on bodily autonomy

Illustration by Honey Simatupang

as far back as i can think, my body has never truly felt like it belonged to me. 

when i was younger it belonged to to the adults, the parents, the teachers, the aunties and uncles and grandparents who have told me “don’t dress like that” “don’t speak so loud” “don’t show so much skin”, who gave me disapproving stares and disparaging comments if i dared to express myself in ways that made me happy.

as i got a little older it belonged to the men who first began calling out to me on the street , who followed me home, who made me to scared to walk at night or wear shorts or look at anything other than the sidewalk when i’m walking. to the men on the train or the bus who stared a little too long, a little too hard, a little too much.

as a young teenager, it belonged to the beautiful girls in advertisements, magazines, porn, movies. to the girls that made me want to be curvier, smaller, prettier, girlier. it belonged to a society that showed me at an early age that i am only valid so long as i am beautiful in its eyes, and that in their eyes i was not beautiful. 

even now, it belongs to the boys who touch and kiss on me at parties, who grab or yell at me as i walk through the hallways at school. the boys who have made it so that whenever i cry i feel hands crawling all over me. it belongs to the boys who have made it clear that in their minds i only matter as long as i am useful to them. 

i crave control

i feel as though I’ve searched for it everywhere, in sexualization, in intoxication, in adrenaline rushes and meditation and noise and silence and still it is just out of reach

all i want is to feel as though this body i exist in is mine and mine alone. is that too much to ask?