the one cleaning things up. Folding the clothes, sweeping the floors -- I felt like Cinderella in that house. And my father always had an excuse, saying I'm preparing to become a wife. But what if I don't want that? What if I don't want to be the wife staying at home, taking care of the children like my mom did. I want to be able to experience new things, travel the world, be a politician maybe, and be able to change the world someday.
But then I realized, what if I don't have to wait until I'm all grown up to change the world, when I could do it right now? Greta Thunberg was only fifteen years old when she started her climate activism. But how exactly was I going to do that? Start my gender equality activism?
Well first off I started standing up for myself at home – every time my father told me to clean something my brother messed up, I would say no. Me and my father’s relationship was damaged; more than it was before, but for the first time in my life, I finally felt free. Freer than I have ever felt in my entire life. Then I started doing what my brothers did – always left the house without even asking, leaving dirty clothes on the floor, not washing my plate after dinner – and my father was mad. When I told him the reason why I was acting like that, he called me ridiculous. Said that me and my brother have always had equal chores in this household – which wasn't true, at all. After a while, my father and brothers have finally adapted to the way I was acting. My brothers started cleaning up after themselves, everyone folded their own laundry and washed their own dinner plates.
Then, in school, I started wearing the same shorts the guys wore. When my math teacher confronted me, I pointed out that several of the boys were wearing shorts the same length as mine. She said it was different—that men’s legs aren’t “provocative.” I ended up arguing with him, which resulted in detention. I started chaos in school, putting up posters that had feminist quotes written on them. I received support from other girls in my school, from my friends. The posters were taken down. But I wasn’t going to let that slide. I put them up once again, but this time, I got called into the principal’s office. They gave me a week long suspension for “vandalizing” school property, even though I wasn’t vandalizing anything. I didn’t damage any walls or doors.
During my suspension, I started writing an essay that was due next week. The title of my essay was “It only takes a flame to start a fire”. I wrote about the unfairness of the world in the 21st century, about gender inequality, stereotypes and today’s world’s societal problems in general. I handed the essay in next week. My English teacher, Mrs. Kennedy, was impressed. She said I had great potential to become an author. Inspired by her words, I started writing a book. The book had the same title as my essay. I wrote about the same thing, but more extensively. It took me five long months to finish writing it, right before my high school graduation. I published it, not expecting people to care or buy the book, but little did I know, large amounts of people from the USA and even Canada were interested in buying my book. It became a bestseller in the US. I saved some of the money I made for college.
I had to do a valedictorian speech at my graduation. In the speech, I shared my story, The same story I just told you. My father, whose face I expected to be filled with rage, was actually happy for me. Pure, unadulterated joy displayed on his face. The audience applauded, my classmates the loudest. I smiled, the smile reaching my eyes that were already red rimmed. I looked down at my hands, holding the paper my speech was written on. A small, blue butterfly landed onto my right hand. My mother’s favourite colour was blue. I wiped a tear from my cheek I didn’t know had escaped. I looked up to the audience one last time, taking in the moment. I scanned my classmates’ faces one more time before they became my former classmates. The principal shook my hand and handed me the diploma. Before leaving the stage, I lifted my diploma up in the air, showing it to the audience. A smile, full teeth, on my face. The audience applauded, symbolizing the end of my time at that high school as a student.
I am twenty-eight years old now. I am a lawyer, a public speaker, an author and most importantly a feminist. I have fought for justice in courtrooms and for equality on stages and in books. Some battles I have won, some I lost. But I never gave up. I have written three books already. I donated some of the money that I made to the Malala fund – an international nonprofit organization that fights for girls’ right to education. I kept on going with what my mother had started and never got the chance to finish.
“It only takes a flame to start a fire”